(Bio) Nancy McSloy is a freelance writer and public speaker living in London, Ontario. She’s an associate member of PWAC (Periodical Writers Association of Canada), as well as wife, mother of three and grandmother of six.   Dorothy is retired and living in a small town in Southwestern Ontario. She has two daughters, five grandchildren and six great grandchildren.

On a dismal day in early Spring 2002, I sat in the waiting room at the cancer clinic, thinking this couldn’t be true. I wanted to cry, but knew I had to be strong. Nobody in our family had ever been diagnosed with breast cancer, or any other kind of cancer, before.

I wasn’t the one waiting to see the doctor, but my 72-year-old mother. This is her story, but it’s mine as well. Breast cancer is a family affair, affecting not only the patient but those close to her as well. It changes how you think about yourself and others. I’ve learned that the person you may feel isn’t strong in many ways can surprise you and show just how much of a fighter she can be. It teaches you to take care of yourself. It reminds you of the importance of support, both for people suffering from cancer as well as their families.

(Crosshead) Looking for explanations A nurse came and asked us to go to an examination room. As we walked down the hallway, I thought of the good times from the past. I thought of how Mom had lived her life for her husband, her children, her grandchildren and great grandchildren. I was so sorry for every argument we’d ever had. The prayers were flowing: “Please let her be okay.” At 25, you feel that you and everyone you know are immortal. At 50, I was facing another reality and admitting the truth of the saying that only two things in life are certain — death and taxes. We sat in the examining room waiting for the doctor. I looked at her tiny frame and thought how frail she looked. This wasn’t fair. I lost my Dad the year he turned 75; now Mom was in her early 70s and we could lose her too. My mother had lived a very pure and simple life on Ontario’s beautiful Bruce Peninsula. The country air was fresh and clean. They grew their own vegetables and ate a healthy diet, with very little processed food. Mom had never been a drinker and I doubt she’d ever had as much as a drag from a cigarette. This shouldn’t have been happening to her. My mother’s initial diagnosis came as a result of a physical in the late Fall of 2001, after which she was booked for a biopsy. Of course this surgery was “nothing to worry about.” Mom and her friend Cecil made the trip to London to visit the family for Christmas, but they had to go home on Boxing Day. We wondered why, if there was nothing to worry about, her surgery was booked for December 27, during the Christmas season. I still remember the phone call that followed in January. Mom was very calm, and quietly said, “I thought your sister and you should know that the results of the biopsy were positive.” She explained that she’d requested to come to the cancer clinic for treatment in London, where both my sister and I live. I’d already booked my appointment at Women’s Health of London for my own annual physical. As the doctor went over my history, the alarm seemed to go off when we got to the breast cancer topic. Within days, I was booked for a mammogram. What a change from past physicals!

(Crosshead) Decision time Following Mom’s consultation at the cancer clinic, she was scheduled to come back to London in May for a series of radiation treatments. My sister and I were faced with a difficult decision. Would Mom stay with one of us or at Thameswood Lodge, a centre for people on chemotherapy or radiation run by the London Regional Cancer Program? It’s tough when your heart says one thing, but your head says another. My sister does home daycare and has two children of her own. Her husband was facing some health challenges as well. I work outside the home so am gone every day, my husband runs a business out of our home, and we’re raising our grandson (who was nine at the time). Needless to say, we have two hectic households. After numerous arguments, discussions and family meetings, we decided it was best for Mom to stay at Thameswood Lodge. The Canadian Cancer Society made arrangements for Mom to be picked up at her apartment every Monday morning and driven to Thameswood Lodge. She’d have shuttle service each day to the London Regional Cancer Centre for her radiation treatment and be driven home each weekend. I know it was difficult for her getting in that van that first Monday morning. We went to visit her at the lodge that evening. That was hard for us too.