BRENDA WILSON
Survivor Since: 2005
Home Town: Lubbock
Age: 50
Occupation: Medical Practice Administrator
Family: Spouse of nearly 30 years, Wade Wilson; son Travis, 26; daughter Traci, 22.
Hobbies: Motorcycle trips (I hang on the back); scrapbooking; singing; enjoying life and not sweatin' the small stuff.

"Today I am Blessed!"

'I'll be okay... nothing to worry about'

May 2004 - Traci, my youngest, graduated High School and we celebrated with friends and family by throwing her a backyard cookout.  The house is empty and quiet after everyone has gone home.  I’m sitting all alone, in a quiet house, reflecting on how quickly time went by.  Now what - what is my purpose in life once the kids are gone?  I’m feeling worthless and unimportant – I’m having a pity party for myself.  But God already had my life planned out and He had plenty in store for me.  Life is a test, and the test was about to begin.

June 2004 – I’m taking a shower and getting ready for bed.  I usually prefer long soaks in the tub, but I’m tired and want to hurry off to slumber.   But wait - what is that?  It feels like a little marble in my breast. Probably just a cyst or something, I think to myself… nothing to worry about.  My mom had benign cysts in her breasts and that’s probably what mine were too.  Even though mom had in-situ breast cancer last year, that’s not what I have.  “It couldn’t be,”  I tell myself.  They found mom’s cancer on her regular mammogram check-up.  She had the lump removed and 33 radiation treatments and never skipped a beat.  She made breast cancer look easy.  I had a mammogram in March and nothing suspicious was revealed, but just to be on the safe side, I call my gynecologist the next day.  He gets me right in and he can feel the lump also, but it’s so small and I’m still in my 40’s so he says it’s probably just a fibroadenoma, which are benign cysts that are quite common at my age.  He also adds, “I’m too young for breast cancer.”  But – we’ll have another mammogram anyway.  Squish, tug, smash... nothing is revealed.  Okay... it’s a cyst and I’ll be okay... nothing to worry about.

August 2004 - the lump seems larger to me.  I called and returned to the gynecologist again.  This time I had a sonogram and still nothing looked suspicious.  The doctor says that I can have a biopsy if I want one.  Sure, sign me up for someone to stick a needle in my breast... that sounds like fun.  I ask him, "Do you think I really need a biopsy?"  He says, "No, but if it will make you feel better, then you should have one."  "Nope... I feel fine because I trust you and if you don't think I need one, then that's good enough for me."

October 2004 - my breast just aches a little, and that darn lump is still there.  I think it's even larger because I can now grab the lump between my fingers.  I imagine it's probably just because I'm used to it by now and know where it is and am constantly checking its size, just knowing that it will magically get smaller and go away.   I work at a doctor's office, Ear/Nose/Throat (which isn't much help in the boob category), but one of the nurses thinks I should get a second opinion.  She suggests I get an appointment with Dr. Ronaghan, a Lubbock surgeon who knows a lot about breast cancer.  Okay... surely that will make things better.  But, with the holidays and festivities coming up, let's make it for the first of the year.  It makes perfectly good sense to wait so that I don't interfere with any parties.   Great, my appointment is scheduled for January 11th, the day before my 26th wedding anniversary, "Happy Anniversary, I tell myself."

December 2004 - I love this time of year.  All of my family comes into town and we have Christmas Eve at my house.  My brother will make chili for frito-pie, someone will bring tamales, along with a million other favorite snacks and sweets.  We'll open some wine and everyone has a great time.  I love all the Christmas traditions like shopping and making divinity that will never set just right, but it makes my family laugh at me for trying, and I love the smells, lights, people rushing around for just the right gift, church celebrations, Christmas carols - I love ALLLLL of it.  I'm extremely happy and jolly to say the least... but there is a little shadow of something "just not right" following me around - my breast is really starting to hurt.  It's not an ache anymore, it hurts and I know the lump is bigger.  No worries... I have a doctor's appointment and it's a cyst that she'll remove and off we'll go to another year.

New Year's Eve - we're at a party and I'm all dressed up in my glitzy black dress and my husband looks handsome in his tuxedo -- BUT DONíT TOUCH ME!!!!  All that hugging and well wishes for a great new year is killing me because every time someone presses my body into a hug, my breast is screaming, "GET OFF ME."  I'm really hurting, but still denying that I'm in trouble, even though my nipple area is starting to dimple in, and the lump is visible to the eye now.  The mammogram couldn't reveal the cancer that had already overcrowded its own cells and was now gnawing away at my surrounding breast tissue because it was hidden in the nipple area that appears foggy on a normal mammogram.  It would take a stronger diagnostic test to reveal it at this stage, but it is a test not offered to me at the time.

January 11, 2005 - I'm sitting on the exam table in my fashionable paper cape, bare chested of course.  The doctor walks in and Iím starting to sweat a little now.  She examines me, rather quickly I thought to myself, and says... "We need to get some more tests to see what's going on here."  Okay... when?  She replies, "I want you to go downstairs and have a biopsy right now if you can."  Okay... guess I'm going to have to have the stupid biopsy after all, so let's just get it over with.  I call my husband and tell him what is going on.  He wants to know if I want him to come to the doctor's office.  "Of course not," I reply, "This is no big deal.  I'll call you when I get home." 

I'm walking down a rather long corridor and notice the signs leading me to where I'm going read, "Cancer Center."  I remember thinking, "Weíll that's where the biopsy room is and doesn't mean "I have a cancer or anything."  Iím led into a room to disrobe again and put on yet another revealing paper top.  I make myself comfortable on the uncomfortable exam table while a young woman technician lubes up my breast and runs the diagnostic wand over my chest.  Shortly, a doctor strolls in and tells her to move over, he's going to take over.  Well how nice is that?  I get the head honcho taking care of me.  I'm special.  He mumbles to the technician and she rushes off for reinforcements and instruments.  The doctor says, "I'm going to take a few samples and leave a little b.b. in your breast to mark the suspicious area.  Honestly... I ask him, "How are you going to get the b.b.s out of there?"  He responds, "Dr. Ronaghan will know what to do."  Well okay then... I guess... I'm injected with several injections to numb my breast and nipple area.  It numbs the skin, but once the biopsy apparatus enters my breast tissue, there's excruciating pain and I feel myself about to throw up.  They stop the procedure and I dash off to the bathroom.  I'm standing in front of the bathroom mirror thinking, "I'm going to put my clothes on and get out of here."  But then I regain my composure and tell myself, "Okay... let's get this over with."  I go back into the dark room full of technicians and equipment and the doctor proceeds to take a total of five painful biopsies.  A nurse is holding my hand and we're discussing my children to preoccupy my mind.  Everyone is very kind and quiet.  I'm feeling really sick and just want to go home.   Before I leave, I ask, "How did everything look."  Boy, am I naive or what?  The doctor told me that the results would be back in a day or two and that my doctor would call me.

January 12, 2005 - I thought the doctor might call me today, and I patiently waited, but she didn't call.  Wade and I are supposed to go out for our traditional anniversary dinner - he always treats me to lobster, my favorite.  But I was still not feeling well and didn't want to waste such a delicious treat and decided we'd go in a few days when I felt better.  I don't remember being scared, but I wasn't feeling so calm either.

January 13, 2005 - I'm sitting at my desk working when my father stops in to pick up some hearing aid batteries (I worked for an ENT at the time).  My father never "just dropped by," so it was nice having him sitting at my desk chatting while he waited for the audiologist.  The phone rang and I saw that it was Dr. Ronaghan.  She asked me, "How are you doing?"  I responded with a chuckle, "I don't know - you tell me."  She said, "Well, you have breast cancer."  Time stopped still and a robot took over my body.  She said that I needed to come by and pick up paperwork to get started on scans, MRIs, more diagnostic testing, etc., and I said that I'd come right over.  I told my dad the diagnosis and he just held me in his arms and told me everything would be okay and that he would tell my mom.  I believe that God placed my dad in my office at that specific time to help me through the initial shock of it all.  I called Wade and told him what the doctor had said.  He dropped everything and met me at home and we held each other and just cried and cried.

Everything went quickly after that.  I had test after test after test, while maintaining as normal a workload as I could.  My employer was ready to replace me when I told him I had breast cancer, but I said that I was going to work through whatever was going to happen.  God softened his bleak response by providing me with more angels, my co-workers.  They hovered over me like a group of old hens watching over their chick (no offense ladies).  They shut my door to my office when someone came in with a cold or other contagious germ that could attack my weakened body.  They wore bandanas on the days I had chemotherapy.  They laughed and helped me straighten my wig when it became askew from me scratching my naked scalp.  They brought me meals and cards and lots of unconditional love and caring. 

God gave me many angels to lean on.  My hairstylist showed me her support by not charging me for the shorter haircuts right before it all fell out, and she would cut and style my wigs in an attempt to help me look my "normal" self.  I had friends who would drop by and see me and talk openly to me about what I was feeling.  They didn't run and hide.  They weren't afraid of me.  When someone doesn't know what to say, just being there is enough.  They would listen over and over to what I was going through; they would babysit me after treatments if Wade or mom had to be elsewhere; they dropped off little cards of encouragement, movies and magazines to occupy my many hours in bed.   My mother and friends put me on their church prayer lists and I received countless cards of encouragement and scripture to help me stay focused on recovery.  I could literally feel the power of people's prayers for my recovery and I knew God was listening.  Friends and neighbors set up a schedule of meals so that I didnít have to cook and Wade wouldn't starve;  Wade's golf buddies surrounded him with encouragement and support because cancer didn't happen to just me.  If affected my whole family.  My daughter was overwhelmed and withdrew into her own sorrow, while my son delved into the computer for understanding.  My husband, well... he stayed strong when he could, but the "C" word wasn't something he had planned on happening to us.  It would take time for him to deal with.  He showed me support and care, but was grieving for the loss of his marital expectations and the changes it was causing me to go through, physically and mentally.  He constantly told me, "It is what it is," and he was right.  You can't wish away cancer.  You can't ignore it, or you will die.  I had to stay focused on survival.   

I was going to beat this.  I used to be a control freak, but that changed the instant I was told I had cancer.  You have to "go with the flow," as they say.  Without faith, I could not have survived the surgery to remove a body part that identified me as a woman, the surgery to have a port put into my body for the chemo to flow through because it was so dangerous that it could blow my veins and eat my muscles and tissue, the tests to make sure my heart could withstand the chemo, the numerous dyes and injections and tests, bone marrow stimulating drugs that made me bedridden in pain, and pure exhaustion of trying to be "normal."

For whatever cancer took away from me, I received much more positive in return.  I had a true walk with God.  I could feel His strength surround me during the most difficult times.  He surrounded me with angels in many shapes and forms and I knew them and they knew me.  I felt the true love of friendship and compassion.  I grew closer to my Lord and Savior and if He so chooses to take me home, then Iím ready because this earthly life is nothing but a passing through to my real home in heaven.  I know that if I believe in His plan for me, then everything will be okay regardless of whether I am here on earth or not.  This journey made me stronger and more confident in myself than I would have ever been otherwise. 

In May of 2004, I wondered what my purpose would be after the nest was empty.  God showed me that my purpose is to live for Him and to let go of my own expectations and control for life because He already has it all planned out and itís better than anything I could have ever planned and controlled on my own.  He gave me opportunities to meet and talk to many "bosom buddies" and encourage them through my own story that there is hope and more to life than what you see here and now.  I've been able to encourage others to be responsible for their own bodies; that no one is ever too young to have cancer, and if you find a lump, find a doctor that will treat you; and if you are told that you are too young to have cancer, then find another doctor.  I've had the opportunity to lobby legislators in Austin and Washington, DC for breast cancer monies for research, and for treatment for the underinsured.  I've spoken to many groups about breast cancer, including sororities and have taught young women the importance of being aware of their bodies and changes, and to be responsible for their own wellbeing.  My husband has found a voice to help other co-survivors cope and accept their own fears and needs when a loved one is diagnosed with cancer.   I can honestly say that I don't regret having cancer because I'm a better person for having it and my life is more fulfilled than I could have ever imagined.   I passed the test!

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