CityView Magazine

"It will never happen to me,"or, “What are the chances?” It’s the mantra of self-preservation: “Bad things happen to other people, right?” The fact is, no one is immune to breast cancer. It could happen to your mother, your sister, your friend…it could happen to you. This is a story of four women who are survivors of breast cancer. This is their story, how they have faced great challenges and triumphed.

Story by Kathryn Gage
Photos: Leah Bullard for Waldorf Photographic Art


Geological Engineer
Melissa Thornton, age 29
Diagnosed in her 20s   //   Breast Cancer Survival

"I had a big party when I hit the one-year mark after  treatment—I love any excuse to have a party! I’m hiking, camping, having fun; I never really stopped, I just slowed down a bit."


At 27, I was never sick --- I never even caught colds. But, after finishing school and earning bachelors and masters degrees in geology, I decided to schedule a routine physical with a primary care physician. My doctor was somewhat concerned by my medical history because my aunt had been diagnosed with breast cancer at 30, and lost her life to ovarian cancer diagnosed at 40. After performing a clinical exam, the doctor found nothing abnormal, but recommended that I begin doing regular self-breast exams. A few weeks later, I did my first exam, and felt a small pea-sized mass under the skin. Surely I was imagining this, I thought. I pushed it from my mind, but after a couple of weeks had passed and it was still there, I made an appointment. My doctor didn’t seem alarmed, saying “It feels like a cyst,” but scheduled a mammogram and ultrasound to be sure. The tests confirmed its presence, so an aspiration was scheduled. The aspiration was an attempt to drain the cyst, but when no fluid was present, a needle biopsy was performed. This was on a Friday. It’s funny how I have lived 29 years and have done a lot of cool things over that time, but no day, or time in my life, stands out with such clarity as this one. On Tuesday, I was called back under the pretense of “checking the (tiny) incision” from the biopsy, but when I was led to a room with couches in it, I had an inkling there could be more to this appointment. I was told that I had breast cancer. My mom was with me; I recall how she squeezed my shoulders with an uncomfortably firm grasp. Then I cried.

I immediately went into fight mode. I tested positive for a genetic mutation (BRCA 1) placing me at high risk for not only breast cancer, but also ovarian cancer. I already had a grade 3 tumor in my left breast. Grade 3 meant it was the most aggressive type, and triple negative meant that it would be unresponsive to some treatments. Through consultations with doctors at UT Medical and Duke University, I determined the best option for me was chemotherapy followed by a bi-lateral mastectomy with reconstruction. It’s crazy how one day you are normal, and the next your head is filled with this insane new terminology; a crash course in cancer, but there’s no pass or fail grade, it’s your LIFE.
   
I lost my hair, but I’ve always been a “hat girl,” so I mostly wore hats and scarves rather than a wig. The fatigue resulting from chemo was cumulative—I started out feeling pretty well, but by the end of the treatment cycle I was exhausted. Looking back at my treatments, including surgery, I realize how lucky I was in receiving really good care and experiencing no complications.
   
I met four girls through a support group. We were all diagnosed really young and were just finishing up treatment when we met. They are my best friends now, and not just because we all had cancer; we have so much more in common. We call ourselves the “boob squad.”  It’s great being with other survivors because we speak the same language.
I couldn’t have gotten through this without family --- my mom rocks! She learned that she also carries the gene, and has since had a complete hysterectomy and will have a prophylactic bi-lateral mastectomy later this year. Now that my treatment is complete, my hair is back, and my body is back.  It’s tempting to say, “I’m cured;” but the truth is I’m always knocking on wood. It’s only now that I can clearly assess what I’ve been through. Cancer sucks, but I know now that it’s doable. My advice to women diagnosed at any age is, “Be your own advocate. Ask questions. And if you don’t like your doctor, fire them and find one you love. It’s your life, your choice.”
   
I had a big party when I hit the one-year mark after treatment—I love any excuse to have a party! I’m hiking, camping, and having fun; I never really stopped, I just slowed down a bit. It’s hard to pinpoint how cancer has changed me.  I guess there’s this new pressure to be “in the moment,” but I’ve always been pretty aware that in life we have nothing to lose, so we should just live. I still feel super healthy—I’m good to go.



Cityview Sales and Marketing Manager
Kim Olen, age 42
Diagnosed in her 30s    //   Breast Cancer Survival

"I kept repeating the same words in my mind; Now what? Now what?  I called my husband who came home immediately. I was upfront from the start with my girls, telling them what we were up against. That night our family held hands and prayed."

In June 2004, Kim was 36 years old and working as the Director of Marketing for a large health care facility in Grand Rapids,  Michigan.  Her work gave her the opportunity to become close friends and colleagues with several health care professionals and physicians.  During a routine meeting with the new Department of Radiology, someone suggested that Kim have a screening mammogram.  Believing she was too young to worry about breast cancer, and having no family history of the disease, she was slow to agree but finally relented. She was shocked to learn that her very first mammogram was “suspicious,” but was assured more times than she could count, “It’s probably nothing.”  As Kim shares her story, she struggles to find words that adequately express her feelings:
   
The initial screening mammogram had detected tiny specks, so a diagnostic mammogram was ordered. This confirmed the first reading, and a stereotactic breast biopsy was scheduled. I was asked to lie face down on a table, with my breast positioned through a circular opening. The elevated surface allowed access from underneath to obtain the tissue sample.  Having convinced myself that this was simply a precautionary measure, I recall joking with the doctor, “I feel like a car having its oil changed.”
   
I didn’t anticipate how sore I would be after the biopsy, and I continued to cling to those words: “It’s probably nothing.” The wait for the results seemed endless. We were at home, my girls (ages 8 & 9) were outside playing, and my phone rang.  My doctor, whose office was in the health facility where I worked, had agreed to give me the results in person, yet he called.  He said, “I didn’t want you to risk the drive home after I tell you your result.” I felt fear rising into my throat. As I hung up the phone, I immediately started sobbing.  I will never forget the emotion and shock that had consumed me. I had breast cancer.
   
I kept repeating the same words in my mind, “Now what? Now what?”  I called my husband, and I was upfront from the start with my girls, telling them what we were up against. That night, our family held hands and prayed.  The girls’ only question was, “Mommy, are you going to live?” Now I had to figure out what my options were.   I learned quickly that with breast cancer there is no “one-size-fits-all” treatment plan. I was informed of my many “personal choices.”  I hoped someone would tell me what to do and help it all make sense.  I stayed up nights reading and researching, desperately wanting to make the right choices, pick the right doctors, the best hospital, and LIVE.

I first met with a general surgeon, then a plastic surgeon. My options included a lumpectomy with 6 weeks of radiation, or mastectomy with or without reconstruction.  Dependent upon whether or not the cancer had spread to my lymph nodes would determine if chemotherapy was also necessary. Overwhelmed by the opinions of family, friends, and medical professionals, I was still unsure what to do.  Finally, I spoke with my father-in-law, also a physician and someone I trust implicitly. He also said it was my choice, but seemed to lean toward a mastectomy. I left that night knowing what “personal choice” I would opt for.  

The eight-hour surgery was scheduled for June 14, 2004.  I chose unilateral mastectomy with reconstruction using a tram-flap procedure. After the surgery, I felt as if a bus had hit me, and after a five-day hospital stay, I was able to go home.  I learned that the sentinel node biopsy was negative and that I would not need chemotherapy.  Now, all I had to do was recover: no vacuuming, no lifting, no stairs, no driving. (One day, I pulled stitches attempting to sit down and was readmitted to the hospital for another four days.) The support system that I had was amazing.  Yes, the dinners, flowers, and cards were wonderful, but what I remember most is the kindness of those who picked up my girls for a movie, ice cream, or a day at the beach (it was, after all, their summer vacation). I also learned that my husband of 10 years (now 15) could step up to the plate when I needed him most. He managed the house, the kids, my medicine, and even told me I looked cute with “bedhead.”

Not up to face-to-face conversations, I found that email was the best way to communicate with friends.  If I was feeling low, they didn’t have to see that. I realized my girls needed their friends just like I needed mine. It was also difficult not being able to hug my daughters. Yes, I could do the “pat- pat hug,” but not a REAL crazy tight hug.  They understood, but for me, that hug was all I wanted and needed.

I returned to work in September of 2004, but in December my husband was offered a job in Knoxville, TN. Now in Knoxville, I schedule annual mammograms at either Thompson or KCBC. I was fortunate to discover Dr. Tom Gallaher, who performed additional corrective surgery in April. I finally feel comfortable with my body again. My girls are teens now, and when we have REAL hug time, I always say, “There is nothing better in the whole wide world than this.”   Best of all, I no longer worry about growing old.  Now, instead of dreading birthdays, I proclaim, “Bring it on – and don’t forget the chocolate cake!”



Mother of Three
Stephanie Green, age 42
Diagnosed in her 40s   //  Breast Cancer Survival

The hardest thing has been fear in regard to my three boys (ages 13, 11 and 9). God gave them to me to raise and I need to be here to do that.

I was diagnosed at 41. I lost my mom to breast cancer, so I had been proactive and had undergone regular mammograms since the age of 35. My appointment in the year of my 41st birthday was scheduled just one day before Thanksgiving. I considered rescheduling so I could prepare for the holiday, but God seemed to say “Stephanie, go.” Unlike my previous appointments, digital mammography was now available, and the imaging was incredibly clear. There was something there: a mass, shining as brightly as a star. Over the holiday, I looked at my family gathered before me, and realized how many gifts I had been given. I had so much to be thankful for; my list went on and on. That Monday, after a biopsy, I learned I had cancer. My doctor felt that a lumpectomy would be a sufficient form of treatment, but given my history, I felt strongly about a bilateral mastectomy.

I have an amazing support group in my family, my church, and a tremendous faith in God. After seeking the opinions of all through fellowship and prayer, I felt confident in my decision. After discussing treatment with a plastic surgeon, my fear about the “tearing apart” of my body was replaced with hope about reconstruction. I would feel like a woman again. I also had my dear friend Kate by my side, who has become a sort of surrogate mom to me. She went to every appointment with me and has been an amazing support and comfort.

Anti-nausea medication after chemo is wonderful. It made the treatment much more tolerable than I’d anticipated, even though it made me forgetful. Losing my hair was really tough. I had always had long hair, and now I had none; I cried at the reflection of myself in the mirror. But, my wig was fun -- I chose one with more red than my natural color, and it had cute bangs. It held curl and it made me feel good. Caring Bridge (http://www.caringbridge.org) has also been a great source of solace. I am able to keep friends and family up-to-date, and they have given me so much encouragement through the site.

The hardest thing has been fear in regard to my three boys (ages 13, 11 and 9). God gave them to me to raise, and I need to be here to do that. I need to be a partner to my husband, too. But I am strengthened by my faith, and I have learned to be still and listen to God. I feel I have a purpose here. My cancer had not spread to my lymph nodes, so my chemotherapy was shortened to four treatments (from the eight that were originally planned). In May, my hair started to grow back. Now, I say that there is no such thing as a bad hair day, because simply having some makes for a great hair day! My reconstruction was complete by August; I had implants, and I love how they have restored my feminine shape. I love also encouraging others, and loving them through this illness. It is great to be on this side now, with no more surgeries in sight. My relationship with God is stronger than ever and I’m looking forward to living my life and loving my family to the fullest.


Executive Director, Susan G. Komen For The Cure, Knoxville Affiliate
Jane Brannon, age 51
Diagnosed in her 50s   //   Breast Cancer Survival

"I have lived to see my son mature, I will know my grandchildren. And I am here to help other women journey down this path."

In January of 2001 I was experiencing pain in my breast, which had worsened over a couple of weeks. I went to my regular annual mammogram/ultrasound appointment scheduled for 8am on a Friday. By 1pm I had undergone a stereotactic biopsy and by Tuesday I knew I had cancer. It was a completely surreal experience. My first thought was “I am going to die.” I lost my father to brain cancer, my aunt to breast cancer, and another aunt to tongue cancer. Cancer and I didn’t have a great history.
I made an appointment with with a well-respected surgical oncologist, and the journey began.

My husband and I decided on a modified radical mastectomy and scheduled surgery to remove the left breast. During the procedure, my right breast was biopsied and cancer was discovered there as well; three weeks later that breast was removed. Next I began a 6 month course of chemo; I lost my hair 14 days later. Oh, how I hated those wigs. They were itchy and synthetic, and twice I melted parts of them when I opened the door of my hot wall oven. I had a hard time looking in the mirror, and never a whiner, I was surprised to find myself asking “why me?” During that time I felt really sad. I used to say that chemo was how you feel the morning after a party you weren’t invited to.

My husband and son really rallied. Though both were profoundly affected and afraid, they tried not to show it. My son, who was traveling with his college basketball team during much of my treatment, sent me an index card nearly every day, from wherever he was, with words of love and encouragement. After 5 years I had my reconstruction surgery, and now I feel whole again. I became involved with Susan G. Komen for the Cure, serving on the Board of Directors and am now the Executive Director for the Knoxville Affiliate. I think it helps women undergoing treatment to know that I truly understand what they are going through; it is a sisterhood, a bond. We are so incredibly blessed in Knoxville to have the very best treatment available to us; several cancer centers in a city our size is remarkable, and so many brilliant minds. We have come so far; and there is hope that even before a “cure”, breast cancer will become a chronic but treatable disease. I admit I felt angry for a time, but now I realize that life is uncertain for all of us, so we should focus on living a good one. I am back full force and am doing just that. I have lived to see my son mature, I will know my grandchildren. And I am here to help other women journey down this path.


Susan G. Komen
Race for the Cure
World’s Fair Park, Knoxville, TN
October 11, 2008
Register race morning at 6:30 am
Race Starts at 8:30 am