She began treatment, but soon faced many complications, including a chemo-induced blood clot on her lung. “I was in the ICU for nearly a month,” she recalls. “They weren’t sure I would make it. My first medical team was ignoring symptoms, side effects and drug interactions. The decision to move to a different oncology team was simple. I was blunt with my new oncologist ‘You’re hired. Please don’t let me die. My kids are too little.’ That started a new relationship of open communication and making sure my doctor knew all of my side effects – and addressed the ones we could.”

Today, after a double mastectomy, 38 rounds of radiation, 12 cycles of chemo, 2 pulmonary embolisms, chronic recurrent cellulitis infections and at least 15 hospital admissions, Bridget’s health is vastly improved. She’s once again exercising. She has scars, but views them as badges of courage, not something to hide. “For each scar, I have a story to tell you. Yes, I survived. And you will too. Your inner strength, faith, hope and love will help you through.”

She’s grateful for the many ways her community came together in support – from  the integrative services offered at Carol G. Simon Center (“They offered me such love, support, guidance, direction, a plan…”) to friends she barely knew (“The community at Little Village Daycare collected money and paid for a cleaning service for a year. Each week, a family took a turn cooking two meals for me. These women pulled together and I didn’t even know them. Talk about the power of love and care.”) and her incredible husband Erich (“He is a firefighter, the most amazing man ever. He lost his mother in the middle of all of it, but he stood by my side, helped me mentally, physically, emotionally. He was my solid rock to the right of me. He always did things to make me feel special and outlandish. Never made me feel sick. He faced it right there with me.”).

She’s overjoyed to be watching her kids grow up. “We’re taking time to watch sunrises together,” Bridget smiles. “At one point, the doctor sat across from me and told me that I had three weeks to live. I bought two notebooks and started writing letters to each kid, focusing on every milestone I could think of. I recorded myself reading them stories through one of those Hallmark recording books.”
Bridget lives by her favorite mantra – “Get up. Dress up. Show up and smile. If you look good, you’re going to feel good it’s that simple.” Her energy and zest for life is infectious. “Even though you’re feeling shi**y, look in the mirror, face it and say, I’ve got this. I painted on my eyebrows. I wore big earrings and red lipstick. I was really into hats. Wigs made me claustrophobic so I got hats.” Her mother would also provide comfort and shopping ideas for all kinds of hats.

But she’s never forgotten those days after diagnosis. “I tell people the raw truth. You’ll deal with unknown side effects, the sleepless nights, challenges of acclimating back into society when your treatment is over.  No Reason to minimize what happened, just raw truth that yes these things happened to me, but I channeled my energy to focus on the reason why I had to get better.  When you have a reason why, you find a way HOW. It’s that simple.”

She recommends every patient gets a notebook, encouraging them to write what they’re thinking, what they’re feeling and, most of all, five things they’re grateful for each day. “Whatever that was, acknowledge it as something that was monumental. It helps validate your feelings and provide perspective.”
When asked about the best advice she ever received, Bridget’s answer is simple, “Don’t worry about anything. It’s going to be all right.”

Going through chemo, she’d gone to an ice cream shop craving peanut butter ice cream. Just before she stepped to the counter, the clerk scraped the last of the peanutty goodness from the bucket. “As I glumly looked at the empty container, the kid next to me, with the confidence of a three year old holding a rainbow bubblegum cone, encouraged me with those words. ‘Don’t worry about anything. It’s going to be all right.’”

“Talk about ‘out of the mouths of babes,” she laughs, recalling the lightning bolt of inspiration. “Here’s this kid who knows nothing about me. But she was right. It did turn out all right.” (And the worker brought out another tub of peanut butter.)

Shortly after treatment, her mother was diagnosed with Ovarian Cancer. Bridget knew all too well the journey and wanted to provide the same comfort and support as she received.  Her mom is doing well and now lives with her family.

Bridget’s focus continues to be on hope – “You have to live for now. You cannot worry about tomorrow. It’s promised to no one. When you worry, it’s like walking around with an umbrella waiting for it to rain.” Looking back at the fight she’s fought, she knows proverbial rain may fall, encouraging matches that “The sun is going to shine again. Life sucks right now. But the sun will shine again. Go do everything you want to do. Make your bucket list and check it off.”

“Before the C word, I would have never done that. Since the C word, I’ve gone to the Saratoga Springs, Lake George, Walt Disney World and have watched many sunrises in Siesta Key with good friends.”

“Remember these key profound words that STORMS always lose to the sun. “
“GET UP. DRESS UP. SHOW UP. SMILE. ”

The post Get up. Dress up. Show up. Smile. appeared first on Cancer Hope Network.

But life as a cancer survivor has included its own set of challenges. “I’ve had ongoing souvenirs of this journey,” Ellen says. “I’ve managed, but the journey continues.” The radiation that saved her life also “did a number” on her intestines, resulting in a ruptured colon, three resectioning surgeries, a colostomy and ongoing GI issues.  The radiation affected her bladder, too, and over the years decreased its function.

She’s faced a bilateral nephrostomy (drains inserted in her kidneys, out through the back and down her legs) and anticipates more surgery to make the drainage permanent.

That urostomy will remove her neurogenic bladder (In Ellen’s words – “It just went kaput. The nerves are dead.”). That surgery will create a new conduit from her intestine and replace the tubes down the back of her legs with a single ostomy bag that will get her back to the tennis and golf that are a beloved part of her active lifestyle.

“When deciding on treatment options, they take you through the percentages. There’s a one percent chance of this side effect. A three percent chance of that. Unfortunately, they’ve all happened to me.”
Through her many setbacks, Ellen has kept her sense of humor. “My character was fine before cancer. I didn’t need this to be a life-transforming experience.”

“I found out who my friends are. And who they weren’t,” she recalls. “Some people shut down and turned away. I know cancer scares a lot of people. You don’t know what to say. I don’t myself. But people who were just there made a huge difference. The smallest kindnesses mean something.”

Her first round of complications meant a nine-week stay in the hospital – and created a moment she’ll never forget. “One of the nurses who had been caring for me told me she was putting me at the end of her rounds so she could wash my hair. You’d have thought it was Christmas morning.”

As she’s faced these challenges, she’s shared her victories – and struggles – with Cancer Hope Network patients facing similar diagnoses or considering similar treatments. She’s also connected with CHN Support Volunteers of her own, finding comfort and solidarity.

“You feel like you’re the only person going through what you’re going through. You feel like your family is done hearing about it. Your doctors are an appointment away. Knowing someone is going through, in pretty close detail, what you’re going through is very helpful.”

“When I call a match, I’m hoping that I’m helping them. Often, when I get off the phone, I feel like they’ve lifted my spirits.”

Hope has many faces. Want to be matched with a Support Volunteer who has been where you are?  Click HERE or call 877-HOPENET (877-467-3638) today.

The post Being lucky isn’t easy appeared first on Cancer Hope Network.