Two Women

I received some really distressing news yesterday..

A friend of mine, who is also the mother of one of Spencer's former classmates, sent out an email telling friends that her breast cancer had returned, this time to her spine. She has had surgery on her vertibrae, and had rods inserted to stabilize it.

She had been diagnosed in early 2007, after her first mammogram, at age 49, revealed multiple lumps, requiring a double mastectomy and removal of lymph nodes, plus chemotherapy.

This is a lovely person who takes care of herself, who eats properly, who gets exercise, who doesn't smoke. A smart lady who likes to read (we have been in a bookclub together) and has deep, kind blue eyes.

At the time she was initially diagnosed, the mothers of two other of Spencer's classmates also were undergoing cancer treatment, again for breast cancer. Interestingly enough, the statistic for breast cancer occurrence is one in eight. There were 24 children in Spencer's class. Three out of 24, or one in eight, received the diagnosis.

It was both sobering and inspiring to see these women go about their lives, coming to school events, wearing head scarves to cover hair loss, and sometimes just forgoing the scarves. The school community closed rank around them, creating a circle of caring to provide meals, transportation, prayers and good wishes as they battled the disease.

As far as I know, this is the first recurrence among this group.

My friend is continuing to fight this disease with strength and spirit, and has loving family and friends backing her up.

Years ago, after Spencer had started preschool, I decided to go back to work. I had been a computer consultant, but four years out of the workplace made me feel somewhat rusty and useless. A recruiter with whom I had worked for years called; she had started her own consulting company and was looking to place me.

Denise had called me faithfully every six months since Spencer's birth, asking if I was ready to go back to work. I always felt that if anyone could get me a job, she could. She was a little older than I, a strong woman with a can-do attitude and the will to use it.

I received Denise's call in August, and said yes, I am ready. She went about looking for a contract for me, and in late fall the call came, from her partner Mary Beth, to go on an interview. I was hired a few days before Christmas, to start in January.

In the mail I received an invitation to Denise's company's holiday party, which actually happened after Christmas. Norm and I dressed to the nines and went to the party, held in a posh Philadelphia location. We stood near the top of a large staircase, chatting with Mary Beth. She told us that Denise would be coming to the party.

I must have looked confused, because it was Denise's company, after all; why wouldn't she come? Mary Beth looked at me keenly and said, "Did you know that Denise is sick? Very sick?" I am sure that my face blanched as she said this, because she continued quickly, "Denise was diagnosed with breast cancer two years ago. It was in remission but has returned, to her bone and liver."

"She got married two weeks ago."

As Mary Beth told me, I felt my eyes well up. How was this possible? Denise with her no nonsense, enthusiatic, take-charge personality?

Meanwhile, Denise was coming up the steps. Immediately after I had absorbed this information, her husband pushed her wheelchair up the top step and onto the atrium where we stood.

She was clearly dying. I ran to her and babbled something about how great it was to see her. She looked at me and said, "Gee, I really like your hair". Then her husband wheeled her away.

Denise died two weeks later. She was 43.

I like to remember her as she was at a Christmas party past, in a slinky dress, with her shiny black hair and an amused gleam in her green eyes, puffing on a big cigar.

To all the women over 40 out there, my message is simple. Get a mammogram.