82-Lancaster Farming, Saturday, November 26,1988
Thanksgiving Special
Through Illness, Surgery,
A Promise Emerges
BY SHARON B. SCHUSTER
Maryland Correspondent
Editors Note: Those who read
Sharon B. Schuster’s account of
her husband’s battle with cancer
will recall his miraculous healing
from a diagnosis of liver cancer,
which has a 30 to 60 percent cure
rate.
Just as the Schusters were
recupering from that experience,
Sharon received devastating
news.
It was the Easter holiday, 1987.
Because it is such a hassle to take
a day off from school, I scheduled
an appointment with my gyneco
logist during the break. It was to
be a routine exam to check out a
probable benign fibroid tumor on
my right ovary that had been
detected by another doctor.
Women often “get those things.” I
surmised to Chuck; “I’ll probably
need surgery to have this
removed, but I’ll wait till the sum
mo- after school is out.”
I saw the doctor on Monday. I
was in the operating room on
Tuesday. My doctor, competent
and excellent physician that he is,
would not let me wait another day.
He would not hear my pleas to
“put it off until summer. I have to
go back to school to tell the kids.”
What would they think, how
would they cope if I did not return
from Easter break - just dis
appeared?
My doctor projected six to eight
weeks of recovery from what was
expected to be a routine removal
of a cystic - like growth. I made
the necessary calls to the principal
and arranged for a substitute to
teach my Spanish classes.
I was so scared. I shivered and
cried at the operating room
entrance. I guess the possibility
that this growth could be malig
nant weighed heavy on my mind.
And I just wasn’t ready to go
through this now. The doctor
spent time with us explaining the
procedure and said he would try to
salvage as much as he could. He
knew of our desperate desire to
have children.
I remember being returned to
my room at the hospital, watching
the lights in the halls of the hospi
tal race overhead and Chuck hold
ing my hand. “The doctor said
everything is ok. He removed a
tumor and the right ovary and part
of the left ovary, but he said there
was no sign of cancer,” Chuck
assured me.
I spent the next several days
recuperating from the “bikini cut”
surgical procedure, forcing myself
to fust get up, then go for walks
down the short hall of the obstetri-
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«„. ron ,ound s P r,n fltlme so beautiful. She said
flowers 6 ” 1 °* serat,ons 1 had t,me t 0 s,ow down and smell the
cal ward in which I had been
placed. Even with the removal of
the right ovary, I held on to the
hope that there still might be a
chance of producing children
through artificial insemination.
“Thank God there was no cancer,”
I thought to myself.
It was Saturday, almost a whole
week later. I was getting adapt at
walking the halls and anxious to
go home. The doctor had told me
earlier that he was waiting for the
official operative report to con
firm his initial findings in the
operating room. Then I could go
home.
I thought I heard him in a new
mother’s room down the hall. “I
can’t wait till Monday,” I thought.
“I’m going to be out in the hall
way when he comes out and cor
ner him.” Comer him, I did.
“Is your husband here?" he
asked. No, I was alone. I insisted
that the doctor tell me the findings
of the report.
“Let’s go in and sit down,” he
said as he motioned toward my
room. “Uh oh,” I thought.
Whenever a doctor suggests tak
ing you aside to tell you news,
look out. Why couldn’t he just tell
me in the hall that everything is
ok, just as his preliminary tests
had shown?
“The tumor was cancerous,” he
said with compassion. That heavy
sensation took over my body. I felt
flushed and scared. Fighting back
the tears, I asked him to explain
the procedure and the findings in
depth. He took great care to make
sure I understood the terminology
on the papers and talked about
sending me on to a gynecological
oncologist, an expert doctor in the
area of cancer in women’s repro
ductive organs.
After he left me with this devas
tating news, I was alone in my
room, alone with the thoughts that
raced through my head. “I can’t
believe it - we just went through
this with Chuck. How bad is it
really? Am I going to live much
longer? Will we never know the
joy of raising children?” After
several tries, I reached Chuck by
telephone and he raced to my bed
side. By now, the tables full of
beautiful flowers from so many
friends and well-wishers were no
longer a source of comfort. And
the cries of the newborn babies on
the hall seemed a cruel reminder
of what was to never be for us. I
wanted to go home.
In subsequent consultations
with the doctor by phone, Chuck
pressed for more information
about the disease - “serious papil
lary adenocarcinoma.” While I
i"i /?'
Despair—
was confined to the upstairs bed
room to recuperate. Chuck took
advantage of the private time to
speak candidly with the doctor.
“How serious is it?” he asked.
“What’s the cure rate for ovarian
cancer?”
The doctor explained that it was
very unusual for a woman of 31
years to be diagnosed with ovarian
cancer. According to all the litera
ture, the disease strikes women
over fifty most often. He
described the tumor as gray and
ugly, about the size of an orange,
with fingers that were reaching for
vital organs. The cancer had been
clinically classified as stage lb,
within both ovaries, and grade 2.
Grade 1 is most often curable.
Grade 3 is very deadly. Grade 2
was described as vicious and
aggressive, and was the reason for
a great amount of concern to the
attending physicians. With the
information at hand, a cure was
unlikely. This disease spreads
rapidly and at this stage can cause
death within one to three years.
Chuck later told me that he was
overcome with fear and sorrow,
expecting that we only had a little
time left together. But, he decided
not to tell me of the gloomy pros
pects for complete recovery until
after the next operation which
would verify the findings from the
first operation on April 5.
We met with the gynecological
encologist on April 22. By that
time I was moving around pretty
well. I had been taking slow walks
around the farm at home, and even
went back to school for a day to
meet with my principal and super
visor for a year end evaluation
conference that had been sche
duled earlier in the year. I found
that my students were in the very
capable hands of Karen Evans
who finished out the rest of the
school year for me
The specialist reviewed my
records and met with me, Chuck
and my father. All three of us
tackled this together, armed with
questions and support for one
another. The doctor explained that
the remaining part of the left ovary
must be removed, in light of the
official report which indicated a
presence of cancer. On May 2, just
ten days away, he would perform
the surgery recognized to be most
effective in treating my illness and
probably follow up with chemo
therapy.
During the month between
operations, I had time to re
evaluate the situation. The sud
denness of the first diagnosis and
surgery caught me totally unpre
pared. But, now I had time to pon
der and pray, and that’s just what I
did. I read Bcmie Siegel’s Love,
Medicine and Miracles, which is a
must for anyone faced with a
deadly disease. Aunt Ruby Pre
ston gave me Norman Vincent
Peak’s Thought Conditioners
which I read many times through
out my ordeal as a source of com
fort and reassurance. Chuck and I
also used positive imagery and
visualization. I pictured deer graz
ing in a field which was my abdo
men. And, as they slowly worked
their way around, they gobbled up
cancer cells as they went I had a
peaceful and serene feeling about
the whole thing. Chuck and I pray
ed fervently together and asked
the Lord for another miraculous
healing.
ug igt
“the third miracle to our family.”
God truly does work in mysteri
ous ways. Just when I had my life
running at full tilt. He saw that I
needed to slow down and take
time to smell the flowers. My
strength returned little by little
every day. I took slow therapeutic
walks around the farm. .At a
snail’s pace, I couldn’t help but
notice all of God’s wonderful cre
ations - the bright yellow fields of
mustard weed, the royal garments
of Irises, the intoxicating fra
grance of the Mock Orange bush
in the yard and the pungent smell
of mint as it crushed under my feet
along the stream in the pasture. I
took great delight in the spring
colors and smells and savored
every moment. Isn’t it sad that it
takes such a drastic measure to
make us slow down?
We also came to appreciate the
kindness of our many friends and
family. Ann John, who teaches
with Chuck, coordinated an effort
among all the teachers of his
school to provide us with a com
plete meal every day while I was
incapacitated. She sent Chuck
home with a complete meal for
three (my father included) every
school day for at least three
months. Our family filled in with
meals during the lean times and on
weekends. Aunt Lucy Billings
was a regular with good country
cooking delivered in her best
bowls with a sidedish of pleasant
company. >
The New Windsor Associate
Reformed Presbyterian Church
ministered to our needs as well.
They fed us spiritually. And, when
Pastor William Forsyth and the
congregation said that I had
exhausted my sick leave and
therefore my income, the church
donated one Sunday’s offering to
us. It was the largest offering the
church had ever received. And,
our good friend Doris Crawmer
put me on the prayer chain right
away. By the time that second
operation came, I was on prayer
chains across the country. Every
one was pulling for me.
*lCotnesicai
C f/otfiS
May 2 came. I was not scared. I
felt as though God were right that
holding my hand as I waved good
bye to my family and friends in
the waiting area. I wished that
they could have the peace and
comforted feeling that I knew.
They were overcome with worry.
It is obvious to me now that they
expected the worst. So many times
during the previous weeks my
family had hugged me, clinging to
me like it was the last one.
The four-hour surgery went
well. I woke up in the recovery
room in extreme pain and pleaded
for more morphine. The surgery
had started at 11:00 a.m. I didn’t
return to the room until 10:00 p.m,
I spent seven days with no food or
water, not even ice. I had a gastric
tube 'which expelled the juices
from my stomach, a catheter in my
bladder, an IV and a chateter in
my abdomen.
There, I lay in the hospital bedj
unable to swab my own dry
mouth. When it was all said and
done, I had a total hysterectomy,
an oophorectomy, omentectomy,
lymphadnectomy, and appendec
tomy. And, the surgeon examined
every inch of the colon by string
ing it out across the table and then
putting it back in. But the good
news was NO CANCER! Another
miracle.
Chuck and his mother, Dorothy
Schuster, took turns staying nights
in the hospital with me. I was
helpless. They cared for me with
great tenderness and compassion.
Aunt Roxie Brady relieved them
during the days and took turns
with Chuck’s father, Lou, and my
father. I couldn’t have recovered
as nicely and as quickly as I did
without them.
Though I was relieved to know
there was no evidence of metasti
sized cancer, I suffered intense
pain and dreaded the next step.
Two modes of follow-up treat
ment were discussed - chemother
apy and P-32.
After much discussion, it was
(Turn to Pag* B 4)