A Navajo woman's journey

Jackie Francke

I wish I remembered what day it was when I ran the dirt road near Huerfano Mountain years ago. I stood there in the quietness and beauty of its sacredness prepared to run like I had many times before as my mother drove ahead in her green Ford pickup truck.

Early on she patiently embraced and supported my enthusiasm for running, often driving ahead and waiting as I would run to catch up to her and the green pickup.

As I ran, the rhythm of each footstep muffled by the soft dirt road became in sync with each breath as I would become immersed in my thoughts, the quietness, and sacredness of my surroundings.

I was never good at remembering dates and names and I am often amazed by people who have such a gift. But I do remember the quietness, rhythm, and beauty I felt that day as I ran near such a sacred place.

Fast forward a few decades, to a day like no other - March 3, 2009. I rose early, doubled knotted the shoestrings on my running shoes and headed out the door for my usual morning run.

As the sun peeked out to the east, the rhythm of my footsteps once again became in sync with my breathing, as I immersed myself in my thoughts and prayers of the day, a routine I have become accustomed to over the years, one that has provided time to mull over many of life's joys and challenges.

On this day, as I moved along, my thoughts reflect back to the past few weeks involving a series of mammograms, an ultrasound, and a biopsy.

It started with a routine mammogram in January that was determined to be "suspicious," as defined by the radiologist. With a sense of urgency in her voice, my doctor immediately referred me to a breast cancer surgeon for further testing.

With such a sense of urgency, why did my doctor take a vacation? Why were appointments and visits pushed out over the weeks? And why did it take so long to get results?

These are questions I asked myself many times, but that day as I ran the last question remained: Would I get the call today? Do I have breast cancer?

The doctor began with an apology followed by an explanation of the biopsy results in medical terms. I made every attempt to pay close attention and take notes.

Then it was said. "Breast cancer," the two words resonated loud and clear, with no notes required.

As I hung up the telephone I attempted to gather my thoughts and review my scribbled notes as I tried to make sense of all the medical jargon. It was surreal.

I don't feel sick. I felt no lump. This is just a bad dream, I told myself as I continued on what started as a normal day on March 3, 2009.

I just became one of those lucky people - one out every eight women who will be diagnosed with invasive breast cancer in 2009, according to the American Cancer Society.

Over the next couple weeks, my days are busy with doctor appointments, trips to the library, and time on the Internet. I consume myself with books, research, and information while trying to maintain some sense of normalcy, as I attempt to overcome the fear and uncertainty I feel within me.

Every doctor's visit seems to be a crash course in breast cancer 101, discussing surgery, recovery, treatment options, and statistics, leaving me after each visit with a new set of medical terms that would send me scurrying for more information and understanding, as if studying for a college exam.

When will I be tested?

I open the door and the cool north breeze hits my face as I make my way down my usual running path. The sun is once again peeking over the horizon welcoming a new day. I feel the comfort of the rhythm and pace as I reflect on what the days ahead will bring.

I'm scheduled for a lumpectomy on my left breast to remove the cancer and a sentinel node biopsy to determine if the cancer has spread to my lymph nodes.

It is a cool April morning with signs of spring as I make my way down the familiar path. As if going into battle, I strategically plan out the next couple of days, beginning with arrival of the troops in the form of my loving, supportive family. I mentally plan out meals, beds, schedules, and attempt to recall pre-surgery instructions.

The battle plan is to first undergo surgery and the sentinel node biopsy, followed by more waiting on results of the extent of the cancer. The details have consumed my thoughts, when I suddenly realize I have completed my run.

The battle has begun and I declare to myself that I can overcome this disease as I finish off my run with a walk. I reassure myself that I am strong. I reflect for a moment on the strong women in my family like my grandmother, mother, and aunts, who have guided me through other life's challenges teaching me that I can overcome anything in life.

"I am strong and ready", I declare one last time, as I prepare for the first phase of battle in a war against breast cancer with my family, friends, and running at my side.

Jackie Francke grew up in the Shiprock area and currently lives in Longmont, Colo. Her maternal clan is the Black Streak People and her paternal clan is One Who Walks Around. She is a wife, mother, daughter, sister, engineer, and business owner.