All of humanity has everyday struggles and life is not easy. Add a diagnosis of cancer into the mix and you see the effects of personal, emotional, physical and spiritual upheaval.
Like an atom bomb, the effects are huge, sudden, devastating and long-lasting while being forever left with cleaning up the wreckage. Realistically, in present-day Canadian life, we do not even understand war. Do we fathom words like enemy, strategy, battleground? Take the time to step into a woman’s life who has had the cancer bomb go off, more than once.
Nicole Turgeon recalls the history of cancer on her father’s side of the family with her grandma Efford surviving breast cancer only for it to come back in her liver, from which she did not recover. Very recently, her dad’s brother suffered with prostate cancer. Having had no incidents of cancer on her mother’s side of the family, it was a shock with her mother’s diagnosis of breast cancer about 14 years ago.
Since then, a cousin’s son, an auntie and her daughter have all experienced cancer and then her sister’s recent battle with colorectal cancer that eventually spread to her liver, was a devastating blow. Her sister Shawna Englot put up a strong fight for seven years from her diagnosis in 2011 until she lost the battle in March 2018. Nicole shared tearfully the details of her sister’s ongoing struggles and the far-reaching effects. Turgeon recalls sorrowfully the funeral on March 24 and the feelings of deep grief cut far too short when in April, a month later, she found her lump. While suffering grief and loss, Nicole started the process to discover whether she had cancer. Her diagnosis, Invasive Ductal Carcinoma, left her in the doctor’s office in tears and she recalled the first words that came out of her mouth: “I can’t do this, I can’t do this again. I just lost her (Shawna) and I can’t.”
The diagnosis was just the beginning of the minefield Turgeon had to navigate in her mind and the hundreds of decisions she had to make that were ultimately her choice, but would affect the people closest to her, especially her husband and children. Her surgeon, who was the same woman who had done surgery on both her mom and sister, was very empathetic and helpful. Not only did she know all family history, but their relationship allowed the surgeon to encourage Nicole to make the decision based on her own peace of mind knowing that nothing she decided to do would be too much. “You can do this, Nicole. You can do this, and we will get through it together,” her surgeon reassured her.
She is the mom. She takes care of everyone, and they need her. She couldn’t give up. Crushing her heart was the biggest decision of all. How was she to tell her family? How do you break the news to a family still reeling from the pain of loss? Leon, her husband, was a there for her through all of the struggles as she cried for days with these crucial decisions. Leon by her side, the answers came from within herself and the courage to fight to get healthy erupted.
“I will do whatever it takes. I will do anything I need to do, as hard as it is going to be, because I need to get better,” she declared. “I got better for my family first and then me.”
Based on doctor recommendations, remembering all of Englot’s surgeries, feelings and emotions and figuring out what would be most healthy for her long term, Turgeon chose a double mastectomy with Dieppe surgery reconstruction. She describes the surgery as being horrendous and having healing issues afterward that made recovery long after 14-15 hours on the operating table. Turgeon recalled sleeping in a camping chair for six to seven weeks, feeling helpless and useless with self-care, and not even being able to lift her arms. Enlisting help with very personal care and changing dressings, the first actual shower came 44 days after surgery.
Without the help of her entire family, the battle from diagnosis on May 23 to surgery June 25 and the months following would have been impossible.
“I never went to an appointment alone,” she said. “My kids, my family were awesome!”
As she read from her journal, tears poured down at the fear, anger, self-doubt, weakness, anxiety and pain bubbled to the surface.
“I cannot tell my daughter to be strong if I don’t show her what strong is.”
Anguish filled her voice as she described how difficult it was to allow people to help her in so many ways, feeling like a burden or like she was overreacting with dying skin, cleaning sores, changing bandages, feeling so alone.
“It is very humbling when the roles are reversed and you have to accept help and are unable to give it,” she said softly.
With a deep breath she read, “I just want to say I’m sorry. I am sorry for being a pain. I am sorry for being sad when you are happy. I am sorry for being needy when you are tired at the end of the day. I get that I am a lot of work and I don’t mean to be, and I certainly don’t want to be. If I could change this and bring me back to being healthy I would. I just want to say I am sorry, and I love every little thing you guys do for me.”
The journal entries went on as she shared some of the crippling emotion that gripped her with this war going on inside of her. More than just a physical attack, cancer is a war against body, mind and spirit. Turgeon made it clear that every person fighting cancer has to go through all of the emotions, everyone has to deal with it in their own way.
Oncology social workers through the hospital, other women who have gone through the same surgery, anything that is available to work through the continuing struggles are essential to deal with questions of identity, cancer coming back, the acceptance and not living in fear.
Leaving us with encouragement and hope, Nicole wanted every woman to make the time to do the breast self-exam. The nurses and doctors were awed and thrilled that she would actually have caught this herself with a self-exam. They said they wished every woman would take the time and catch it early. Turgeon said, “I feel so blessed for how things went and how it could have been so much worse.”