|
|
 |
|
...21 YEARS LATER
|
In 1985, when Ann Jillian was diagnosed with cancer, my wife and I lived just a few blocks away in Sherman Oaks, CA. Though we knew each other only professionally--I was then a TV columnist--I knew Ann to be a warm and caring young woman, not just another self-absorbed Hollywood star. I remember clearly that I broke down and cried when I heard the grim news about her. But the courage she displayed through her ordeal and the determination she showed in refusing to let her illness depress her ever-buoyant spirit convinced me she is and always will be a truly remarkable woman--a role model at a time when genuine role models seem to grow more scarce each year. My colleagues at TheColumnists.com and I are proud to be able to bring her columns to the public--and especially this one, written from the bottom of her heart, in the hope that it will help others who may face what she had to face in 1985.
|
Looking back at an ordeal
that changed her life
of TheColumnists.com
My name is Ann
Jillian. I am a breast cancer survivor. I have been blessed with
a second chance at life.
On April 12, 1985--a date I consider my second birthday--I underwent a five hour mastectomy surgery at Cedars of Sinai Hospital in Los Angeles, California. A nervous and prayerful family kept vigil in the waiting room for any news of my condition. My future was, as yet, uncertain...
Tweny-one years have come and gone since I heard the words, “...this is a cancer situation...” Twenty-one years that, sometimes, feel “double” that, and other times, not quite 21 minutes. With abiding faith and gratitude I have lived every second of them. Years filled with challenge, sorrow, deep love and great joy. It has been a time of exuberant celebration and profound learning.
Time can gently smooth the harsh edge of the undesirable diagnosis, but it cannot dull the “awe” that will forever engulf my senses whenever I seriously consider cancer’s occurence in my life. I endured much to reach the desired prize of being “cancer free,” and from the moment of my highly publicized surgery to the present, I have been ever-mindful of the gift of each day and, “living my reward”...
As anyone whose life has been affected
by cancer knows, it is a family affair. My husband, Andy, a former
Chicago police sergeant, was the first to know in my immediate
family. He reacted as he would have in any life-threatening situation;
directly and aggressively. “You ain’t goin nowhere,
nobody quits the mob!” His humorous efforts to lift the
heavy load I was carrying had an underlying serious and determined
promise. His resolve was tempered by a loving hug of my head
and,”Poor kid, what a lousy break.”
Quietly, we cried in each other’s arms... There is great
healing in a shared tear.
As the days progressed we continued to share in love, prayers,
hopes and fears. Communication was a must with each other and
my doctors. Regular tests and doctor’s visits were a must
And my husband was there with me, every step of the way.
Our faith was the foundation upon which we would build our strength. It reminded us that no one is assured of the following day, but we are assured of our Lord’s love and help to persevere, whatever the hardship.
In the living room of my home, my elderly mother, looked lovingly and earnestly into my eyes and promised,”...I survived, so will you!” She was my flagship.
Former first lady, Betty Ford, the first to publicly speak out about her own battle with breast cancer, called my hospital room the night before my surgery to say, “...It’s o.k. to cry, but not for too long...”
From a secluded convent and infirmary in Brentwood, New York, a sweet nun, Sister Anna Lawrence, wrote, “...God chooses His teachers in strange ways...” Sister Anna knew what she was saying. Years before she had mysteriously lost her eyesight and just as mysteriously regained it after she had sucessfully mastered Braille. This resulted in her decision to teach it to others.
“You were born to live, and you must live and preserve your life the best way you know how,” my father urged, “ if it doesn’t belong in you, get it out!” Old country common sense.
These wise and encouraging words, from inspirational people, all of whom had faced their own challenges, have served as a compass, guiding me until my own feet felt more confident on the road to my normal life. Like “loving nudges” in the directions that would best facilitate healthy, overall recovery leading to survival (“Survival” meaning not exclusively “life,” but”growth,” as well). And while it’s possible to make the steps through to “survival” alone, it’s infinitely easier with the reassurance of those who have “been there.”
To this day, I continue to receive and exchange support from various sources. Through the mail, from women who approach me on the street, in malls, at my lecture programs,.and always from my family and faith.
The message I formulated from this host of empathatic support was, “Accept, adjust, and move forward.” I found this deduction made so much sense for the process of recovery.
Acceptance cleared the way for adjustment. It was, by no means, to be mistaken for “giving up!” Rather, it was recognition and acknowledgement of what had happened, allowing focus on appropriate treatment and the task of getting well.
Adjustment covered a wide area! From the process of regaining the range of movement in my arms, to my wardrobe, to dealing with the personal and professional perceptions of others, real or imagined, and, of course, coming face to face with my mortality.
Some of these were easy enough, requiring only a heightened determination to succeed, like the exercise for my arms. Some, an admitted annoyance, like the selection of new styles of clothing to accomodate my new needs.
Others were of a more emotional nature, such as the affects it would have on my relationship with my husband. I soon found that our “bottom line” (as we came to call it) was solid and this event would not alter that. Our faith, love, and good sense of humor would get us through.
The rest of my professional associations and friendships, were of a varied nature. Some were warm-hearted, close and very protective, others were more distant or, as in the case of a high school friend, ceased altogether. But whatever motivated the resulting outcomes, I knew I could not presume to control peoples’ perceptions. I could only control my own and carry on with my life in the best way I knew how.
Moving forward, for me, could not have
been done without my faith. Entrusting what I couldn’t handle
to the One who could, led me to a sweet serenity in times of
doubt and confusion. My beliefs were not changed, but validated.
An inscription on the side of my church reads:
“...The same everlasting Father who
looks after you today, will look
after tomorrow and every day
Either He will shield you from suffering,
or he will give you the unfailing strength
to bear it. Be at peace, then, and put aside
all false anxieties and imaginings...”
St. Frances De Sales
A popular age old hymn,Amazing Grace, states;
“...Through many dangers, toils, and snares
I have already come.
T’is grace that kept me safe thus far,
and grace will lead me home...”
The price for these lessons was high, but their truth can be applied throughout all areas of life.
“Rewards” continued. Seven years after my battle with breast cancer, and 15 years into a childless marriage, I became pregnant with our one and only son. He is a healthy and wonderful boy and the center of our lives. So, years before, I was given back my life, and then, the privilege of co-creation and bringing into this world another life. What unequalled joy!
Sorrow, too, came my way. In 1997, my mother passed away of Alzheimer’s, three weeks short of her 90th birthday--40-plus years after her own bout with breast cancer, without a recurrence. Three years later, my father passed away, just short of his 96th birthday. They both had lived in our home for many years, and enjoyed a wonderful relationship with their grandson.
All in all there is much for which I can be thankful.
Cancer did not take away the important things in life or the promise of eternity. It could not, and did not stop my work or creativity.
Survival, however, brings with it a responsibility to share, and quietly, audibly, with the written word, I’ve tried to do my part.
There can be life at the end of the journey,
the prerequisite is early detection and swift medical action.
©2006 by Ann Jillian
Murcia. A slightly different version of this column appeared
earlier in COPING magazine. The family photograph is the property
of the author. All rights reserved. This column first posted
Oct. 16, 2006.
You
can comment on this column online. Please address your message
to either "The Editors" or Ann Jillian. To send an
email, click here and don't forget to mention Ann's name: talkback@thecolumnists.com
|
|
|
Archives |
|
|