One Door Closes: Another Opens by Mary Beth

This post has nothing to do with cancer… but I think that this site can use an uplifting story…

I am so happy to be writing this story. My daughter was adopted at 2 days old. Her Birth Mother selected us from a resume that we compiled. We never met her. She was given two of the hospital birth photos.

 

We knew quite a few details about her family and medical history but no identifying information as the adoption was private. She was born in Pennsylvania, but the adoption took place in New York State. We were told that when my daughter was 18, she would be able to sign the adoption registry and if her birth mother also signed, the records would be opened.

Nina knew that she was adopted and we shared all of the information that we knew. All except one piece of information. When I received the paperwork I had noticed that the attorneys had forgotten to black out her Birth Mother’s last name on one of the bills. That is how I knew that part of Nina’s heritage was Irish. My feeling was that I would honor our agreement that we would not look for her and she would not look for us… until Nina was 18.  Nina always talked about wanting to meet her Birth Mother. Two questions that she always wanted answered were: Who do I look like? and Does she think about me?  Society is so accustomed to biology, people just naturally try to figure out where the resemblance is: do you look like your Mom or your Dad? Even in school, usually at the beginning of the year the kids always have to talk or write about their heritage.

Adopt means… to take as one’s own. They did take our heritage, but it does not mean that she did not wonder whose biology she was made of and what was her biological heritage.

Last year when Nina turned 18 she had wanted to fill out the paperwork and start the process. The year was quite traumatic for all because of our divorce. I told her when she was ready I would help her. My biggest concern as a Mother was to protect her. I was worried that if her Birth Mother did not want to be found it would be another source of abandonment and disappointment. Nina had decided she was prepared for that event, but that she had to try to find her. I decided I would let Nina go through the legal procedure and if for some reason the records could not be opened then I would hire a private detective to find her and make sure that she wanted to be found. I had even done a few internet searches but nothing concrete had come up.

The weekend of September 7^th was a very difficult weekend for Nina and her paternal adoptive family. She was very upset and crying most of the weekend. Mean things had been said by both sides. As a Mother, you want to make it all better, but I just did not know what else to do, except pray. I said a few extra rosaries. Sunday after mass I always light a candle at the Statue of Our Blessed Mother and ask her to watch over our family. This Sunday I asked for extra help for Nina, to relieve her pain.

When Nina came home from work, she sat down on the couch and was so exhausted from the emotions of the weekend. She was so sad. Dante was playing his video games. For some reason, I decided to pick up my phone and put her Birth Mother’s last name into my phone and the word ‘adoption’. An “adoption connect” site popped up and the 7^thentry down read:

25-Mar-2009

I am searching for my daughter who was born June 7, 1994. She was born in St. Mary’s, PA but the adoption took place in Buffalo, NY. I am her birth mother and want to find her. She has a birth mark on her forehead. I was too young to care for a child, but have never forgotten her and hope she was given the life I could not give her.

 

 

I could not believe my eyes. The only incorrect piece of information was the year. I put my phone down. I told her that we had to believe and trust that God was watching out for us. I could not tell her why I felt this way, at this moment but I would tell her when I could. I started to cry and both kids looked at me strangely. Nina asked if it was a good thing and I said “yes”. I was waiting for Dante to go to bed, so I could have some private time with Nina to share this news. She was so exhausted that she went to bed before him.

When the house was quiet, I went in to wake her up and I asked her to bear with me as I told her the whole story. I explained how I knew that she was Irish and why I did not tell her her biological last name. Then I read the post to her. She started to cry. When I first read the post my biggest concern was alleviated, “does her Birth Mother want to be found”. When Nina heard the post, one of Nina’s questions was answered, “does she think about me?”

Nina hopped out of bed and turned on her computer. She registered on the site and pressed the correspond with this person button. She wrote:

If your name is Melanie, and your Mom’s name is MaryAnn and you gave me the name Leila at birth and your birthday is October 28. I am your daughter. I have a birthmark on my right temple.

 

This message was sent at 10:30pm on a Sunday night. One guess as to who did not sleep much that night? The next day at about 11:00am, I got a call at work: “Mom… Melanie responded” that started a whirlwind trail of emails and information and 19 years of questions answered on both sides. Melanie sent a photo of herself. The biggest question of all. “Who do I look like” was answered. Nina looks just like her birth Mother with the exception of her nose.

Wednesday was going to be the first phone conversation. As I was driving home that night I thought … how do I ever thank Melanie for the gift she gave me? I started to cry, which is not the smartest idea while traveling on the freeway. When I got home, they were talking and Nina let me speak with Melanie. I told her that I do not know how to thank her and she said the same to me. We talked for quite a while and when we were done I told her that I loved her. I don’t even know her, yet I love her. It was so nice to hear the two of them talk and laugh, to hear pure pleasure in my daughter and tears of joy.

In the same day, one door shut and another opened on a whole new family. She has a Birth Mother, a Birth Father, a Step Father, a full biological Brother, 1/2 biological Brother and Sister that are twins, a birth Grandmother and a birth Great-Grandmother an Aunt and an Uncle and two Cousins. She is emailing, texting and talking with them every day. We are planning a trip to meet all of them.

Melanie said when she read the email, she was speechless. She sat stunned. Her husband came downstairs and asked her what the matter was? She said that she could not speak, she just turned the laptop towards him and let him read it for himself. She had written the post to find Nina 3 ½ years ago! Both Nina and Melanie agree that this week has been surreal and amazing at the same time. Two of the best things that I could hear Nina say were “Thank you Mom” and “They love me and they don’t even know me.”

So many prayers were answered that day…

cross-posted at marybethvolpini.com

One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six…by Mary Beth

Those words still ring in my ears… albeit fainter as the years go by… “You have Breast Cancer.” Life forever changed from the day of diagnosis. Today I add another tally mark, another year of survivorship, another year of losing more friends to this disease, another year of remembering and implementing  the lessons that I have learned from cancer, another year of hoping and praying that it does not come back, another year of making memories, but most important … another year of life!

cross-posted at marybethvolpini

Divorce vs. Cancer, by Mary Beth

I have not blogged on this site in quite some time. I just had my 5 year and 6 month check-up and I am good, a few minor problems but let me emphasize minor. The past year has been a very difficult and trying one. After 28 years of marriage I found the courage to ask for a divorce.

I have always been afraid of divorce. I am not sure if it was because I was so young when we met. If I was afraid of being alone… which is a funny concept because I have felt alone for much of my marriage. I was afraid of what others would think. I was afraid of the kid sharing. I was afraid that once I asked for a divorce he would not support us. I was worried about money, which is also a funny concept because I was worried about money with him too….probably more so. I was afraid because he was my first love. I was afraid to have to try to meet someone else to spend my life with and now even more so as a cancer survivor, with a double mastectomy. I was afraid because I love the idea of marriage and family and I desperately wanted to have a long-term marriage and a good family life for my kids.

We had talked about divorce many times and in fact were very close in 2006 and then the cancer diagnosis. We stayed together, but in hindsight I think that was the final nail in the marriage coffin… thank goodness in was not the final nail in my coffin. I learned so many lessons from my cancer, mostly what is truly important. It changed me in so many ways. I guess I thought it would change the others close to me too. I have learned that just because we learn lessons, it does not mean everyone else does. So many times after the cancer I felt like the glorified nanny and housekeeper. There were many issues that I could not talk about then, that I hope someday I can share in case other women experience the same with their marriages.

Over the past 5 years since my diagnosis, those that knew of my marital problems would say “you survived cancer, you can survive divorce”. I heard what they were saying, but I just could not find that courage. I felt cancer was different. I had a team of doctors that I trusted. They said “do this” and I knew I would do it and follow their directions to the letter. There is no trust in divorce… another funny thought because there was no trust in my marriage either. I was not blessed with being able to trust those who are supposed to love and protect you.

I was so afraid of asking for a divorce and then having my cancer come back, what would I do? I don’t know if my cancer will come back, but I know if I stayed it definitely would. I found the courage. Divorce is hard, but cancer is harder.

On the tough divorce issue days I think of the other Mothers on this site who are fighting their cancer daily, hourly and by the minute. I think of the women that we have lost and their valiant fight, they remind me everyday what is truly important and then I remind myself… “if I survived cancer… then I can survive divorce.”

Please say a prayer or lots of prayers and healing thoughts for one of our fearless and amazing leaders, Susan, she has been having some breathing and pain issues and was admitted to the ER on Tuesday.

Grave matters

This post is cross-posted from ‘Get Out Gertrude’

A week and a half ago, I took YD to visit the graves of her Poppa (OH’s dad) and her godfather K, both of which had passed away in 2000.  It had been one of the things on the list of things we had written earlier in the year of things she wanted to do when she came home for the weekends but we hadn’t got round to it until now.

I had a little bit of ulterior motive taking her this time, with the progression of the tumours in my liver and no guarantees that the last couple of chemos we have got to try will give us control for much longer, there has been more thought, and talk, about the virtually inevitable outcome to this story.  As YD lives away from home in a residential supported living environment to a certain extent she has been shielded from the worst of the chemo side effects and we have been able to keep the whole ‘cancer’ thing a little less scary for her.  But this means that she doesnt know , unlike her two older sisters that this is likely to turn terminal at some stage in the future.

As an aside, I personally think in staging cancers now there is long term survival, control and even sometimes some sort of remission acheived in metastatic cancers (Stage 4).  There needs to be a stage 5 introduced where you have exhausted treatment options and are in palliative end stage.  Stage 4 could be seperated into Stage 4a (control and shrinkage of the tumours as to be negligible) 4b (stable no growth) 4c (progression but still treatment options available )

Anyway, in discussions with L, who is the manager of the houses in the residential service that YD uses, there has been discussion around how much we tell YD and L has suggested we tell YD more.  I feel that at the moment when things are so up in the air time-wise, and while I am still fairly active it would just confuse her to talk about me dying when she deals in very concrete concepts and time-frames.  We have told her with this latest news that the cancer isn’t going to go away and that I have to change medicines and the new medicine will make me lose my hair again.  She was quite blase about the news as to her nothing much has changed then in the last 3 years.

Taking her to the visits to Poppa’s grave on Saturday and K’s grave on the Sunday (they are buried in two different cemetaries, in opposite directions from our house) allowed to us to have a talk about death in general.  She knows that Poppa and K were buried whereas my parents, who died in 2001 & 2004 were ‘turned into dust’ (cremated).  She expressed a wish to be buried herself and asked where she might be buried.  She also asked where I would be buried when I die, which helped me make up my mind between burial and cremation for myself, as she expressed a wish to be able to visit my grave when I die.  So although YD doesnt know that my death is likely to be sooner than she expects, I feel like we have done some preparatory work around it.

After visiting K’s grave on the Sunday we went to a nearby mall that we had not been to for a while. We did some Christmas shopping and surprisingly bumped into people we knew.  Usually when we go out it is when YD gets tired that the outing ends.  This time we left the mall when my fatigue etc kicked in.  YD was very grumpy about leaving and coming home so in the car I reitierated how I feel sick and tired, because she only sees me when I am up to doing stuff with her I dont think she realises just how much my health is compromised.  I have warned I might get more sick and tired and that she can’t expect me to take her out all the time.  I think that is all the preparation I can do for now.

Stream of Consciousness (by Judy)

I was just looking at my notes from the Metastatic Breast Cancer Network (MBCN) Conference that I attended last weekend in Baltimore, MD. I was hoping to find something that would lend itself to a coherent, theme-specific post, but instead I find little bits of information, some of them like golden nuggets that I can stash away until MBCN has the conference and power point slides online in about a month.

I wil share some of these nuggets, though, these little bits of information that, for whatever reason, struck me at the time as important enough to write down.

So here goes a disjointed, fragmented post . . . even though it’s all about metastatic breast cancer (MBC). That’s the thread that holds it all together.

One of the speakers talked a little bit about how the Network first was formed because two women, both with MBC, felt isolated and alone in support groups of people with early stage breast cancer. Things like going pink all of October or celebrating the end of treatment “is not possible with metastatic disease.” I know what she means, what the founders meant. I chave totally different conversations with those with early stage breast cancer (BC) than I have with those who have MBC. The ones with MBC seem to intuitively know what I’m going through, what I’m feeling and even thinking. They understand the very real fear of dying, of leaving this earth before I’m ready. They understand the worry I have for my child, my husband, my little family. They know that talking about death doesn’t mean that I’m obsessed with death or that I think I’m going to die soon. They understand that it’s a deep need to understand what will eventually happen to me with this metastatic disease. They understand all of these things because they live with these things themselves.

Approximately 30% of people diagnosed with early stage breast cancer will at some time develop metastatic breast cancer, cancer that has spread to organs other than the breast. Breast cancer, if confined to the breast, doesn’t kill. MBC, however, kills. And there’s very little research done on MBC.

One of the reasons that we also may become, in Whymommy’s words, cancer rebels and pink protesters, is that we can’t be happy and pink during October. We can’t join the throngs of “survivors” if we’re not going to survive this disease. We know we’re different, that we’re what they fear the most. How can we join in when we’re the black sheep of the breast cancer movement, the bad girls of breast cancer?

We can’t. We stand out. People get quiet when we tell them that we have MBC. They don’t, understandably, know what to say, although I think an “I’m sorry” or “I’m sorry to hear that” is always something you can say to people who are struggling not just with breast cancer but with so many other things that happen to people.

We are the 30%. I am part of the 10%, the percentage that was diagnosed with Stage 4 disease from the outset. I guess that makes me one of the REALLY bad girls of breast cancer. And it makes me unpopular with some people, with people who only want to see the happy stuff, with people who are uncomfortable with my diagnosis, with people who just can’t face the fact that I won’t be around someday, that barring a miracle or sudden death from something else, this cancer will take me in a horrible way.

Trust me, it’s not something I like to think about, but I have to. I have to try to prepare my loved ones that someday I won’t be here, I may be in hospice care, they may watch me die. Believe me, I don’t like that image any more than anyone else does, but the difference is that I can’t pretend that it doesn’t exist, I can’t say, “Oh, you’ll beat it,” because MBC is an equal opportunity killer — it takes fighters, optimists, supplement-takers, vegetarians, the religious, etc., just as much as it takes everyone else.

I will die from this. My husband, bless his heart, still says, “I hope not,” even when I try to talk to him about things that are important to me, that I think he’ll need to know about if it gets to the place where he’ll have to raise our son by himself.

*sigh* It’s a hard life. Even so, I love my life and I have an amazing God and I hope and pray for treatments to extend my life for a very long time.

That, and a good medical team, keep me alive for now . . . .
_______________________________
Cross-posted to Just Enjoy Him.