Hope by Heather Von St James

I was recently contacted by Heather Von St James who is a survivor of malignant pleural mesothelioma about doing a guest post.  I didn't hesitate to accept because in my family we have been touched by cancer.  In 2002 I lost my Great Aunt Mary a very intelligent, caring, and compassionate woman who was a crusader in Newark, NJ for literacy in inner city schools.  In 2005,  my grandfather passed after being told that the cancer  in his throat had spread throughout his body and that he had six months to live.  I miss both of them and would not wish the pain they had to go on any.

I also know what it is like to get a scary diagnosis.  When I was in 8th grade I was having problems with swelling and severe pain in my left knee.  My parents took me to the orthopedic who sent me for x-rays which showed a large mass on my knee.  I remember the doctor taking my parents into the hallway and talking to them and being very angry that she didn't respect me enough to discuss whatever the problem was in front of me.  I mean it was my body, my knee not theirs.  I remember them coming back into the room and the doctor telling me the x-ray looked like I had a tumor on my knee and that I would need further testing to tell if it was cancerous.  I remember that she said that I if it was cancerous I would most likely loose my leg from the knee down and that I would have to go through chemo and radiation but before a course of treatment would be taken I had to get an MRI.

I remember leaving the doctor's office at first thinking I can't have surgery my middle school graduation was only a month away and that there was no way that I was going to walk down the aisle on crutches.  By the time we had made the hour long trip home it finally hit me.  They thought I had a tumor and that I could loose my leg or worse I could die.  Suddenly graduation was no longer a concern.  I had the MRI done the following week and went back to the doctor.  I don't know who was more of a nervous wreck, me or my parents.  My parents had already had to worry about loosing me when I was born and then with my brother when he almost died of spinal meningitis beta strep when he was 6 weeks old.  Thankfully the MRI showed a better picture than the x-ray and showed that what I had was not a tumor but that I was growing so fast that my bones were having trouble keeping up with me.  I had little holes in the that would fill in by the time I finished growing.  Reading Heather's post brought all of this back and has made me rethink some of my hopes.

Heather thank you for giving me the opportunity to assist you and if you are ever in Southern Maryland let me know and the coffee is on me.

How to Celebrate Hope
Heather Von St James

Finding out you have cancer is not an experience that most people would celebrate, and I was no exception. It seemed particularly unfair that the diagnosis came just three and a half months after the birth of my precious daughter. This was my first child. It should have been a time of great fun and delight.

Instead of congratulations, I was presented with the devastating diagnosis of malignant pleural mesothelioma on November 25, 2005. This is an extremely aggressive cancer with a dismal survival rate. Why me? Why now? Then it hit me: why not me? When would be a good time?

I decided not to give in to despair, but to meet this disease head-on. I had a beautiful daughter to bring up. I wanted to be there for her first day of kindergarten and her final day of high school. I wanted to witness her walk down the aisle on her wedding day. I wanted to rejoice with her on the birth of her own children. I wanted to be there to cheer her on through good times and bad.

I had to beat this cancer in order to do that. I had to keep hope alive and well and fighting for me every minute of every day. This started with a referral to a leading mesothelioma doctor who started the process of replacing terror and despair with hope.

Along with hope, I turned to laughter. The day of my surgery happened to be Ground Hog’s Day. What better name for the tumor than Punxsutawney Phil? This was one groundhog that should never see his shadow! We began to celebrate Groundhogs Day, renaming it Lungleaving Day. That was the day my diseased left lung was removed. It left, taking with it the tumor. Good riddance. Don’t look back. It has been a long road, but each day is celebrated as a victory. We laugh a lot at our house. We love a lot, too.

Along the way I have met so many courageous and delightful individuals. I wouldn’t have known these new friends if I hadn’t received that diagnosis, awful as it seemed then. I’ve dedicated my life to celebrating hope, for me, for all other cancer survivors, and for all other people who’ve been diagnosed with this disease. Hope for the patients and their families, husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, cousins, uncles and aunts. Hope for all of my new friends. Hope for myself, and most especially, hope for my little girl.

My life has a new sense of purpose and fulfillment. I want to help others who face this diagnosis and work toward recovery. Laughter rings through the house on a regular basis. On that day years ago, I could not have guessed the joys that would come to us because we are in this fight. Hope is a rare and precious gift. It’s also free to anyone who needs it. You just have to reach out to the person next to you, give a smile or a hug, welcome the new day with thankfulness, and have a laugh ready for tough moments. Laughter and tears and the hugs of loved ones get you through the days.