Editors note: This article was one of a select few chosen for the inaugural print edition of New Focus Daily which debuted at SURVIVORville 2017. We are grateful to Debra Sheridan for ALL of her contributions to the Women Survivors Alliance and for her inspiration for all cancer survivors, especially for those impacted by head and neck cancers.
My name is Debra and I’m a laryngectomee. This means my voice box was surgically removed. I didn’t have laryngeal cancer, I had tonsil cancer. I was a nonsmoker, social beer drinker, hale, hearty, deemed obscenely healthy by my family doctor, medical imaging systems sales professional specializing in cardiac cath labs and CT scanners. 10 years ago I was at the height of my professional career. I was on a business trip and after a late meal felt a lump in my throat. When I photographed my throat I could see the lump was a big, ugly, red, yellow and white mass. My education and training as a CT technologist reminded me “ugly is bad.” As I was sales manager for the center third of USA for a CT scanner manufacturer, after my meeting next day, I visited the engineering bay and asked the engineers to scan my neck. I programmed the scanner, directed the engineers where to begin the scan, and together we watched the images develop on the scanner monitor. Little did I know then how my life would take a course that I could not have imagined at the time. I didn’t know then that I didn’t have a road map or any sort of navigation. It took years for me to accept that the life I had before my diagnosis had been eradicated along with my cancer, and I was not prepared or equipped to cope with the aftermath of treatment.
When I returned home from my business trip, I shopped for an ENT surgeon to perform a biopsy. As the surgeon laid out the core biopsy punch needle and the specimen container. I asked if it would hurt. He said “If it hurts that’s a good sign.” He said nothing more as he took several core biopsy specimens. I didn’t feel a thing. He told me I’d get the pathology report in 7 days. During that interval, I started shopping for an oncologist who specialized in head/neck cancer (HNC). I didn’t know a lot about HNC, but I knew that I needed a specialist to both eradicate the cancer and give myself the best possible outcome after treatment.
The day my pathology report was released was the day I had my first consultation with a medical oncologist who had a good record in treating HNC. I asked her to be straightforward about the status, the treatment plan, and my potential for a good outcome after treatment. She was blunt. She said it didn’t look good. She said the treatment could kill me. I figured the cancer would kill me so I may as well go down fighting. The treatment plan was set out. PET/CT for staging and to ensure there were no other tumors lurking. Port inserted. Fly to Houston to demo and sell a CT scanner. Begin 8 weeks of 24/7 infusion pump along with weekly infusions of three chemo agents, 5FU (Fluorouracil), Taxotere, and Cisplatin induction chemotherapy. I told her I really liked the name 5FU because that’s what I wanted to give the cancer – 5 FUs. Then, 8 weeks of 5 days a week radiation, lose the 23/7 pump and continue with the weekly infusions. I did well with the induction chemotherapy. Yes, my hair (every hair of my body) fell out, but one can get by without hair. I kept up the pace of my job and had a banner couple months of sales. By the third week of radiation I had lost my voice and my ability to swallow. A PEG tube was inserted and my nutrition was continued, but the nausea and vomiting had set in with a vengeance. A puke bowl was my constant companion. I recall wishing I could give the experience away for just 5 minutes so I could have a few minutes of rest. But I couldn’t think of a single person I’d give it to, so I just hunkered down and doubled my determination to just get through the experience. “This, too, shall pass” and “if you can make it just 30 more seconds you’ll be ok” became my daylong/nightlong mantra. At long last I completed my final chemo infusion session and my final radiation session. I’ll never forget because it was on my birthday. I felt that was auspicious. Like I had a second birthday – the beginning of the rest of my life after the end of the battle for my life.
As I tried to recover from the effects of treatment – recover my energy, recover my voice, recover my swallowing – I asked every doctor, nurse, therapist I met, “What can I do?” The unanimous response was “You’re lucky you’re alive! What more do you want?” I felt I didn’t fight so hard to live to merely exist. I wanted to get back to my life. It still hadn’t dawned on me that what I was before treatment and what treatment had transformed me into were two different types of human beings. It took a few years, and lots of seeking solutions for breathing, eating, talking to realize that I would no longer look, eat, speak, breath the way I did before treatment.
I searched and struggled to find the needed support, treatments, and services I needed to recover physically, emotionally, and financially from my HNC treatment. I asked lots of “Why not?” questions every time I learned the services and products I needed and expected to be available were not. I started asking “Why is no one doing something about what’s missing?” And right behind that I asked myself why I was not doing something about what was missing. And so Faces of HNC was conceived.
Faces of HNC is a Tennessee-based 501 (c)(3) dedicated to raising awareness and resources needed for head/neck cancer survivors to help with quality of life after treatment. We raise awareness with events, speaking engagements, articles in magazines, blogs and social media. Faces of HNC has joined forces with Women Survivors Alliance and The Survivor Collection to promote the celebration of HNC survivors with the addition of Blazing Red to the beautiful collection of cancer survivor themed jewelry, and, a new item to the collection – The Debra. Please visit the website to see more of this beautiful jewelry collection.
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