Well, it is now October and that, according to all the advertisements, means it is Breast Cancer Month, an annual campaign to increase awareness of an awful disease. So, instead of telling you to schedule your mammogram, or encouraging you to inspire someone you love or even like quite a bit, to get their mammogram, or even wearing a pink ribbon on my lapel, I am going to tell you a story. I have shared pieces of this story many times in church or other places, but I will take a chance, repeat it again, and hope that it is something you needed to hear.
        It was 2003. I was a 48-year-old mother to two beautiful children, wife, business owner, and friend of so many special people. I had been an officer or committee member in more organizations than I can remember, and one of many volunteers that always say yes. It is safe to say that I dabbled in much. I gardened. I read books. I helped at the school. There was even an occasional lunch out with a friend. It seemed like a perfect life. I was so blessed to have my children here with me each day at the office so I could raise them myself. It felt like I had achieved most everything I could have wanted or needed.

August 2003: It was my regular yearly checkup, and I was told that I could wait a year for my mammogram, but I had already scheduled and marked it on the calendar, so I kept the appointment. Good job.

September 2003: This first mammogram showed areas of concern, so I was scheduled for another mammogram in one month.

October 2003: At the second mammogram appointment, the radiologist explained that the new films were showing a few more areas of calcification when he compared them with my mammogram film from the previous year. He suggested I visit a facility in Houston for something called a stereo-tactic biopsy. No sweat, in the past I had several biopsies, including one the day before I left with friends to hike in the mountains of Arkansas. I was tough, so it was no big deal.

November 2003: I did quite a bit of studying about stereo-tactic biopsies. The way I understood that it worked in 2003, was they would ‘shoot’ you with a little stereo-tactic GUN (obviously named by a man) that traveled 123 MPH…with a tiny little needle, an even smaller spoon at the tip, and a little bit of suction. The little spoon would travel straight to the biopsy location, scoop, then suck up the questionable area to be evaluated. The whole time I was attached to a mammogram machine (that should make you wince right there) and the technicians were taking pictures from many different angles. Oh, yes. That is where the word stereo comes in. They could also leave a little titanium disk at the biopsy site so doctors would know exactly where the biopsy had been taken from.
        During one of these many x-rays (I quit counting at 34), they found an area that had not shown up on my previous mammograms done in LJ. The technician explained what he had seen and suggested that perhaps he could go ahead and biopsy the suspicious area while he was already in there. Uhh! Yes! What was supposed to have been a 45-minute procedure had already taken over 2-1/2 hours. I am typically not a complainer, but this was NOT a FUN TIME. I very nicely explained to them that they were more than welcome to do whatever they wanted to do at THIS visit, because I was NEVER coming back. EVER.
        Additional note: the biopsy area that I had been sent for turned out to be nothing, but the area that they found on that day and biopsied, had a little more story to it. If they had not found it on that day, it would have been one more year down the road before it was discovered. For this, I am so thankful.

December 2003: Days passed very slowly, and the biopsy report took several weeks to come in. Bless their hearts. I drove my sweet doctor crazy, popping in just to say hello… and by the way, “Have you seen my report yet?” On the day that they finally took me back to a room, my doctor came in, put his hand on my shoulder and said that he was so sorry. In my heart, I already knew, but I did not cry or ask why… I just knew that I needed to get to work and find the best care for this situation. Everything else would take care of itself. M.D. Anderson. If people come from all over the world to see them, why wouldn’t I drive one hour? It was settled and I started my phone calls.
        MDA set up my first consultation appointment the latter part of February 2004, two months away. That was too long to wait. Months had already passed since I started this journey. The MDA liaison assigned to me was so very patient when I called EVERY single day to try and get in earlier. On one particularly stressful day, I left a message saying, “This is Lisa Baker, and this is my patient number. I cannot wait for 2 months to have my first appointment. I have a 4-year-old daughter and a 7-year-old son, and I plan on being here for their graduations. What exactly are your ‘begging procedures’? I will follow all your rules, but I need to know exactly where I am supposed to be to start begging? What length of time do I need to beg, and how do I begin? I am a rule follower and if I’m going to beg, I want to do it properly.” I left this same message several times before Jesse called me back. He was such a joy to work with, kind, compassionate, and so, together we talked until a solution was found. The head of the melanoma department had agreed to do my surgery because he hated to see patients wait. My surgery was scheduled for January 23, 2004, a whole month ahead of the original schedule. Squeaky wheels. Things were looking up. For this, I am so thankful. I went by to see Jesse after my first appointment, and he explained to me that I was the first person to ever come by and say thank-you.

Surgery: Up until surgery time, MDA continued to do their part to educate me about lumpectomies and radiation. Their job is to make you feel that you have all the information you need, so you think you have input and have made some decisions on your own. Nursing my babies was absolutely one of the proudest moments of my life, but it was now time for the next stage. I would have been a nervous wreck waiting each year for the next mammogram, so after much thought and studying, I opted for bi-lateral or double mastectomies with reconstruction, something I have never once regretted. Do I miss them? Of course. I would be lying to you if I said I did not. But, at every hospital visit preparing for surgery (and there were plenty) I always seemed to sit next to one more patient with a story to tell, and a purpose that I needed to hear. For each one of those individuals, I am so thankful.

Chemotherapy: I am a pretty positive person, or at least I was in 2004. 😊 I was so positive, that I had convinced myself that I would not need chemo. I was going to be the very first person to have breast cancer and no chemo. I kept putting off my oncologist. I read and asked questions, made charts, anything to delay the start of that evil chemotherapy, praying that the doctor would change her mind. They threatened to start charging me by the minute. Several visits later, they told me that I MUST decide. Aaugh. I just wanted my life back. The life I thought I deserved.
        Chemotherapy was not fun. I had long blond hair, so I cut it short and told the kids that it was JUST hair. No big deal! I bought two wigs. I explained to my children’s classmates that the doctors were going to give me some medicine that would make my hair fall out and when it happened, they could rub the top of my head and it would bring them good luck. I was sad but not emotional. My fabulous office family gave me a hat party. They even included a black baseball cap with pearls, to match my go-to outfits. The day after the final whisps of hair left me, I walked into my office and told my co-workers that they needed to get used to seeing me without a hat, or a wig, or a scarf. Who was I trying to fool? Everyone in town knew I was bald. The treatments continued and I was so lucky that I only missed one day when I was too sick to go to work. A friend had told me that I could feel bad anywhere, so to go ahead and do everything that I would normally do, when I could. I took this as a challenge. When Gage told me that I had chemo face, I used more self-tanning cream, my go-to solution for everything. If one application didn’t do it, then I lathered on one more. I had the most amazing group of friends that sent hundreds of cards, baskets of delicious foods, coloring books with freshly sharpened colored pencils, flowers, and so much more. I took it upon myself to have chemo presents waiting for my kids, wrapped and on the breakfast table, every chemo day. Wow. They looked forward to the next chemo gift, but not as much as I did… there was a cookie cutter made from a xerox copy of their own handprint etched with their name and age on the inside, a pillowcase with their name on it that said, Gage and Anne-Elisabeth, I Love You, Mommy. Little satin comfort pillows that they used for years, and that we continue to own. Just little things that I could look forward to giving to them, so I didn’t dread the next treatment. Because food and liquids really don’t have any taste when you are undergoing treatment, we went to Goode Seafood to eat delicious campechana. Juicy tomatoes, grilled chiles, olives, avocados, and seafood. I am very thankful for friends, self-tanning cream, chemo gifts, and campechana.

Progress: I continued to tell myself “I have breast cancer, but breast cancer doesn’t have me.” “Cancer is a word, not a sentence.” I imagined Pac-Man (one of my favorite games) was chomping through my veins, eating up all the cancer. Don’t Stop Believing by Journey was my humming song, and I sang aloud, “Every little cell in my body is happy, every little cell in my body is well. I’m so happy, it’s so swell. Every little cell is happy and well.” I drank beet juice from a crystal wine glass because I knew it was good to cleanse my organs, but it tasted better in a pretty glass.
        I just wanted life to be as normal as it could be. I know there is a plan for my life, but I also believe that God figured I was far more valuable to Him here, than any other place. I continue to believe that and work hard to keep Him convinced that He made a good bet on me..

EPILOGUE: (ha-ha) So, what am I telling you? Well, I am not going to try and persuade you to beg your mother, your sister, your aunt, your neighbor, or best friend to get in for an exam. Men have breast cancer too, but go ahead and look the other direction if you want. Someone will bring up the subject at Thanksgiving. Nope, I am not going to drag you into any conversations about mammograms. All I will tell you is that because of that one mammogram, I am here now to see my kids get older. It is such a short season raising children, and my heart is always in my throat now because I am just not finished yet. It is different now with them both back at college, like being on the sidelines watching the players in a football game. I live for face-time calls, letting me know that they still might need me on occasion for advice, a recipe, the weather, to proof homework, or to just fill me in on the million things that happened in their day. I get to watch new adult discipline as it kicks into gear, and I always learn something surprising and magical about each of them, every single day. I so appreciate the smallest of opportunities, like cooking a favorite meal, shopping for wool socks, sharing a TV show, splitting a beer, or meeting Anne-Elisabeth half-way to drop off something she needs, even though I know she just wants to see the dog… I am so happy to be here to watch them become adults and responsible people.
        But sometimes I am selfish and think only of myself. In the mornings, I take my cup of coffee to the back porch and watch hummingbirds and butterflies fight for nectar. I plant flowers, vegetables, and trees. I get dirty. I walk the dog and play ball with the dog. Sometimes late at night, he and I sit on the front porch together in complete silence. There is so much joy in life. So, my dear friends, these are just a few of the absolute best things in the world, and all credit goes to that one mammogram. Now, get busy and make some good choices. You know what you need to do.

Thanks for reading us this week. If you want a cling-on pink breast cancer ribbon for a window or glass door, call our office. I will give you one. Please note that they are too big for a car window. LISA

“I don’t want to be known as the oldest guy in space. I’m bloody Captain Kirk!” William Shatner exclaimed. Then he stammered in a faux-panicky voice: “Captain Kirk, going where no man … I’m going what? Where am I going?” He confessed, “I’m Captain Kirk and I’m terrified.”  WAY TO GO SHATNER! You absolutely, positively, inspired us.