Removing the Cancer

Jackie Francke

I grew up on a small farm, the youngest of three daughters, in a simple setting surrounded by the daily chores and upkeep of our animals and seasonal crops.

My mother wove beautiful rugs depicting the designs and patterns of various Navajo communities and ceremonies, a talent passed down to her and her sisters by their mother and one that did not come easy for me.

I would always be amazed at the completion and beauty of each piece as she would develop patterns in her mind and transform them into rugs with so much traditional symbolism.

Over the years, I have drawn on many of the important lessons my parents attempted to teach me, but in a manner adapted to today's environment filled with laptops, Ipods, cell phones, Blackberries, and a constant stream of information at the push of a button.

At such a pace, running has always provided me a sense of simplicity, serenity, and reflection into life's challenges and joy. One that shows me the quietness, rhythm and serenity of each morning as the sun rises to the east giving us blessings to start our day.

On this morning, I go through my bag one last time and review the pre-surgery instructions given to me by the surgeon. The sun is starting to come up and I glance down at the floor to see my running shoes lying about, shoelaces spread out in disarray, knowing my morning routine would have to pass.

In the midst of the quietness, I am tempted to go for one last run before I check in for surgery. I quickly dismiss the idea as I follow in my mind today's schedule. I will first check in at the imaging center for a small procedure in preparation for the sentinel node biopsy. Next, I will check in at the surgery center to prepare for outpatient surgery to remove the cancer developing within my chest.

The house becomes alive as the troops rise for battle. The smell of food and coffee floats through the air as we head out the door leaving behind the normalcy of the day on March 30, 2009.

As I lay waiting in the white and quietness of the hospital room, I began to think of all the women who have been there before me. Were they filled with the anticipation, uncertainty, fear, and wonder of what the day was about to bring, as I was at that moment?

I am given a sedative and ceiling tiles whizzed by as it starts to take effect.

I awaken two hours later, to the familiar caring faces of family as they wait with me in the recovery room. As I sat feeling the effects of the remaining anesthesia in my body, the hunger from lack of food since midnight, and the tightness on my chest from the bandages, the recovery nurse proceeded with post-surgery instructions.

It has been nearly four months since that routine mammogram in January as the nurse prepared to wheel me to our car. The cancer has been removed. I am going home. It is time to heal.

It has been nearly five weeks since my surgery as I move clumsily down my usual running path in an attempt to break into a familiar pace and rhythm in which I am accustomed. I feel the excitement as my legs carry me forward. I am running, never mind the unbalanced gait or the effort my right arm puts forth to move in sync with each step and compensate for my left arm clutched to my side. I am running.

I reflect on the past few weeks, the test results, and what the next phase will hold. According to my doctor, of the 10 lymph nodes removed during the sentinel node biopsy, one was found containing cancerous cells, putting me into Stage IIA category and requiring further treatment.

Once again I dive into every piece of information in attempt to understand the circumstances surrounding Stage IIA breast cancer, which according to the American Cancer Society, is defined as a tumor two or less centimeters across and has spread to one to three lymph nodes with a potential five-year survival rate of 86 percent.

I am strong, I declare to myself, once again not realizing that I have completed my first run in five weeks. I relish my body's ability to overcome the impacts of surgery and adapt to my new form of running, as I finish off with a walk.

Today I will meet with my oncologist to determine my form of chemotherapy treatment. With a renewed sense of strength from my first run in five weeks, "I am ready," I declare to myself as I prepare for what the day will bring and the next phase in my war against breast cancer with my family, friends, and running at my side.

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