my body, my mind, my soul, my inner voice
by laura hankins

Eureka! At last I’ve found a forum in which to speak about my breast cancer experience. And the peasants rejoiced! At least the female peasants.

Two years ago, in a routine check-up, my doctor (Susan Peterson) found a lump in my breast (thank you, Susan!). A mammogram and fine needle biopsy ensued within a few days. Yes – it looked like cancer. Surgery was scheduled within two weeks. My mother, sister and brother came from far and wide – as well as all my children. I was 48 at the time.

While I went into the surgery feeling certain that it was indeed malignant, there was a still small voice in the back of my head saying, “Maybe not. Maybe you’re just faking it and they’ll find you out!”

I knew that when the tumor was examined while I was still under the anesthesia, that if it was confirmed as cancerous some lymph nodes would be removed. If, however, it was benign, no further slashing would be needed.

So – I woke in recovery. And for some reason to my extreme shock – I felt pain under my arm. It was true then. I had cancer! It didn’t seem possible to me. I was so young
(well. . .). I think what I must have imagined was waking to hear the nurses say, “Mrs. Hankins. You don’t have cancer! For heaven’s sake. Stop exaggerating these kinds of minor ailments! Now get up and don’t let us hear from you again!”

But no. It was Stage II breast cancer. The medical experts began to scramble. I needed to have chemo, they said. I needed to go ahead and schedule it. I needed radiation. I needed to schedule that. I needed Tamoxifen. No discussion. The next two weeks I spent going from specialist to specialist.

But in between doctor visits, I began to read. I mean, I READ. Every book and article I could find. I did statistical research on the Internet. I compiled a stack of information that was worthy of respect.

The day after my surgery, I must mention, I received a call from the surgeon. He said everything looked fine, no spread to the lymph nodes – but my margins weren’t good. Some cancer cells were found right up to the margin of the tissue that was excised. So – he recommended further surgery to remove any possible cells beyond the tumor. It was a month to the day that I had my second surgery – a wider excision. I told my husband that I was definitely NOT happy. I mean, it wasn’t like I had a lot of extra tissue to spare, if you get my drift. But indeed, some cancer cells were found during the second surgery.

I had concerns about what chemo would do to my body. I had read about radiation toxicity. And I had learned enough to know that Tamoxifen could throw me into premature menopause. I was wary.

I continued my research. I learned that every cancer is different. The size, whether or not it has spread to lymph nodes, your age – and other factors make up the unique equation that is your own cancer experience. I’ve heard women say, “I know if I ever had breast cancer that I’d have a mastectomy!” But what statistics showed me was that the mortality rate was no different between someone who had a lumpectomy plus radiation and a mastectomy.

So I continued to question – everything. I realized each case was individual. That no informed person should make a blanket statement about what they would do. It should depend on each case.

A friend who had recently been diagnosed with breast cancer called me and invited me to a cancer support group. I was touched by her kindness, especially since no medical person gave me any information about such groups. I went to the group expecting to find other women with questions, with diverse experiences. But I was surprised at what I found in this group. Every person in the group that night either had taken chemo or was taking it then. Every person was also doing radiation. And most of the discussion that night was about Tamoxifen and other such drugs. Several of the women were in clinical studies, others were taking it or planning to because it was recommended as protocol for cancer. But as I heard each scenario, I became confused. Why was everyone doing similar treatments? I was new to the cancer scene, but I’d already read enough to know how individual each case was.
I became alarmed that night. The ethos of this group was one of complete and utter support of all the recommended drugs in the cancer protocol. Several of the women expressed great gratitude for their doctors, for the drugs, and for how their lives were saved. I sat there looking at these beautiful women, many wearing scarves on their heads due to hair loss. Several leaving the room from time to time due to Tamoxifen-induced hot flashes. One woman had cracked ribs as a result of radiation. These were sick women – their treatments were making them sick!

Since I was new to the group, I asked a couple of questions about the regimens they were following in light of my statistical findings, but what I heard was, “Oh, I don’t know about all that. I have learned to completely trust my doctor. You need to learn that too. They are the experts.”

Yes, thought I, but WE ARE THE PATIENTS. I dropped out of this support group. I discovered that not all groups were like this one. There were others more suited to my own needs and questioning approach. I began to go my own way, armed with my books, stacks of statistics, and my inner voice.

That’s what seemed to be silenced in some cancer patients I met – their own inner voice. The medical establishment speaks so loudly that it can be hard to hear—especially in the wake of the trauma of malignant tumors.

The chemo doctor called me. Was I ready to start? No. The radiation doctor called. “It’s time to go ahead with radiation since you’re not doing chemo,” she said matter of factly. No, said I. My surgeon was ready to at least prescribe the Tamoxifen for me. Absolutely not, I replied. The doctors urged me to reconsider. They told me what they were convinced was best for me. But I had another path to follow.

I looked into alternative treatments – herbs, vegetables, acupuncture. I even experimented with most of these. I have nothing against them. In fact, when friends and family learned I was not going the traditional route, I began to get calls and mail recommending alternative routes. I looked at all of them. Then I listened to my inner voice.

I decided to rest my body. I decided to change my diet somewhat, more fresh fruits and vegetables, less fat and carbs. I would eat sensibly. I would stop worrying. I would, simply, rest. My body. My mind. My soul. I had thrown myself into the fray with surgery and research. Now, after several months, I was ready to pull back and let my body heal itself.

It’s been two years, as I said. My very frequent check ups (you know, they must watch me closely now since I am such a rebellious patient!) have all been fine. I seem to be healthy. I had a scare in the fall when some spots showed up on an x-ray of my spine. The doctors fretted, but I didn’t. I felt it wasn’t serious. The MRI confirmed my own inner voice. No metastasis.

I consider what the medical community has to offer, yes. I do the research about my own particular case., then I can make informed decisions relying on the combination of research, medical advice, and my own inner voice. I don’t criticize anyone for the route they choose, but what worries me is that so many are choosing routes without thorough investigation.

Even when we do the research, it is not always clear which way to go. I wish that I had not allowed my lymph nodes to be removed. I have permanent numbness in that area now. My surgery occurred so quickly after diagnosis that I had not had time to do the amount of research I needed to make an informed decision about node extraction.
I like my doctors. I am grateful that my life has been saved by what they found and did. But I am also grateful that I made the decisions about my treatment. We don’t have to be doctors to think for ourselves.

And we can listen to our bodies. They may have something important to say to us.

Laura Hankins works in higher education. She is married, has four children, and is working on a novel.