Pam Martin: In Her Own Words
- By Pam Martin / Photo by Dana Johnson
“Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.” – Forrest Gump
I sure didn’t know what to expect when I got a cancer diagnosis. I was 33, the mother of two small children, no family history of
cancer, no known risk factors. I was healthy – I hardly ever got a cold. My husband, David, and I sat in the oncologist’s office dazed, hearing strange words like lumpectomy, mastectomy, lymph node dissection, node positive, node negative, ER-PR status, chemotherapy, radiation … chances of survival. It was like getting hit by a truck, a Big Cancer Truck. We came home with handfuls of cancer brochures but no idea what was ahead. We stayed awake all night. We cried – a lot. That was April 1991.
Having cancer is personally a very lonely place; you experience a lot of losses physically, mentally, spiritually, and many times financially. There is a ripple effect to everyone you know. Your friends and family are devastated and feel totally helpless.
I had no frame of reference for anything that was happening. The treatment plan was surgery, chemo, radiation and then five years of tamoxifen. I took a gung-ho approach. I had chemo every third Friday, threw up all weekend, and was back at work on Monday. I was what you might call a “closet cancer patient;” no one knew I had cancer unless they had a reason to know. Before I lost my hair I went to a wig shop and got a perfect match for my shoulder-length hair. My hair started falling out on a Friday, I wore that wig on Monday, put mascara on the two eyelashes I had left and headed off to work. I scheduled my radiation for the late afternoon so I could go after work. Some days I was so tired that I didn’t feel like I could press the gas pedal – I thought I might have to use the cruise control just to drive home. But if anyone asked me how I was, I always said “great, really good, how are you?” I thought that if I said it enough, maybe it would be true. I remember going to my son’s baseball games in the hot midday sun with that wig on and about to have heat stroke. But I was doing just fine!
“Crazy Closet Cancer Patient” Finds Help
Sometimes I thought I really didn’t have cancer. You know, someone had mixed up my lab work. I was just taking the chemo to make everyone else happy. Well, I was really disturbed by these thoughts. I began to conclude that not only did I have cancer but that I was also crazy! I knew I needed help.
That help came from a support group that met in the hospital lobby. The people there were of different genders, ages, races and social standing. The one thing we had in common was that we all had cancer. We immediately bonded and understood each other in a powerful way that is hard to explain. That’s where I heard about a two-and-a-half day retreat for cancer patients called Camp Bluebird. My friend Kathy and I signed up with the contingency plan that we would meet my brother at the end of the road to pick us up if we didn’t like it. Well, that experience turned out to be the best medicine of all. I got the chance to feel the things I needed to feel and a safe place to talk without having to put on a “happy face” for anyone. I cried until my eyes hurt. I laughed until my mouth was sore. I met people who had been through a cancer diagnosis and come out the other side. They were LIVING, regardless of their diagnosis. Their stories gave me so much hope. If they recovered, maybe I could, too.
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