Reprinted from The State, Oct. 2, 2004

Lean on me
Sometimes, the pain of breast cancer can forge friendships stronger than steel

By Justin Chappell

There’s no good analogy for the battle with breast cancer it’s different for everyone who goes through it.

Sure, some of the symptoms of its treatment are similar: the way the most familiar food tastes like bland cardboard, the loss of all body hair, the characteristics of having the ever-forgetful “chemo brain” and the fatigue you don’t know unless you’ve been through it.

But the emotional and psychological journey of breast cancer is different for the recently diagnosed, the younger women and the older women.

And their stories are important: Nearly 200,000 women nationwide will be diagnosed this year with breast cancer, roughly 40,000 will die from it, and there’s a 1 in 8 chance that a woman will be diagnosed in the course of her life.

Those numbers are staggering, and it makes any accurate generalization difficult because each woman’s path is unlike any other. But it’s made bearable (and at times humorous) by a key person: the mentor, the friend, the buddy — the enduring pal.

RECENTLY DIAGNOSED

Jan Jones, 57, met Karen Sites, 48, at Sites’ first breast cancer treatment in mid-August.

“We just clicked,” Jones said. “The minute this lady walked in the room, I said, ‘Karen, are you a believer?’ and I said, ‘Because we’re going to need prayer.’”

Both from Lexington, Jones was a bit more familiar with the breast cancer routine at that time, being diagnosed in mid-June. Sites, however, was diagnosed in early August and was still adjusting to the symptoms and treatment schedule.

“We talk about everything,” Sites said.

Jones is about halfway through the chemo now; Sites is a quarter of the way in. They say that the progress so far and their positive attitudes (which they say sometimes disappear but get renewed by the other) are entirely due to their friendship and faith.

"When we do get down, we just pump each other up,” Jones said.

"We know the other is thinking about the other,” Sites said.

It’s the type of suffering that can only be understood by those who’ve gone through it themselves. And that’s what makes their constant phone calls, checking up on each other, so meaningful.

"She will give me the support and positive attitude I need to get through this,” Sites said. “It’s only temporary.”

It’s a back-and-forth, give-and-take support system. The most recent was Wednesday. The psychological impact of Sites’ hair falling out in clumps was too much, too uncontrollable. So Jones staged a hair-cutting party with Sites’ friends and relatives (Sites’ daughter, Lauren, is a hair stylist).

It’s not meant to be overtly humorous, but it’s the profundity of taking the symptom head-on and doing it with someone.

“You’ve got to take it all, change it up, and make it fun,” Jones said.

Early on in the process, Jones gave Sites a journal to record her thoughts. It’s been a useful outlet so far, Sites said. She’s written about the overwhelming feeling of helplessness at diagnosis and the feelings of fear that she might not make it through.

"I say you can’t give up now,” Jones said. “You have to keep on struggling.”

And that’s what Jones is there for — this time. Because Sites will be there for Jones at her next mountain.

It’s their mantra, their medicine outside the hospital, and it addresses the inside, the parts science can’t touch.

There’s a couple of tears here and there (sometimes here more than there), but watching the women interact shows something else: the hugs, hand-holding and smiles outnumber even the longest cries.

"She’s been an inspiration in my life, and she will continue to be,” Sites said. “And I’m sure we’ll be friends forever.”

SONIC YOUTH CONQUERORS

The chance of Audrey Milhouse, 29, and Ashley Hilton, 30, getting breast cancer was roughly 1 in 2,000. But they were both diagnosed with it in May 2003.

All done and in the clear now, the women leaned heavily on the other through the process.

"My dad was really supportive, and my family was really supportive, but they didn’t relate to what I was going through,” said Hilton, of Irmo.

They didn’t know each other before diagnosis; they met at a support group dinner Lexington Medical Center had put together. Because of their age — being two of the younger patients — they quickly hit it off.

"Her thing was, ‘Let me see how much hair you have,’” recalled Milhouse, of Ridge Spring.

The attraction to the other was two parts age and two parts unexpected diagnosis.

"Honestly, I did not check myself (in a self-breast exam),” Hilton said. “For a while, I blamed myself because I could have prevented it.”

The duo hung out in between treatments at the hospital and talked about how they felt, tips to beating the symptoms and the like.

"Once we met each other, we just talked and talked,” Milhouse said.

They made light of much of it, sort of a device to strengthen their outlook. “You had to have humor to get through it,” Hilton said.

They joked about the shaved heads — “I did the Demi Moore thing, the ‘G.I. Jane’ thing,” Hilton said — and the loss of taste — they said anything cooked with metal or eaten with metal tastes entirely like metal.

While some of the symptoms were similar to other patients’, the point of their life that was interrupted with the treatment — late 20s — was humbling, they said, and made them understand the importance of friends.

Hilton completed treatment in November 2003, and Milhouse finished in late December 2003. They’re both back at work now, picking up where they left off. Hilton works at Lowe’s Home Improvement store in Lexington, where she said she bumps into Milhouse and other breast cancer patients and survivors regularly; Milhouse is back to being a medical receptionist at Batesburg-Leesville Family Practice — and she’s expecting a child, due in April, and will find out its gender in the next two weeks.

While they’re young and likely to leave the worries of breast cancer in the dust with the rest of their life to look forward to, the women said they’ve got rock-solid plans to keep in touch and continue to meet up.

And they both echo a strong message: “We want to let girls know that age doesn’t matter.... Mainly, you need to do it(breast self-exams) often.”

FRIENDS FOREVER

Anne White, 57, experienced her symptoms weeks before LaVeta Grant, 47. And they used this prediction as a foundation to their developing friendship, which has continued strong, now, even after it’s all done.

White, of Columbia, met Grant, of West Columbia, in March 2003 during a chemotherapy treatment.

"We immediately exchanged phone numbers because we compared our side effects,” White said. “I’d say, ‘Are you feeling so-and-so?’”

Back then, they talked on the phone at least once a day, car-pooled to the Palmetto Healthand ate breakfast together beforehand.

"It helped me feel better because I knew somebody else was going through the same thing I was,” Grant said. “It’s not like I was looking for sympathy. My husband was right there, but he didn’t understand.”

And that understanding grew, and it shows now: They finish each other’s sentences (sometimes without even realizing it) and share laughs together.

"They called us the twins at the cancer center,” White said.

Grant was there for White when she suffered a series of losses while entering breast cancer treatment — job, income and enduring battles to find funding for the treatment’s cost.

"I really felt like I was being discriminated against,” White said. “And it’s all because I had cancer.”

The ups and downs, both physical and emotional, wracked them at times. “There were days that I couldn’t even lift my head,” Grant said.

But that’s where the small things in the friendship blossomed into good times, humor and understanding. They shared laughs over the (few) types of food they could actually taste. For Grant, only watermelon hit her taste buds with flavor; and for White, Rush’s milkshakes, eggs and cheese grits were the only things that didn’t taste like cardboard.

They compared research together — whatever information they could find about breast cancer, treatment symptoms, numbers.

But even after that’s become a chapter in the past, the friendship has continued to grow. They go to flea markets together, participate in Bosom Buddies, a program for breast-cancer patients, and eat out frequently. And the phone calls? They’re still ringing at least once a day. And they laugh about the constant e-mail exchange they share each day.

"I think we know more about each other than any family member,” Grant said.

And White continued the sentence: “Probably more than anybody else.”