Kelli Schwert
Stage 4 Metastatic Breast Cancer
Age of diagnosis: 32
Occupational therapist, freelance jewelry designer, writer, and artist extraordinaire
I was 32 years old and had just come home from my school district's volleyball tournament. As I was changing out of my clothes for the shower, my forearm brushed a hard lump in my left breast. Checking
again frantically with both hands, yup, yes, that is definitely
something that according to any person's standards would be classified
as a LUMP. Two days later, I had 13 mammograms, an ultrasound, a needle
biopsy of my underarm, a core biopsy of the walnut-sized lump in my
left breast, and a diagnosis under my belt. Not the way I wanted to spend my Easter holidays.
I celebrated my 33rd birthday hairless, wiped out from chemotherapy, but with one of the biggest smiles on my face as I realized how good it was to be ALIVE. Friends and family had created a circle of protection around me. My closest friends held a "booby shower" for me the week of my mastectomies. Each person had secretly gifted me a camisole and presented me with a lit candle and a stone with an inspirational word on it. The nurses at the Pluta Cancer Center had shown me it was ok to laugh with a big needle sticking out of my chest. My cats begged to be petted as I slept in my bathtub after a bath, too exhausted to crawl the 10 feet to my bed. I used my feelings of anger and frustration to write a humorous book on undergoing chemotherapy. That summer my cancer treatment continued as I underwent a bilateral mastectomy, followed by another 12 weeks of chemotherapy and then 6 weeks of radiation. I returned to work that winter determined to heal and put it al behind me. Yeah! I could do anything!
Then during the spring of 2005, at age 34, I was having some hip pain and a routine bone scan led to multiple x-rays and another biopsy to confirm that the cancer had spread to my bones. There were areas in my hips, sternum (breast bone), and spine that were akin to a piece of Swiss cheese. I hadn't planned on getting osteoporosis until I was double my age, and it didn't help that the majority of breast cancer literature featured colorful pictures and drawings of women with gray hair. Anything having to do with young breast cancer survivors (defined as those diagnosed under the age of 40) was full of words like "rare and aggressive" and mortality statistics. It was like, okay, I paid for my ticket to the Florida Keys, but I was only going to make it as far as some podunk town in West Virginia if I was lucky.
I have been in and out of doctors’ offices for various scans, hypotheses, treatments, and my cancer has been in varying areas of seriousness….. from “let’s wait and see” to the current “we need to do something NOW!” I currently have metastases (breast cancer that has shown up in other sites in my body and is having a feast) in practically all of my bones, my liver, and my lungs. These mets I found out just this past May and June. Being on chemo is not the way I wanted to spend my summer vacation, but as I told my oncologist, “it’s time to get out the big guns again.”
The one huge thing that has changed since my cancer diagnosis is my priorities. At age 38, I find myself continually looking at the forest, at the big picture, at the whole box of chocolates instead of just one. Life is too short to sweat the small stuff. I find myself suppressing giggles at meetings, thinking, "Come ON, people, let your panties out a little!" Uhhh, is my boss going to read this?
A positive thing that has come out of this experience is realizing there are many, many people who care deeply for me and want to help share my sorrow and expand my joy. I am so thankful for my friends and family who are helping me deal with this and live as full of a life as I can.
My hardest struggle has been making peace with myself. I have learned that it is OK to let out whatever feelings I have about living with cancer, even if they include anger, frustration, and sadness. I am working on accepting that hope does not equal optimism and that if I'm ever upset or scared or lonely, it won't count against me in the "Kelli vs. Cancer" fight.
I now celebrate each day and I can get re-charged with positive energy just by going to work and seeing the smiles on the kids' faces as I teach them a new skill. I continue to be the one in my elementary school building who always has a supply of silly putty, scented markers, and sour gummy worms. And I plan on hanging around for a long, long, time.
(originally published August 2005 for the Breast Cancer Coalition of Rochester (NY)'s Rare Chair Affair)
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