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#1 May 16, 2001, marked almost seven years since my mother had died. About the time of my evening prayer, I knelt on our computer room floor. Though not my usual location for prayer, it became the very spot where one of the most dreaded words in the human language would enter our lives. It would also do so with its accustomed force and intrusiveness.
As I sought a comfortable position, I became keenly aware of how itchy I felt, as that spring I had become personally acquainted with the voracious appetite of Minnesota mosquitos. As the tips of my fingers began to scratch the left side of my upper body, I paused suddenly as I felt a hard lump at the 2:00 position on my left breast.
Though I was familiar with breast cysts, having had a mother who died of metastatic breast cancer awakened a more urgent concern within me. It was that concern that caused me to seek immediate medical attention. I underwent the recommend tests that included having my breasts pressed, squashed, prodded and plunged with a biopsy needle. This was then followed by Tom and me sweating it out as we awaited the test results.
#2 Not long after I prayed that prayer, the doctor called. He informed me by phone that the results of my test confirmed that the lump I had discovered was indeed breast cancer. It was called infiltrating ductal carcinoma. Although it was a common type of breast cancer, I was told that it was known to be aggressive.
As I lived with the shock of this new diagnosis, my quest for knowledge competed fiercely with the physical debility I was already experiencing. I gathered all the information I could find about breast cancer. Using books, articles and the internet I investigated both conventional and alternative therapies, familiarizing myself with their approaches and treatments. I also interviewed a few doctors with differing orientations by phone.
Time was of the essence, as the tumor seemed to taunt me with its ability to magnify itself and take possession of my very life and terminate it at the age of forty-five. It carried on with its taunting, as it then grew, enlarging its presence and territory within my breast. As it did, I continued to search, pray and pound on our shower stall walls sobbing uncontrollably, while Tom stood outside the bathroom feeling frustrated and helpless.
#3 Thankful for Tom’s help, I arrived for the second part of my planning session. Though in terrible pain, I did my best to maintain the required position on the treatment table, while my technicians took more measurements and photos. For the first time I was face to face with the radiation machine. I was looking right into the part of it that would deliver the rays that would hopefully bring death to my remaining breast cancer cells. It was a worn-faced and oppressive looking machine. In only a few days its power would come up against the strength and endurance I had within myself. I trusted that God would impart a sufficient amount of both to me over the next six to seven weeks.
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