Brandi Newquist, 2005 Luminaria Ceremony Speaker


A “Few” Words from a Survivor…

It’s been over two years since I first heard the words: “You have breast cancer”.  Those words have forever changed who I am and the world as I know it.  I was a 35 year old single woman in a new (and wonderful) relationship. We were talking about marriage and children one day and surgery and treatments the next.  The old cliché “your life can change on a dime” had struck in my own backyard.

I found my lump by accident.  My left breast was tender, so I did a self-breast exam.  At first I wasn’t sure that it was something to worry about.  However, after discussing it with my boyfriend, I contacted my doctor’s office immediately.  An appointment with my nurse practitioner, Pat News, confirmed the lump.  She referred me to Sheila Veloz for a mammogram and ultrasound.  The radiologist, Dr. Kirsch, was very kind and gentle as he explained my lump appeared to be a solid mass.  He recommended a biopsy and offered to do it while I was still in their office.  I made it through the procedure without any problems and went home to wait, as instructed, for my results. 

My phone call came the following day, April 3, 2003.  As Pat had to say the words no one ever wants to hear, we both cried.  My first phone call was to Bobby.  We had been together for only four months, and I had to tell him “I have breast cancer”.  He rushed home to comfort me, and our cancer journey began.  After we met with my surgeon, I was instantly overcome by all the words that would forever be a part of my vocabulary: infiltrating ductal carcinoma, margins, sentinel lymph node mapping and biopsy, lumpectomy, mastectomy, chemotherapy, radiation, BRCA gene mutations, etc.

I underwent a lumpectomy and sentinel lymph node mapping and biopsy the following week.  We celebrated in the news my tumor was removed completely with healthy margins and the procedure found no cancer in the lymph nodes.  I was referred to Dr. Philip Chatham for my chemotherapy.  I underwent four treatments on a three week cycle.  I lost my hair, but not my love of life or the people in my life.  Following 33 radiation treatments, my hair began to come back as the year 2003 was coming to a close.  Bobby and I were once again planning our life.  We decided 2003 would be the year we fought cancer and 2004 would be the year we were married.

However, we first had one more test.  I had been told since my journey began that I was at risk of having a genetic mutation which had been linked to breast and ovarian cancer.  You see, I lost my mother to ovarian cancer at a young age.  The fact that I too was a pre-menopausal woman with cancer was apparently a red flag.  My doctors had encouraged me to first treat the illness at hand before pursuing the testing.  Following all my treatments, I went to see the genetic counselors at City of Hope, and I was tested for the BRCA 1 & 2 mutation. 

The results of my test did not surprise us.  I did in fact have the BRCA 1 mutation.  Unlike so many breast cancer patients, I now knew what caused my disease.  Although it was at first reassuring to have “an answer” to the question “how did I get cancer”, I soon discovered there were bigger problems with having my answer.  With the knowledge of this mutation meant the knowledge I was at a huge risk of developing another breast cancer or, worst yet, ovarian cancer.  The numbers were a staggering 60-80% that I would get cancer again.  These results now added another dimension to what I would do in my cancer battle.  The genetic counselors were very professional and compassionate as they explained my options.  The recommendation for someone my age, with my cancer history was a bi-lateral mastectomy (removal of both breasts) and a bi-lateral oophorectomy (removal of the ovaries).  We processed the information and decided to go on with our life, for the time being.

Bobby proposed on April 3, 2004, the one year anniversary of my cancer diagnosis.  We began our wedding plans.  However, during a routine follow up with Dr. Chatham, he found an enlarged lymph node.  I was back on the roller coaster.  Within a couple of weeks, I had had another surgery to remove the lymph node and verify our suspicions.  It was cancerous.  In all likelihood, the lymph node had been missed in my first surgery.  I received my second cancer diagnosis on June 3, 2004.  I would be going through chemotherapy again.  However, I still wanted to get married…with my hair.  Bobby and I went to St. Maarten and were married on the beach at sunset on July 21, 2004.  We returned home to start chemo on August 12, 2004.

In December of 2004, I had completed my 12 chemotherapy treatments over the course of four months.  I once again lost my curly black hair and endured months of aches and pains and discomfort.  However, what felt like the biggest obstacle was yet to come.  Bobby and I had decided to have the prophylactic mastectomy and oophorectomy as recommended for someone with the BRCA 1 mutation.  

I enjoyed the holidays with my friends and family and prepared for my surgery.  On March 21, 2005, I underwent a 14-hour surgery to remove both breasts and both ovaries.  At the same time, I had a reconstruction procedure called the TRAM flap.  They used my stomach fat and tissue to reconstruct my breasts.  I had been so worried and scared of the procedure itself, I had not even thought about what it would be like to wake up following the surgery.

I spent five days and four nights in the hospital…amazing considering all that my body endured.  My husband told me much later that he barely recognized me in the recovery room because I was so swollen.  I was frustrated in those first days by the limitations of my body.  I had so many tubes coming out of my body it was difficult to move in bed, much less get out of bed and walk.  Yet that is exactly what the physical therapists expected me to do when they came in my room within 12 hours of my surgery.  I was restricted from using my arms to push off and my stomach had been cut and sutured so tightly I was unable to stand straight for weeks to come, yet here I was being hoisted out of bed by not less than four people.  I was bawling as they moved me from the bed to a chair with my IV, pain pump, four drains and catheter in tow.  But I did it!  And the next day, I did it again.  And before I knew it, I was on my way home to recover.

My recovery was very smooth.  I had the love and support of a wonderful, committed man and a network the size of the Grand Canyon in friends and family.  I took it “one day at a time” and before I knew it, I was standing tall and moving as though my body had never been altered.  It’s been three months since my surgery, and I’ve been told I am the picture of health . . . for now . . .

This year, I am once again at Relay to celebrate my life and the life of so many people who are touched by cancer.  I cherish this day in the same way I cherish every day.  You see, when you are faced with the reality that your days may be numbered, you suddenly have a new appreciation for your days.   This is what makes a cancer victim a survivor.  That and the determination to never give up.  In fact, Bobby and I have never given up on our dream of having children.  When I was first diagnosed, we had the forethought to harvest my eggs and freeze our embryos before I started chemotherapy.  So technically, we do have children…six of them “on ice”!  Soon, perhaps, we will try some of the modern medical techniques that will bring our family home to us.  In the meantime, we choose to follow the motto: “Live Well, Love Much, Laugh Often!”