Guest post by Heather Von St James
You have probably heard the saying that it takes a whole village to raise a child. People tend to say that a lot, especially when you have a baby, and once I had my daughter, I began to understand just what the saying really meant. Then again, our circumstances were a little bit different than most.
My daughter was born on August 4, 2005 after a good and mostly uneventful pregnancy. The only complication I endured was that she was born via an emergency C-section. However, there she was, beautiful and sweet. We named her Lily and were surrounded immediately by people, including my parents and my husband’s family. Many friends came to see us and everything seemed as if it was going according to plan. We had no idea what was about to happen.
After I returned to work full time, I started to feel tired all the time and as if I could never catch my breath. I was working full time and had a new baby at home, so I figured that it was just the normal exhaustion that all new moms feel. Nevertheless, I could not shake the feeling that something was actually wrong, so I went to see my doctor.
I underwent a myriad of tests and finally, on November 21, 2005, the doctors diagnosed me with malignant pleural mesothelioma. Pleural mesothelioma is a cancer of the tissue that lines the lungs, primarily caused by asbestos exposure. While I had been exposed to asbestos as a child without knowing it, I had no idea that the danger of asbestos exposure could just sit in wait and then suddenly spring like something vicious and deadly out of the dark, 30 years later.
Lily was only three months old when I was diagnosed and she was the first thing I thought about when I heard the word “cancer.” The doctors were grave, telling me that I might have 15 months to live if I did not undergo dramatic and immediate treatment. However, the thought of Lily and my husband and both of them living life without me steeled my resolve immediately – we were going to do whatever was necessary in order to save my life.
On February 2, 2006, I underwent surgery in Boston to remove my left lung, technically known as extrapleural pneumenctomy. After 18 days in the hospital, I spent two grueling months recovering from the surgery before I started undergoing chemotherapy and radiation, which is also incredibly difficult. Of course, during this time, we also had Lily to consider.
Since my surgery and treatment took place in Boston with one of the best mesothelioma doctors in the country, Lily lived with my parents in South Dakota during this time. While I am sure it was a big adjustment for my parents, who suddenly went from being doting grandparents to temporary full-time parents of a little baby, they soon discovered that they too had a village that would help them raise this child. From the girls that I used to babysit for when I was younger to members of my parents’ church and nearby neighbors, people surrounded my parents with love, support and assistance. Both of my parents worked full time and an entire system of volunteers came out to help take care of Lily while they were at work, in the evenings, and on the weekends.
Our survival as a family during that time simply would not have occurred if it was not for the village that helped us raise our child and helped take care of my husband and me as well. While we were in Boston, another village sprung up around me and my husband, a village filled with others who were going through the same journey that we were experiencing and who could understand the mountain highs and valley lows of our emotions. Our village, which extended from Boston to South Dakota, was comprised of many people, from family to friends we had known for years to people we did not know well but who were still willing to jump in and help. It was beautiful.
During this time, Lily grew and grew. She started eating solid food and learned how to roll over and then start to scoot around. My parents emailed me regular pictures and my husband would go print the pictures up so that I could look at and hold the pictures of my daughter. The nurses would come in my room to see the new pictures and would exclaim over them happily with me, kindly ignoring the fact that I was often trying hard not to cry. After all, I missed her terribly. I was missing her babyhood.
Nevertheless, I had to fight. I had to undergo treatment for mesothelioma and deal with everything that meant, so that I could survive and be able to come back to my daughter. I had to live.
Once my stay in Boston was complete, I returned to Lily. Although the bond between Lily and her grandparents will always be special. It has been a slow and sometimes difficult process, but we are taking it day by day and trying to embrace life as fully as possible. After all, we know better than anyone does how fragile life is and how quickly it can change or be taken from you.
Cancer is a funny thing. In some ways, it is the most horrible experience ever. However, the other side of it is that you learn that no one is promised the easy way out, so you might as well enjoy what you have, find the good in the bad, and move on the best way that you can. When your village starts to show up, big or small, near or far, smile and embrace them. Tell them thank you. And remember to smile.
Heather Von St James is a mesothelioma survivor and a guest blogger for the Mesothelioma Cancer Alliance. Her story is one of hope and inspiration and she hopes to spread her message to anyone who may be going through similar situations to her own.
Check out Heather’s story on the Mesothelioma Cancer Alliance Blog.
