LINDA THOMPSON
Survivor Since:
2003
Home Town:
Olton, TX
Age: 55
Occupation: Teacher/School Librarian
Family: Husband, Roger; 2 wonderful Cocker Spaniels (Aggie & Dewey)
Hobbies: Flower gardening, making stained glass projects, reading
     

"Today I am Blessed and Happy!"

'I just wanted everything to be normal again'

In the fall of 2002 around the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays, I found a lump in my left breast. I had noticed cysts before, but they were able to drain them so I thought I would wait until after the holidays to go to the doctor.  My doctor was not able to drain this new lump; they took a biopsy to see what the lump was.  On January 13th, 2003 I was told I had breast cancer, and with those words my life suddenly changed. 
     
      On January 15, my surgeon performed a lumpectomy.  At the end of that month, I was referred to the Joe Arrington Cancer Center, where I started seeing a new set of doctors that could give me more specific details about my breast cancer. They told me I was stage three, ER positive (Estrogen Receptor positive, meaning that estrogen was causing the tumor to grow) and HER2 positive (Human Epidermal growth factor Receptor 2, meaning that my form of breast cancer was aggressive and spreading quickly).  I would be given 8 rounds of chemo and 7 weeks of radiation to hopefully get rid of my breast cancer.  Toward the end of February 2003 I started my first of four rounds of Adrimyicin and Cytoxin, types of chemo.  Here, it all began to happen; the hair falling out, the nausea, the throwing up, the feeling bad, and being tired all the time.  During my fourth round of chemo, I even couldn't stop crying the entire time.
     
      I agreed to go on a clinical trial where I would be given both Herceptin and Taxol. Taxol was strictly another type of chemo drug, but Herceptin was a new therapy for breast cancer patients whose tumors have too much HER2 protein (Herceptin is considered adjuvant therapy, not chemotherapy).  The clinical trial I agreed to go on included me taking weekly injections of Herceptin for a year.  In addition to these injections, the Taxol was causing me to have joint pain and neuropathy so bad that I could barely walk, including shooting pains in my legs and arms.  I would be sitting and suddenly shooting pains would start. It was like I was being stabbed.
     
      One week before my last Taxol I went in for my weekly Herceptin treatment.  The nurses could not access my port. I finally was told that my port was broken and I was referred to my surgeon so I could get a new one.  This not only scared me, but also did not sit well with me because I thought my treatments would be delayed.  Herceptin wasnít the problem; it was the Taxol I wanted over with.  I was tired of doctors and hospitals; I wanted my life back, I wanted to feel better, I wanted to be able to walk without pain, basically I just wanted everything to be normal again.  After my surgeon put in the first port he leaned over and told me I did a good job.  I told him that he did a good job too; I joked that I never heard one "oops."  When my surgeon went in to replace the broken port I heard an "uhh ohh," one word I never want to hear in a surgery room.  I replied, "what do you mean uhh ohh!"  He asked me if I had been feeling any pain.  I told him, "I'm taking Taxol, I'm always in pain!"  He then asked me if I had a cardiologist because he now knew why they were unable to access my port.  The tube that was part of the port and went into my artery had broken off and had worked its way into my heart. He went to find a cardiologist. Back in my room my husband and I were told they would have to go through my femoral artery and try to retrieve the tubing and pull it out.  When I asked what would happen if he couldn't get it, the cardiologist said they would have to perform open-heart surgery. Luckily, I didn't have to have open-heart surgery; they were able to retrieve it.  I took the tube as a souvenir, which happened to be four inch long curly Q tube in my heart.
     
     

      Thankfully, my Taxol treatment ended on time and I finished up chemo the first of August.  When I started radiation they said what they would do to me was a piece of cake compared happened to me during chemo.  They were right.   I finished radiation the last of October 2003 with very minor problems.  By the end of radiation, my hair was slowly coming back so I thought it would be appropriate to be GI Jane for Halloween that year!

      Cancer doesn't discriminate. It will pick on anyone, any age, any race.  Once while I was taking my weekly infusion of Herceptin there was a young girl sitting in the next chair.  She was surrounded a couple of friends and her mother.  She wondered out loud when she would be loosing her eyelashes and eyebrows.  I told her when I lost mine.  Her mother came over to me a few minutes later and we started talking.  I asked about her daughter and she told me she was 22 years old and had just been diagnosed with breast cancer. I had turned 50 during chemo.  Right then I thought I didnít have anything to complain about or have a right to feel sorry for myself. 
     
      I knew about Komen before I had cancer.  I had seen pictures of the Race, I knew women who were survivors and thought that I would like to attend the race someday.
     
      My first Race for the Cure was in 2003.
     
      I don't want anyone to go through what I did. In someway or the other we have all been touched by breast cancer. It may be your mother, sister, aunt, friend, or friend of a friend.  With Komen for the Cure leading the way hopefully less and less people will have to go through what I went through. 
      
      After my surgery, my surgeon sat on my hospital bed and told me that 100 years from now they would be treating cancer like a minor illness.  I told him I didnít have that long.  I believe that sometimes God whispers in your ear and if you donít listen then sometimes he slaps you on the back of the head. My whispers were the cysts, knowing people who had breast cancer, and hearing about the race. I ignored my whispers.  Cancer was my slap on the back of the head.   Komen for the Cure has a vision of a world without breast cancer.  With Komen for the Cure, the Race for the Cure, and volunteers who help make it all possible, this vision can become a reality.
      

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