I sometimes complain about the lack of warmth I've encountered from medical professionals throughout my journey with breast cancer. There have been glimpses of compassion. And there are a few who stand out as truly caring and concerned. But there seems to be a general lack of sensitivity. Maybe it's a side effect of the job -- distance -- that I should have been prepared for. But instead I was shocked by how I often felt forgotten, like a number, just one of many in my same boat. And this makes me sad -- for me and for all the others who sail rough waters in search of health. I have waited in lobbies for hours -- four hours one time -- and I've been encouraged to toughen up. I've rarely felt comforted -- except by a few who have hugged me or placed a hand on my shoulder. That's all it takes. A simple gesture or kind word. Words have given me great strength -- and despite my criticism of some of my medical people, the first kind words that came my way were handwritten, on personalized stationery from the surgeon who performed my biopsy and then called me at home with my diagnosis of cancer. He wrote:
Just a brief note to let you know that I regret being the messenger of bad news. But I know that you will come through this difficult time healthy and strong. I and my staff wish for you a smooth and speedy recovery.
And here are six other sentiments -- from friends and family -- that have helped me survive.
You must be so tired from your honorable battle, but I for one am grateful you have the chance to do this battle, rather than the alternative.
You've always been a tough cookie and I know you will beat this -- you have to.
I hope mostly that you will draw strength from yourself, from that part of you deep down that loves life and knows that every moment spent fighting back is worth it.
My impression of you is that (1). You are very witty and (2). You have awesome calf muscles! What can't you overcome with wit and great calves, huh?
I think you are gorgeous BALD!
When you get to the end of your rope, tie a knot and swing.
My own words cannot adequately express what these words have done for me. And what they keep doing for me. They are helping me survive.
1. I am a 34 month stage 4 lung cancer survivor and ahve been in remission for 26 months. Docs took out the entire right lung; I had mets to center of chest and pericardium (the sack around the heart). My chest was rebuilt with gortex. Had CT and PET scan yesterday and will hear the results in two more days. So,for two more nights, I will not sleep. When will the fear of recurrence ever go away? How do you out there deal with it?
Posted at 3:02PM on Jul 9th 2006 by nadine