Health Hero: Alice Swank

One bout with breast cancer is enough to test anyone's endurance. Alice Swank has battled the disease three times. Here, her story of courage, strength, and survival.

Quality Health News

Cancer runs in my father's family. One of his sisters died of breast cancer before I was born. My aunt Phyllis had breast cancer and colon cancer, my aunt Dorothy had uterine cancer, and my paternal grandfather may have had liver cancer. But me? I never thought it would happen to me.

A year before my first diagnosis, I was supposed to go to the doctor and didn't. My brother had recently taken his own life, and a doctor’s visit was the last thing on my mind. I was also dealing with stress over my sister's mental illness. By the time I finally got to the doctor in 1995, he found something in my breast, so I went for a mammogram, then a biopsy. My doctor told me to come back for the results. I didn’t go alone; my parents came with me.

I'll never forget being in the waiting room, thinking the biopsy wasn't going to amount to anything. Then, as I walked into the doctor's office, I heard him talking on the phone: "a 41-year-old female, malignancy in her breast." His first words to me were, "I'm not good at this," and suddenly I realized. He never said the C word, but he said, "It's malignant."

I was stunned. I looked out the window, and it was as if my life were escaping right through it. My parents were sitting off to the side, and I couldn't bring myself to look at them. I knew how upset they must have been. I'm the baby of the family, and they had been through so much with my brother dying and my sister being as sick as she was.

I Wanted the Tumor Gone

It turned out that I had a five-centimeter tumor, stage II. I was incredibly lucky that it wasn’t stage III or IV and that the cancer hadn't spread to my lymph nodes. I had asked the doctor, "What are my changes of beating this?" And he said I had a 100 percent chance of beating it. Still, I was scared. I didn't want to go through chemo, but even more, I wanted the tumor gone. So within five days, I was in the hospital, having my left breast removed.

I remember driving to the hospital for pre-op testing. I was alone in the car and said out loud, "I'm so scared, I can't do this alone." And the minute I said those words, this incredible sense of peace came over me. I literally went into surgery for my mastectomy with a smile on my face. I knew I'd get through it. Through the entire experience, I really felt like my brother David—the one who took his own life a year before—was an angel watching over me.

After learning I had cancer, my parents took me to their house. As we walked in, my father said, "I feel like I've been hit in the stomach with a baseball bat.” He got a Budweiser. I got a Budweiser. One year before, in August 1994, my brother had died; in August 1995, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. August has always been hard for my family.

My sister Marian spent the night with me so I wouldn't be alone. We watched Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, and that helped me make it through the night. At my aunt and uncle's forty-fifth wedding anniversary party the next night, I broke down and cried. But my family was absolutely wonderful. My aunt—one of the guests of honor—had been diagnosed with lymphoma within the past year. She understood what I was going through, and I got a card from her every Friday, the day I did my chemo treatments.

Taking Charge of Something

About a month after my mastectomy, I really began to crave some normalcy in my life. I knew, of course, that what I was going through was certainly not normal. I had only one breast. I was going through chemo. I was losing my hair. I was worried about how all of this was affecting my parents. I kept thinking, "Why me?" But even so, I made the decision to return to work. It was great to be back, and everyone was extremely supportive of me.

I didn't like the fact I was going to go bald. I couldn't handle washing my hair and seeing chunks of it come out in my hand or clog up the drain. So I decided to take charge of something in all of this—I needed to take charge of something. I wanted to control exactly when I would go bald, so I asked my sister to shave my head.

After chemo, I did 35 rounds of radiation. About a year later, everything was fine, my hair was back, and I was getting back to life. But I struggled to look at myself in the mirror with only one breast. I had heard that it's hard to look for the first time, but it really wasn't that hard for me. Oh sure, it was unsettling, but what was most important was that I was alive! My breasts aren't really who I am, and besides, I knew I had the option to undergo breast reconstruction. And in the summer of 1997, I did. After I recovered from the surgery, I attempted to return to some sense of normalcy.

In 2001, I was getting ready to go for my mammogram—but the doctor's office called and asked if I could move my appointment to later that month. When I went for the appointment, they found something in my right breast that they needed to biopsy. My sister had her gall bladder removed the day before, and now this. I was really scared. I needed another biopsy. Not again.

Coming Back a Third Time

My mother, aunt, and uncle drove me to the hospital for the biopsy. I figured that if it turned out to be something, I would deal with it. But waiting for results was the hardest part. Eventually, I got the phone call. It was a malignancy, but it was small. So I had a lumpectomy of my right breast. Nothing in the lymph nodes. I did radiation, no chemo. Then I went back to my life and continued working.

There's no doubt in my mind that if I had gone to the doctor early that month for my regularly scheduled appointment, the cancer would not have shown up. Something intervened to get me to the doctor just a little bit later.

In 2006, it came back again. "There's something we need to biopsy," they said. I told them, "If it turns out to be cancer, you can have my breast." They agreed that the cancer would probably come back a fourth time if I didn't give up my right breast. And so I did. I'll finish my reconstruction later this year for my right breast. Then, I'll have a matching pair.

A woman in my cancer support group once said that for her, having cancer was a good thing. At first, I thought she was crazy, but now I understand. Cancer—and going through it—helped me face some issues I had been dealing with in my life. These were things I had absolutely no control over, so I learned how to let them go.

Believe it or not, cancer has also made me a stronger, more caring person. I am now able to reach out to others who are going through what I went through, and that would've been difficult for me before. Now I speak freely about it to anyone—both those who need to talk to and those who are willing to listen.

The Anxiety Is Still There

Sure, the anxiety is still there, every time I go to my oncologist for a checkup. At other times, when there's a pain, I think, "It must be eyelash cancer, or toenail cancer." You can't avoid the anxiety. But I'm so much stronger now in many, many ways.

I'm not saying it was easy getting to this point. There were plenty of times I cried or went over to my parents' house when I couldn't stand to be alone in my own home. My friends were always there for me when times got tough.

Through all of this, though, I never thought once that I wouldn't make it. I never wanted to quit. Never. What got me through this was prayer—I was on plenty of prayer lists—family, friends, and my support group. I would encourage anybody diagnosed with cancer to find a support group. You need to lean on people who are in your shoes, who've been in your shoes, and then you can turn around and help people in the same spot.

Today, my scars certainly don't shame me because they represent everything I've faced. They represent the fact I got through it all. I'm proud of what I went through. I'm proud of my scars.

Alice Swank's Top 10 Tips for Breast Cancer Patients

• Let your family and friends help you.
• Don't be afraid to ask for help.
• Pray. If you're not religious, rely on your friends and family for spiritual support.
• Find a good cancer support group.
• Educate yourself about cancer.
• Don't overdose on information, or you'll scare yourself out of your wits.
• Keep your checkups with your doctors.
• Remember that humor is so important.
• Talk about it.
• Remember that it's okay to let some things go around your house. You don't have to make the bed or do the dishes every day. You've got to take care of yourself—and it's perfectly okay to let other people help you.

Are you a health hero? Email your story to HealthHeroes@QualityHealth.com.

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