Graton woman updates friends, family on treatment in series of e-mails
By SUSAN SWARTZ FOR THE PRESS DEMOCRAT
Published: Friday, October 1, 2010 at 10:27 a.m.
Last Modified: Friday, October 1, 2010 at 10:27 a.m.
Kathie Mayhew of Graton — wife, mother, grandmother, former B&B operator, Rotary Club regular, world traveler, one-time Emergency Medical Technician and parenting coach — came home in February from a trip to Africa and noticed a quarter-sized pink spot on her right breast. Over several days, it changed shape and moved toward the nipple. On March 3, after a biopsy, mammogram, ultrasound, MRI and other scans, doctors diagnosed her with inflammatory breast cancer, a rare and aggressive type of breast cancer.
Kathleen Mayhew, who is undergoing treatment for breast cancer, at her home in Graton.
(BETH SCHLANKER/ The Press Democrat
There is no history of breast cancer in Mayhew's family and she'd had a clear mammogram five months before. There was never a distinct lump.
“I had none of those symptoms we're trained to look for,” she said.
Eight months later, Mayhew, 68, is on the other side of her diagnosis. She's had 18 weeks of chemotherapy, a mastectomy in mid-August and then six weeks of radiation. She also had a hair-cutting ceremony and a bon voyage tea to say farewell to her breast.
In the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure in late September, Mayhew's team T-shirt read “A bald gramma is better than a dead gramma,” which was the response of her 10-year-old grandson when told cancer treatments might make his grandmother lose her hair.
All along, she's sent regular e-mails to some 30 friends and family members, not only as an efficient group update, but also because, she said, “it's just my way to be open. It made me feel better to get my words out, and it allowed others who I knew cared about me to be more open, too.”
One recent morning, sitting in her kitchen over tea, her head sprouting new stubble, Mayhew said her way to handle challenges has always been “to first believe they are not insurmountable. Then to deal with what I can do about it, make a list of all my options and avoid falling apart as much as possible.”
Here are some excerpts from her e-mail chronicles.
March 10, Dear Friends: Well, we went to the surgeon today and are a bit dismayed. The MRI showed more cancer than we had thought. I need chemo, surgery and radiation. The choice of surgery or chemo first is mine, but the doc seemed to favor chemo first to catch any wandering cells as well as to shrink the tumors. So I do chemo for three to four months and then lose this right breast which has served me well for quite a long time.
Beats the alternative, though.
She adds a P.S.: Please pay attention to your own or your best friend's breasts. Don't wait for lumps. Any changes in color, texture, thickening or just even a weird sense — go to the doctor. Better to be wrong and feel silly then to not pay attention and hope it goes away.
March 17: Apparently I have two types of cancer going on though they will treat them the same. For 18 weeks I get chemo .
.
. I also get Herceptin to slow and disable those buggers .
.
. Then a mastectomy and radiation. Then hormone therapy to rid my body of every last frigging damn ounce of estrogen since estrogen feeds those cells as if it were gasoline and I needed to burn. Geez Louise. So here we go, ride of a lifetime.
April 4: Well, folks, the hair is gone. It was coming out in a handful each time I put my hands into it and so we made a party of cutting it after dinner today. (Granddaughter) Caitlyn says now that my hair is gone she has no choice but to accept that I am sick .
.
. I still feel okay, just really, really tired.
April 18: Had the second of the big wacko bug juice chemos and was not sick to my stomach. If this is as bad as it gets, then I can do this. Fact of the matter is, I can do this whatever comes. (Daughter) Kari and I went clothes shopping. I figure that if I am to lose a breast and my hair, at least I'm going to look good doing it. Never have been one to pay much attention to makeup, but now that my face is all I have, it matters a bit more. So I “put on my face” before I go out and do my best to at least look female.
May 9: I just wonder what folks do who have no support system and/or no insurance. One day of wacko chemo cost $12K. Please do not tell me we don't need medical care reform nor that the market will take care of it .
.
. I am encouraged and touched by the concern, prayers, “putting us in the light,” good food, scarves, books, flowers, bread and photos.
June 2: My doctor said the inflammatory area has greatly reduced and the one lymph node is much smaller. It is so hard to know exactly what is going on in there, but the images do not lie .
.
. I can most certainly do this. Tradeoff is I get to live.
June 14: Friends have offered to make a mold of my breast or the part of my trunk before that breast goes away. Some others have suggested a native American healer. And a woman at Glide Memorial (Church) who does singing healings. .
.
. I have been surprised by the reaction of some to my going bare-headed. I have done it because it is comfortable and true for me, not to get in anyone's face or cause a fuss. Some say it gives them courage and inspiration.
June 28: Just sitting and breathing and watching a red-tailed hawk and feeling the breeze across my dear, bare head is wonderful and enough for right now. The diet I am following includes no sugar, caffeine, alcohol, red meat or raw stuff. You can take away my pinot but take the oysters I finally learned to love and I cry foul .
.
. As the surgery gets closer I can feel how loathe I am to lose any body part. I allow myself to wish I didn't have to do this. Oh well, I can do this.
July 23: I found out that inflammatory BC is automatically considered Stage 4 because of how it behaves. I am so lucky that I developed this now because if it had arrived 10 years ago I would be a goner by Christmas .
.
. We saw Lyle Lovett the other night. Some fun .
.
. (Daughter-in-law) Nancy is doing the bon voyage party for my right breast. We will plant my hair under the tree, dress up in boas and silly hats, eat small sandwiches and drink a variety of elixirs.
Aug. 19 (Three days after her surgery): The doctor called with the pathology report saying they couldn't find a single cancer cell in any breast tissue nor in any lymph node he removed. So never ever doubt what one good thought or prayer or pot of soup or piece of hair under a tree can mean. .
.
. Please take some time to laugh and giggle and dance around and just plain enjoy the life you have. Hug those babies.
Aug. 25: I am healing well. Bruised but no infection. We went out for a celebratory glass of wine, drove to the coast and walked on the beach. I am covered with steri strips. I have no breast. I still have not looked. I will tomorrow.
Susan Swartz is a freelance writer and author based in Sonoma County. Contact her at susan@juicytomatoes.com.
<p>Kathie Mayhew of Graton — wife, mother, grandmother, former B&B operator, Rotary Club regular, world traveler, one-time Emergency Medical Technician and parenting coach — came home in February from a trip to Africa and noticed a quarter-sized pink spot on her right breast. Over several days, it changed shape and moved toward the nipple. On March 3, after a biopsy, mammogram, ultrasound, MRI and other scans, doctors diagnosed her with inflammatory breast cancer, a rare and aggressive type of breast cancer.</p><p>There is no history of breast cancer in Mayhew's family and she'd had a clear mammogram five months before. There was never a distinct lump.</p><p>“I had none of those symptoms we're trained to look for,” she said.</p><p>Eight months later, Mayhew, 68, is on the other side of her diagnosis. She's had 18 weeks of chemotherapy, a mastectomy in mid-August and then six weeks of radiation. She also had a hair-cutting ceremony and a bon voyage tea to say farewell to her breast. </p><p>In the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure in late September, Mayhew's team T-shirt read “A bald gramma is better than a dead gramma,” which was the response of her 10-year-old grandson when told cancer treatments might make his grandmother lose her hair.</p><p>All along, she's sent regular e-mails to some 30 friends and family members, not only as an efficient group update, but also because, she said, “it's just my way to be open. It made me feel better to get my words out, and it allowed others who I knew cared about me to be more open, too.”</p><p>One recent morning, sitting in her kitchen over tea, her head sprouting new stubble, Mayhew said her way to handle challenges has always been “to first believe they are not insurmountable. Then to deal with what I can do about it, make a list of all my options and avoid falling apart as much as possible.” </p><p>Here are some excerpts from her e-mail chronicles.</p><p><MC>March 10, Dear Friends:<MC> Well, we went to the surgeon today and are a bit dismayed. The MRI showed more cancer than we had thought. I need chemo, surgery and radiation. The choice of surgery or chemo first is mine, but the doc seemed to favor chemo first to catch any wandering cells as well as to shrink the tumors. So I do chemo for three to four months and then lose this right breast which has served me well for quite a long time.</p><p>Beats the alternative, though.</p><p>She adds a P.S.: Please pay attention to your own or your best friend's breasts. Don't wait for lumps. Any changes in color, texture, thickening or just even a weird sense — go to the doctor. Better to be wrong and feel silly then to not pay attention and hope it goes away.</p><p><MC>March 17:<MC> Apparently I have two types of cancer going on though they will treat them the same. For 18 weeks I get chemo .<TH>.<TH>. I also get Herceptin to slow and disable those buggers .<TH>.<TH>. Then a mastectomy and radiation. Then hormone therapy to rid my body of every last frigging damn ounce of estrogen since estrogen feeds those cells as if it were gasoline and I needed to burn. Geez Louise. So here we go, ride of a lifetime. </p><p><MC>April 4:<MC> Well, folks, the hair is gone. It was coming out in a handful each time I put my hands into it and so we made a party of cutting it after dinner today. (Granddaughter) Caitlyn says now that my hair is gone she has no choice but to accept that I am sick .<TH>.<TH>. I still feel okay, just really, really tired.</p><p><MC>April 18:<MC> H<CW-18>ad the second of the big wacko bug juice chemos and was not sick to my stomach. If this is as bad as it gets, then I can do this. Fact of the matter is, I can do this whatever comes. (Daughter) Kari and I went clothes shopping. I figure that if I am to lose a breast and my hair, at least I'm going to look good doing it. Never have been one to pay much attention to makeup, but now that my face is all I have, it matters a bit more. So I “put on my face” before I go out and do my best to at least look female.</p><p><MC>May 9:<MC> I <CW-30>just wonder what folks do who have no support system and/or no insurance. One day of wacko chemo cost $12K. Please do not tell me we don't need medical care reform nor that the market will take care of it .<TH>.<TH>. I am encouraged and touched by the concern, prayers, “putting us in the light,” good food, scarves, books, flowers, bread and photos. </p><p><MC>June 2:<MC> My doctor said the inflammatory area has greatly reduced and the one lymph node is much smaller. It is so hard to know exactly what is going on in there, but the images do not lie .<TH>.<TH>. I can most certainly do this. Tradeoff is I get to live.</p><p><MC>June 14:<MC> Friends have offered to make a mold of my breast or the part of my trunk before that breast goes away. Some others have suggested a native American healer. And a woman at Glide Memorial (Church) who does singing healings. .<TH>.<TH>. I have been surprised by the reaction of some to my going bare-headed. I have done it because it is comfortable and true for me, not to get in anyone's face or cause a fuss. Some say it gives them courage and inspiration.</p><p><MC>June 28:<MC> Just sitting and breathing and watching a red-tailed hawk and feeling the breeze across my dear, bare head is wonderful and enough for right now. The diet I am following includes no sugar, caffeine, alcohol, red meat or raw stuff. You can take away my pinot but take the oysters I finally learned to love and I cry foul .<TH>.<TH>. As the surgery gets closer I can feel how loathe I am to lose any body part. I allow myself to wish I didn't have to do this. Oh well, I can do this.</p><p><MC>July 23:<MC> I found out that inflammatory BC is automatically considered Stage 4 because of how it behaves. I am so lucky that I developed this now because if it had arrived 10 years ago I would be a goner by Christmas .<TH>.<TH>. We saw Lyle Lovett the other night. Some fun .<TH>.<TH>. (Daughter-in-law) Nancy is doing the bon voyage party for my right breast. We will plant my hair under the tree, dress up in boas and silly hats, eat small sandwiches and drink a variety of elixirs. </p><p>Aug. 19 (Three days after her surgery): The doctor called with the pathology report saying they couldn't find a single cancer cell in any breast tissue nor in any lymph node he removed. So never ever doubt what one good thought or prayer or pot of soup or piece of hair under a tree can mean. .<TH>.<TH>. Please take some time to laugh and giggle and dance around and just plain enjoy the life you have. Hug those babies.</p><p>Aug. 25: I am healing well. Bruised but no infection. We went out for a celebratory glass of wine, drove to the coast and walked on the beach. I am covered with steri strips. I have no breast. I still have not looked. I will tomorrow.</p><p>Susan Swartz is a freelance writer and author based in Sonoma County. Contact her at susan@juicytomatoes.com.</p>