Welcome to the Mayo Clinic, Mile Marker Number Three

In July, when the kids are gone and schools are as quiet as they'll ever be, there's some annual school work that occurs. Today, phone calls about two of those recurrent jobs reminded me of where I was, or wasn't, last year.

Thanks to the persistent encouragement of my friend Tom, last year I was down at the Mayo Clinic with Mom, Dad and Janis. Though I had already scheduled surgery here in the Cities, Tom had suggested I still make an appointment at the Mayo which, thankfully, I did. So there we were last year, making our way through two full days of procedures and appointments, making decisions that would set in motion The Action Plan for the next seven months.

The welcome we received at the Mayo Clinic was unlike anything we experienced in the Cities. As my friend Tom said, "I can't tell you how it is different but it is very different". Boy, was he right. It was just what I was looking for: a place that offered comprehensive care. No need to look in the phone book for an oncologist- she's right there as part of the Breast Center. Consultation with the reconstruction surgeon? Those options are reviewed and a plan made pre-surgery, as opposed to the post-surgery option we found offered here.

That first day we were assigned a lead doctor to guide us through the process. She set up appointments with the oncologist and the reconstruction team among others. The appointment with the reconstruction team is standard procedure for every Breast Center patient as they want you to know all your options; there are no guarantees as to what will have to happen in surgery. She also switched my appointment from a resident surgeon to a lead female staff surgeon who does only breast surgeries, something for which I am forever grateful.

At the Mayo a wealth of information is available and access to classes about your disease and treatments are offered. I signed up for one called "What to Expect During Chemotherapy" that was offered the day after I had my first chemotherapy. Better late than never, right? In that class I met an independent, renegade farmer from South Dakota named Galen.

When the three people with Mayo Clinic numbers were going around the room introducing ourselves and our entourages (just like Hollywood stars, none of us traveled alone) Galen said he was 'here with his driver and his subordinate'. To his right sat a man, to his left a woman. It was unclear who was who, so I asked him. He said that the man, his friend, was the driver and the woman, his wife, was the subordinate and as he said that she raised her hand in a yes-I-guess-that's-me kind of way. "Well, at least they're aware of their positions!" I replied and we all laughed.

When the class concluded we three chemo patients shared a little more about ourselves and concerns. I was the only one who had already had chemotherapy and was glad to be able to share what the rooms were like, about the tireless rounds of the Treat Lady (for God sake, please take a treat!) and how the procedure worked for me. Galen said that he was concerned about getting chemo because someone had said to him 'That stuff's poison, you know'. He was visibly scared at this thought.

Chemotherapy isn't something that's done on a whim or without concern. Indeed there is a great deal of concern when it's required and that concern is for life.

It had been frightening enough for me going in for my first chemo treatment with the belief that only good and love were going to come from it. I can't imagine the fear of entering into it believing you would be taking poison.

Poison is something that causes only harm. Chemotherapy is a powerful drug or combination of drugs that hopefully stop cancer from growing or spreading. Their benefit, saving a life, is weighed out with their drawbacks, the risk of toxicity and long-term side effects, and in most cases the benefit outweighs any risks.

"Oh, no" I said to him. "Chemotherapy is not poison. It is powerful, powerful drugs but it is not poison." I continued with my beliefs on how chemo was only going to do good in my body and then said "I'm visualizing the chemotherapy as piranhas eating up the cancer cells!"

Now, I was really going out on a limb here sharing with this stranger from another generation about visualizing chemotherapy as voracious, freshly-imported fish from South America. He might have thought I was the nuttiest nut ever and I might have just ended the conversation in an uncomfortable silence but in one of the most gracious and grand gestures Galen said "Well, if it would be of any help, I'll be a piranha for you."!

Here was a man who was terrified of the gigantic tumor on his arm and what he would have to do the next morning and in the next months. He put aside his own fears and concerns to reach out and offer support to me, the gal from the big city with her chemo-as-chompy-fish idea. It was so unexpected that I said right back to him, "And I'll be a piranha for you!"

Our paths didn't cross again until I searched him out (not an easy task with HIPPA) and got a letter to him thanking him for his kindness that day and telling him how many times I'd recanted the story of his gift. He's doing well now after chemo which shrunk the tumor (hooray!), the surgery that followed and the subsequent radiation treatments.

For the longest time I couldn't tell the story of Galen's gift without tearing up. What a beautiful gesture in the face of fear and uncertainty! May we each find within us the grace to share with others in their time of need.

With thanks and love,
Karen