was discharged from the hospital.
For forty years I worked as a Registered Nurse. My duties were varied but I never forgot taking care of those women, from all walks of life and ages, who had this devastating disease called “Breast Cancer”.
On Sept. 18, 2001, my daughter, Tammy was diagnosed with cancer of the breast. I was on one of my post retirement trips and when I called to check in with Tammy and tell her I had arrived at my brother’s home in Arizona, she proceeded to tell me on the phone that she had just been diagnosed with breast cancer. She also proceeded to tell me that she had “hired” a Humor Team and I had been recruited to be on her Humor Team - IN THAT ORDER.
My first thought was “Oh, no. Not my beautiful daughter”. Tammy is my only daughter and she is the light of my life. With my nursing/medical background, I knew the seriousness of a cancer diagnosis and what could happen to her. I definitely did not see how any humor could possibly be found in this scenario - NO WAY. How could she possibly know that I would gladly change places with her on a moments notice!
Tammy then proceeded to tell me that her belief was that, although she could not change the diagnosis, she could certainly change her reaction to the diagnosis. Her plan of action was to surround herself with only persons with a positive attitude, fun to be around, and with a sense of humor. There would be no time for negative thoughts about her surgery and recovery. Who better to fill that bill than a group of clowns?
Prior to her surgery date “Tammy’s Team” had thrown her a humorous theme party with a “boob” cake, a size 44 DDD bra and, at that time, had presented her Humor Team with clown hats, kazoos, and clown noses. On the band of each hat, in bold letters were the words “TAMMY’S TEAM.”
The morning of surgery arrived and Tammy has her hospital bag packed. No frilly gowns and girly stuff in her bag! Instead, in her bag she had packed a clown hat and nose for her doctor and well as a clown hat and nose for whomever assisted him during the surgical procedure. She also presented her anesthetist with a clown nose. In addition, she had packed two dozen or so clown noses to pass out to other hospital personnel who assisted in her surgery, such as lab technicians, nuclear medical technicians and recovery room nurses. Also packed in her hospital bag was a camera to record all the shenanigans for a book she planned to write titled “The Lighter Side of Breast Cancer Recovery”.
The time for surgery was drawing near and Tammy was transported to the surgical holding area. The anesthetist arrived and inserted an epidural catheter into her spinal area in preparation for epidural anesthesia. Two members of her family or team were allowed to wait with her in the holding area while waiting for the doctor to arrive. While we were sitting in the surgical waiting room, we began to see persons walking around the hallways with clown noses on. We knew that each one had done something to assist Tammy’s surgical team.
The surgeon arrived and Tammy was wheeled back to surgery. I fought hard to hold back my tears at this point. I had seen this scenario so many times in my nursing career. Her “Humor Team” members were instructed to wait in the recovery waiting room until the procedure was finished. While sitting in that small room, we were each left to our own thoughts and prayers. I am uncertain what the other team members were thinking, but my own thoughts and prayers were, “Please, Dear God, don’t let anything happen to my beautiful Tammy. She is so kind and generous to everyone around her. Please cradle her in Your hands today”.
Tammy’s surgery lasted approximately two and one half hours, although it seemed like an eternity. Finally the word came that Tammy was in the recovery room and that her doctor wanted to talk to us in a private conference room. My granddaughter, Lacey, and I sat silently in that small room for two or three minutes at most, not talking, just thinking - each one of us deep in our own thoughts. Finally, the surgeon arrived and gave us the good news. Tammy was now in the post-anesthesia recovery room and the surgery had gone well. He had performed a lumpectomy and had also removed five lymph nodes, which showed no cancer cells during the “frozen section” procedure of the surgery. Now, and only now could I let out a deep breath and enjoy being a part of Tammy’s “Humor Team” - hats on, taking pictures, and playing the kazoo with the other clowns.
When Tammy awoke and showed us her incision, to our surprise, her surgeon had “bought into” her humor heals attitude and on the top half of her incision was a caricature of “Mickey Mouse”, and under the incision was drawn a “smiley face”.
Tammy’s surgical recovery was unremarkable and if it were not for the bulging ice pack under her arm, no one would have known she had just undergone a major surgery. Of course, being the shop-a-holics that we both are, we had to go shopping just to prove a point! She refreshed the ice pack on her surgical site and we took off for Wal-Mart and the Mall to shop. The only difference I noticed in Tammy was that she kept reminding me that she could not keep up with my nurse’s pace.
The only difference I noticed in myself was that I felt like I was walking on air. God is good! A Mom’s prayers had been answered.
Ruth is a retired nurse living in Toledo, OH. She is the proud mother of Jim, Mike and Tammy (her favorite daughter – and both of her sons know it!); a loving grandmother of seven and a great grandmother of a one year old. She stays active in Toastmasters and enjoys cooking, reading, and travelling in her spare time.
My Mom
Lacey J. Earnest
It was October 2001; I was a senior in high school, and looking forward to spring break, prom, and graduating. It was an evening after school around mid October when my mom called me down to the living room for a talk. I wasn’t sure what was going on but at 17 when your mom “wants to talk” I must have done something wrong. As I came down the step mom seemed very calm, I sat on the couch and I heard the words I never expected to hear out of my mom, “honey I have breast cancer”. Hearing those five words I went totally numb, I couldn’t think of anything but the anger that was quickly building in me. This is my mom she is not suppose to get sick, she is too young and has too much going for her. I stormed out of the house, mad that this was happening to my mom.
The next few days were filled with lots tears, and with the help of my very good friend Diane those tears were accepted and I was comforted with open arms. I didn’t want to face this, in my mind it wasn’t happening, but I had to face it and deal with it so I could be strong for my mom. I decided in the few days following the announcement that if my mom had to have chemo and lost her hair I was shaving my head. I didn’t care about senior prom, graduation, or any other special event that I was going to do whatever I could to support my mom.
A few weeks later after the shock wore off, I was able to sit and talk with my mom, and she was completely open to whatever questions I had. She answered those questions to the best of her ability and the ones she didn’t know she was very good about getting me the answers. The first big hurdle was I felt I needed to be home more to help with the house and just be there in case she needed me. I was able to leave school everyday around 10AM because I had all the classes I needed to graduate and there was a special program that I was accepted for that dealt with situations like this.
The next big hurdle was mom’s first surgery, I don’t like hospitals to begin with, and I really didn’t like seeing my mom in one. My friend Diane made sure to be there with me, she never left my side. While we waited in the waiting room she would tell me jokes, we would laugh about good memories, and she was just a strong support for me. When the doctor came out and told us the news that everything was fine, and he was pretty sure he got it all I felt a huge relief, I almost felt like collapsing because this was the best case scenario. Seeing my mom in a hospital bed still groggy from the medicine was scary but the fear went away when I saw that the doctor drew a little Mickey Mouse on her incision site, and she was wearing clown shoes. I knew from that day on that my mom was going to be fine, she was going to fight this, and it would change our lives forever and for the better.
Going through the cancer with my mom made me stronger, because I saw how it made her stronger. She was given the freedom to write a book, and make her own decisions in her healthcare. She never had to go through chemo luckily; she researched and chose an alternate treatment plan. It has been almost