Valentine’s Day in Hawaii sounds very romantic – sunshine, balmy breezes and beautiful sunsets on the beach. My husband and I spent Valentine’s Day 2016 in Hawaii though not under convenient or romantic circumstances.
Our story started months prior to Valentine’s Day. It was July 4, and we had just returned to our home on Kadena Air Base, Japan, after a day at the beach and watching fireworks with friends. That evening I noticed a small red area and lump on my breast about the size of a pencil eraser. Of course, my first thought was cancer, so I made an appointment with a women’s health nurse practitioner, for a mammogram and ultrasound.
Neither procedure showed anything of concern, but four months later, the red spot and lump were still there. I decided to go back to my doctor.
By this time, my husband, Josh, had left for a 6-month deployment – something we had endured before and accepted as normal military life. Although we lived across the Pacific from our families, I had a good support network in my overseas military friends. I didn’t realize at the time how much I would come to rely on them.
The doctor sent me to a dermatologist, explaining that “breast cancer doesn’t usually present this way.” The dermatologist did a biopsy and I was called on Dec. 23 to discuss the results. My world came crashing down when it was confirmed as cancer.
Suddenly, arrangements were made to send Josh and me to Hawaii for treatment, because the military on Okinawa didn’t have the resources needed. I’ll never forget that Wednesday, two days before Christmas and the clinic was about to close Thursday-Sunday for the holiday.
I went home to a husband-less house for a 96-hour wait, not knowing the severity of the cancer, how they’d get Josh home or the status of any travel plans. I spent Christmas with our children, Cody, 5, and Leah, 4, as if nothing was wrong. We baked cookies for Santa, ate Christmas Eve dinner with friends, and then I tucked them in bed, not knowing if I would even be there for their next Christmas. These were the worst hours of my life.
Fortunately, the Red Cross got Josh back to Okinawa about 72 hours after I called him with the news. My mother and her husband got last-minute tickets to Japan to stay with our children. Cody was in kindergarten and Leah in preschool, and they needed to maintain as much normalcy as possible. My mom and Al arrived Jan. 1, and Josh and I left Jan. 3, unsure how long we’d be gone.
Our neighbors and Josh’s coworker helped my mom and Al, who had never been to Japan before with everything, from entertaining the kids to providing transportation when our car broke down.
Meanwhile in Hawaii, we met my treatment team none of them had ever seen breast cancer present like mine.
A second ultrasound and an MRI showed a tumor and, after a week and a half of tests and meetings, we chose a treatment plan that included a mastectomy. I was taking no chances.
My Jan. 15 surgery went great. Then the residents discovered a hematoma, a collection of blood and fluid, at the surgical site that sent me in for a second surgery that day.
I was told the cancer was gone, and the lymph nodes were clear. All I had to do was recover by the beach. A week later the doctor called and said further inspection showed cancer in one of the four lymph nodes in their biopsy, so I went back for surgery to remove all the lymph nodes under my arm. Thankfully only that one node contained cancer, and I spent the next couple of weeks recovering from the three surgeries and a port insertion procedure for my upcoming 16 rounds of chemotherapy.
Back in Japan, my mother and Al had been in Okinawa for 30 days and needed to return home and go back to work.
Josh’s mom came to relieve them. She, with the help of our friends in Japan, got our household goods packed and sold our cars so she could take our children to San Antonio, where we’d be stationed to finish my treatment. In the midst of all the surgeries and doctors’ visits, Josh began working with agencies in Japan, Hawaii and Texas to begin our PCS.
Josh’s mom, Cody and Leah left Japan Feb. 24. We left Hawaii the same day, never returning to Okinawa to say thank you or goodbye to our friends and coworkers who helped sell cars, document household goods and help Josh’s mom tie up loose ends.
We hadn’t seen our children in 57 days, and we had to rely entirely on the love and help of others to reunite our family.
In Texas, we found a house quickly, and my first chemo treatment happened March 8.
My mother retired early, and she and Al sold their house in Mississippi and stayed with us until I finished chemo.
My loving husband and children, my mother and Al, a friend and mentor I had met when I was on active-duty, a fellow cancer survivor and his wife, and my nurses were with me when I rang the victory bell July 19 signifying the end of the chemo portion of my treatment.
Again my family was there for my last dose Sept. 26, when we put our handprints on the wall alongside others who had finished their rounds of radiation.
I’m presently cancer-free. This battle was just an event in the adventure known as life, and our story has many more chapters to be written.
This story began referring to romance and love. While not always romantic, it is full of love. My husband never left my side. He took all the notes at the doctor visits, because I was so overwhelmed. He held me when I cried, and accepted me when I lost my hair and breasts. My children cheered for me when I won the battle. My mother, stepdad and mother-in-law dropped everything to stay with our children, helped us move and stayed with us in Texas through chemo. Our military family checked on us the entire time and designed a pendant for me that Josh had custom-made. Our friends in Japan and Hawaii whom we had known from previous assignments cooked for us, had us over for dinner, and our friends in Texas brought us dinner every week during chemo.
People are put in our lives for a reason, and I am forever grateful for the love I’ve received from our immediate family and our Air Force family. Throughout this entire process, it was love that kept us going because it was stronger than my cancer.
This Valentine’s Day brings me an opportunity to share two things I’ve come to understand with great certainty. The first is that love is stronger than any of our struggles – illness, finances or whatever else we’re faced with. Second is the knowledge that even when our immediate family is far away, being an Air Force family means there’s love all around us, and people who are willing and wanting to help us through our troubled times.