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“Mom - I have breast cancer”.

With those five words my world stood still as I was instantly transported over 40 years back to the time when I was a young nursing student. The dreaded “cancer” word was one that was only whispered among nursing personnel and NEVER mentioned in front of a patient. In fact, the diagnosis of cancer was not even listed anywhere on the patient chart. Diagnosis was listed in “code” as 31. The 3 was for the third letter of the alphabet – C, and the 1 was for the first letter of the alphabet – A. Thus, the 31 code informed all the medical personnel that the patient had cancer. Many times the patient did not even know! Many physicians were reluctant to even tell the patient she had cancer.

As a nursing student and later as a Registered Nurse, whenever I picked up a patient chart with the “31” diagnosis, a feeling of despair settled over me. I knew that patient was in for a long, debilitating surgery and for an even longer, painful recovery from surgery.

For twelve years of my nursing career I worked in the Recovery Room, which is now called the Post Anesthesia Recovery Room or PACU. I had the opportunity to see and talk to the patient before she, (almost all breast cancer patients were women then), was taken back to the operating room for surgery. I also had the responsibility of taking care of the same woman when she was wheeled into the Recovery Room.

When the patient was brought to the Recovery Room I knew her life had been changed forever! Her family members -husband, children, parents, and siblings were affected as well. They tiptoed into the room to visit and you could almost hear a pin dropped in the room – no one wanted to discuss that dreaded disease with the woman. Why, you might ask? At that time, a cancer diagnosis and surgery meant the woman usually did not survive past the golden window of “five years”.

I remember looking at her chart prior to surgery and saw that she had signed consent to have a “frozen section” and a “radical mastectomy”. This meant that while she was still under anesthesia a small section of tissue would be removed and examined under a microscope and if cancer cells were seen, both breasts would be removed along with part of the pectoral muscle, as well as the axillary lymph nodes. Even to this day, I do not believe she knew exactly what she was signing the consent for the surgeon to remove! Her first reaction once she was awake was to instinctively reach to see if her breast or breasts were there. The size of the dressings and bandages gave her some idea of what had happened while she was under anesthesia.

If she had a radical mastectomy her awareness, or perhaps it was denial, returned slowly. You could see the fear in her eyes and almost know the questions forming in her mind. “Now what is going to happen to me? How bad was the cancer? How long do I have to live? Will my husband still love me without my womanhood (breasts)? Will I still be pretty, sexy, normal?”

My job as a Recovery Room Nurse was to assure her, (even though I did not have the answers to those questions), that every woman was different and I felt that with the help of her family those concerns and questions would be answered in time.

Usually the day after surgery, and if time allowed, I would go to the room and visit the patient to see how she was doing. Many times when I entered the room, I found her sitting quietly, staring out the window. She was happy to see me, but I could see she had been crying. I felt so helpless! All I had to offer was an ear to listen, a hug and a promise to visit again the next day. After that, I tried to visit every day until she was discharged from the hospital.

For forty years I worked as a Registered Nurse. My duties were varied but I never forgot taking care of those women, from all walks of life and ages, who had this devastating disease called “Breast Cancer”.

On Sept. 18, 2001, my daughter, Tammy was diagnosed with cancer of the breast. I was on one of my post retirement trips and when I called to check in with Tammy and tell her I had arrived at my brother’s home in Arizona, she proceeded to tell me on the phone that she had just been diagnosed with breast cancer. She also proceeded to tell me that she had “hired” a Humor Team and I had been recruited to be on her Humor Team - IN THAT ORDER.

My first thought was “Oh, no. Not my beautiful daughter”. Tammy is my only daughter and she is the light of my life. With my nursing/medical background, I knew the seriousness of a cancer diagnosis and what could happen to her. I definitely did not see how any humor could possibly be found in this scenario - NO WAY. How could she possibly know that I would gladly change places with her on a moments notice!

Tammy then proceeded to tell me that her belief was that, although she could not change the diagnosis, she could certainly change her reaction to the diagnosis. Her plan of action was to surround herself with only persons with a positive attitude, fun to be around, and with a sense of humor. There would be no time for negative thoughts about her surgery and recovery. Who better to fill that bill than a group of clowns?

Prior to her surgery date “Tammy’s Team” had thrown her a humorous theme party with a “boob” cake, a size 44 DDD bra and, at that time, had presented her Humor Team with clown hats, kazoos, and clown noses. On the band of each hat, in bold letters were the words “TAMMY’S TEAM.”

The morning of surgery arrived and Tammy has her hospital bag packed. No frilly gowns and girly stuff in her bag! Instead, in her bag she had packed a clown hat and nose for her doctor and well as a clown hat and nose for whomever assisted him during the surgical procedure. She also presented her anesthetist with a clown nose. In addition, she had packed two dozen or so clown noses to pass out to other hospital personnel who assisted in her surgery, such as lab technicians, nuclear medical technicians and recovery room nurses. Also packed in her hospital bag was a camera to record all the shenanigans for a book she planned to write titled “The Lighter Side of Breast Cancer Recovery”.

The time for surgery was drawing near and Tammy was transported to the surgical holding area. The anesthetist arrived and inserted an epidural catheter into her spinal area in preparation for epidural anesthesia. Two members of her family or team were allowed to wait with her in the holding area while waiting for the doctor to arrive. While we were sitting in the surgical waiting room, we began to see persons walking around the hallways with clown noses on. We knew that each one had done something to assist Tammy’s surgical team.

The surgeon arrived and Tammy was wheeled back to surgery. I fought hard to hold back my tears at this point. I had seen this scenario so many times in my nursing career. Her “Humor Team” members were instructed to wait in the recovery waiting room until the procedure was finished. While sitting in that small room, we were each left to our own thoughts and prayers. I am uncertain what the other team members were thinking, but my own thoughts and prayers were, “Please, Dear God, don’t let anything happen to my beautiful Tammy. She is so kind and generous to everyone around her. Please cradle her in Your hands today”.

Tammy’s surgery lasted approximately two and one half hours, although it seemed like an eternity. Finally the word came that Tammy was in the recovery room and that her doctor wanted to talk to us in a private conference room. My granddaughter, Lacey, and I sat silently in that small room for two or three minutes at most, not talking, just thinking - each one of us deep in our own thoughts. Finally, the surgeon arrived and gave us the good news. Tammy was now in the post-anesthesia recovery room and the surgery had gone well. He had performed a lumpectomy and had also removed five lymph nodes, which showed no cancer cells during the “frozen section” procedure of the surgery. Now, and only now could I let out a deep breath and enjoy being a part of Tammy’s “Humor Team” - hats on, taking pictures, and playing the kazoo with the other clowns.

When Tammy awoke and showed us her incision, to our surprise, her surgeon had “bought into” her humor heals attitude and on the top half of her incision was a caricature of “Mickey Mouse”, and under the incision was drawn a “smiley face”.

Tammy’s surgical recovery was unremarkable and if it were not for the bulging ice pack under her arm, no one would have known she had just undergone a major surgery. Of course, being the shop-a-holics that we both are, we had to go shopping just to prove a point! She refreshed the ice pack on her surgical site and we took off for Wal-Mart and the Mall to shop. The only difference I noticed in Tammy was that she kept reminding me that she could not keep up with my nurse’s pace.

The only difference I noticed in myself was that I felt like I was walking on air. God is good! A Mom’s prayers had been answered.

Ruth is a retired nurse living in Toledo, OH. She is the proud mother of Jim, Mike and Tammy (her favorite daughter – and both of her sons know it!); a loving grandmother of seven and a great grandmother of a one year old. She stays active in Toastmasters and enjoys cooking, reading, and travelling in her spare time.