My Story ~ Part 1 ~ Growing up, Beating Cancer & Overcoming disability

I was born on the very last day of summer, September 1985 in Burnaby, British Columbia. My parents named me Kimberly Anne after my Grandma on my Mum’s side. They both moved from Alberta and somehow found each other on the beautiful West Coast. We lived on an acre in Aldergrove, a farm town with other young families. My parents are both athletes; in fact my Dad coached a woman’s basketball team that my Mum played on while they were pregnant with me. As soon as they could they enrolled me in water babies and had me attempting to swim.... or blowing bubbles under water, at six months old.

Thirteen months after I was born my parents welcomed another little girl who they named Kristen Claire, after my Grandma on our Dad’s side. We moved to Langley where my sister and I made friends with other kids on our street and around our complex. Summers were filled with Popsicles and side walk chalk and the winters were full of sledding and snowmen. We were very lucky little girls, Mum was always making us little outfits and Dad was always testing our limits and making us pretty much no fear.

When I was six we moved to Cloverdale into a “fixer-upper” on a third of an acre. My parents painted the quaint rancher white with green trim and built shutters and a picket fence with hearts in them. Persisting that we grow up active, my parents had a basketball court paved into our backyard and bought us a trampoline. We played all day long until our parents called us in for bath time and then bed time. Kristen and I shared a pink bedroom with bunk beds, and although I was clumsy and fell off regularly, I had the top bunk. A kid at heart, Dad would often make up bed time stories about space travel in card board boxes and a little friend we called Joey. Our house was a home.

I continued to grow up, entering elementary school and making lots of new friends. Although making friends came easily to me school wasn’t necessarily in the same boat. I had a little bit of a lisp and struggled with reading. With encouragement and time, I kicked my lisp and began to love reading. Math was always my hard subject but anything to do with writing or presenting were my areas of expertise.

Our house had a large unfinished basement so my parents built a nice little suite on one side. My grandfather (on my Dad’s side) had taken a turn for the worse after the death of my Grandmother, to cancer, and also a bad car accident. He was still living in Alberta and my parents decided that it was time for him to move into the newly finished suite in the Cloverdale house. He was a treat for my sister and I to have around, the perfect babysitter always driving us to and from soccer practise and having a steady supply of chocolate bars tucked away in his fridge. He may have been a bit of a grumpy old man at times to others, but to us he was just sweetest thing, and we loved having him so close to us.

Because my sister and I played soccer, Sundays were usually spent in the rain, kicking a ball up and down a field and eating oranges on the side lines. My Dad became our enthusiastic coach and my Mum became the worlds’ best soccer Mum and cheerleader. My sister and I both excelled in sports, it was in our blood to love it. I played striker and goalie. I was absolutely fearless when it came to defending our net from the opponents’ attempts and I loved sprinting and scoring on the opposing net. I loved the competitiveness and I loved working with my team to get the wins.

When I was going into grade six my parents bought a larger house in Panorama Ridge. It had a huge yard with an in ground pool, and although it was beautiful it never really felt like home. My new school was filled with new faces, but both my sister and I had no problem making great new friends. We were also lucky that my Dad had an office out of the house and was always close by to make sure we were getting along OK and of course staying active, playing soccer, basketball, jumping on the trampoline, swimming in the pool and riding our bikes. I often answered phones at my Dad’s in home office and loved to just be around him as he worked away at his desk. I was no doubt a total Daddy’s girl.

Mum had a successful sales job and travelled often to see clients. While she was away Dad would be Mr.Mom and take care of all the motherly duties that were typically my Mums. Some Dad’s might find it difficult or awkward to deal with two growing girls but my Dad took to it quite naturally. He made sure our homework would be done, cooked all the meals and chatted with us about what was going on in our lives. When it was time for Mum to come home we were always so eager and excited to have her back. We would make “welcome home” banners, bring out all of our teddy bears as our welcoming committee. I’m sure she was always curious to open the door upon return to see what we had come up with time after time.

Winter holidays were always special to us, full of family and food. With my Mum’s side of the family so close they were always at every holiday function. My Mum always made Christmas mine and my sister's favourite time of year. From decorations, to presents to Christmas music and treats, she had as counting down the days until Christmas came each year.

Summer holidays were spent in the Okanagan, B.C. My uncle and my aunt and cousins were from Rainbow Lake, so in the summer when we had time together it was spent around the lakes in Penticton and Summerland playing on the beaches. I loved and still do love our summers in Okanagan with my family. When we weren’t in Summerland my parents had us camping anywhere we could. We had a 5 man tent and would always stay in great camping spots near the ocean where we could all climb all over the rocks and have campfires and everything else that makes camping fun. To this day I won’t miss a camping trip, winter or summer, rain or shine.

My sister and I joined baseball team’s later in elementary school and proved to excel at that sport too. I became my team’s catcher and Kristen was the pitcher. We weren’t always on the same team but somehow both Mum and Dad always managed to see every game...I don’t know how they did it! My Dad even coached my sister’s team for a number of years.

By the time I was in grade 7, just about ready to move on to high school, things at home seemed to be a little different. One night after hearing my parents arguing in the kitchen from our bedrooms, they called us in to have a chat with us. My Mum was very solemn and quiet, and my Dad just looked nervous. My Dad began to tell us how it wasn’t working with him and my Mum. Kristen and I were devastated and just didn’t understand how this could happen to our seemingly perfect family.

After my first year of high school, my Mum took my sister and I and we moved back into the Cloverdale house. My Dad stayed behind at the Panorama house. I was in grade 9 and my sister was just going into grade 8. The transition wasn't too hard for either my sister or me as we had basically grown up in Cloverdale so we already knew a lot of kids from elementary school or our involvement in sports. Both my sister and I played basketball and baseball all through high school. I stayed as a catcher and my sister as a pitcher. In high school I struggled with math and chemistry but did well in physical education and English, I really had to focus to do well. I got a part time job in grade 10 at a popular clothing store and also excelled there. It was also great distraction from the hurt I felt about my parents separating, which I was still taking hard.

In 2003 I finally graduated high school and I couldn't have been happier to be done. I didn't know exactly what I was going to do post secondary but I was still working at the clothing store and had also gotten a second job as a receptionist in a hair salon. Even after high school my sister and I continued to play baseball together. I also had acquired a love for the gym, lifting weights and running, nothing competitive but I just loved physical fitness. I spent the year after high school working and trying to figure out what I was going to do with the rest of my life. To be totally honest I was still a little lost, it had taken me a long time to get over the split of my parents and mend the daddy's girl relationship I had once had with my Dad, but we were finally in a good place.

Summer 2004, I had been graduated for a full year and was no longer working at the clothing store. I was working full time as a receptionist at the same salon and just gotten a new job at a restaurant as a hostess. I was super busy, playing baseball on the same team as my sister, working out, working both my jobs and maintaining a social life of an average 18 year old girl.

On a pretty typical baseball tournament to Kamloops I ended up playing left field for an inning. I didn't mind, I was confident with my glove and loved to chase the ball. A batter knocked a hit right out to me and I leapt into the air to catch it, but something felt VERY wrong as I landed back on the grass. I limped off the field and came up lame for the rest of the tournament thinking I had pulled a calf muscle in my right leg. When we got home from the tournament I took a trip to the doctor to see what was up with my leg. He seemed to think that it was what I suspected, a pulled muscle. I started physiotherapy and returned to life, work, gym, friends, etc.

After a few weeks with no recovery I made a trip to another doctor to have him check out my leg. This doctor seemed to think it was an issue that stemmed from me feet, sent me for x-rays (on my feet) and then sent me on my way. The results of the x-rays came back clean, so I continued with life. One of my best girlfriends was going on a camping trip to Tulameen for a local festival called Tulameen Days; I was friends with a lot of the same people and decided to join. It was a blast, partying in the river, 4x4 ing through the trails and sunshine all day long. Made some new friends and reconnected with others I hadn't seen in awhile.

When I got home from Tulameen my leg was still a concern, in fact in was starting to really affect my life. I had started to have to leave work early due to the pain and my right calf had become extremely swollen. My Mum demanded that I go back to the doctor. So before work one morning I headed to the doctor to get him to take a look. He wasn't impressed with how my leg looked and had me go for x-rays and an ultrasound that day, I had to miss work. The x-ray seemed to go pretty normally but the ultrasound was odd, I remember being in the room for a lot longer than normal, and the techs seemed a little puzzled but of course couldn't divulge any information to me. I went on my way with some nervousness weighing on me.

A few days later (less than a week) I received a phone call from the BC Cancer Agency. Odd right? They wanted me to come in with my parents and sit down with a surgeon and oncologist. So, my parents took me in. We sat in a few waiting rooms for what seemed like forever before we met with anyone who could tell us why we were there. FINALLY we met with a dark haired doctor who very frankly told me that I might be having my leg amputated due to the mass they had found in my leg that was suspected to be an aggressive form of bone cancer. UMMM WHAT THE FUCK? Those were my thoughts right about then. I only heard a few words throughout this entire meeting, pretty sure I was completely zoned out after the words cancer and amputation. On the ride home I called one of my girlfriends to tell her that I probably had cancer, but not to worry, I'd be OK. I was seriously upbeat and factual during that conversation and to be honest, I was like that a lot.

In the next week or so I underwent a mass amount of blood tests, x-rays and an extremely painful biopsy of my "tumour".

Results came in the form of waiting in a few more waiting rooms and then sitting before the same dark haired doctor. "Kimberly, you have osteogenic sarcoma, blah blah blah, you are going to start chemotherapy next week, blah blah blah, you will lose your hair, blah blah blah, and we might have to amputate your leg, blah blah blah... WAIT!!!!!! UMMMM WHAT THE FUCK?!!?!? Yup that's about how that meeting went to me. Of course there were a lot more details (all of which my amazing parents listened to intently or also phased out and then came back with a billion questions). At one point I even remember my Dad asking if they could take his leg and give it to me. My parents must have been so horrified but they were nothing but strong to me.

I started chemotherapy about 2 weeks before my 19th birthday in September 2004. Horrendous, horrible, nauseating sickness... that's what chemotherapy was like for me. I was always surrounded by my family and friends at the cancer agency for my chemotherapy sessions. The only unfortunate part was that they couldn't stay all night, but I wouldn't have wanted them to, because I got SICK. I mean SO sick. A sickness I have trouble describing. The chemotherapy concoction was RED in colour, BLOOD RED and it was administered through an I.V in my arm. To top off the colour of the chemo was the smell, disgusting chemical smell and the feeling; I could literally feel the chemotherapy as it surged up my arm and throughout the veins in my body. I would be OK for a few hours and them BAM, out of nowhere it would hit me like a freight train. Throwing up everything I had eaten until there was nothing left in my tummy, but that didn't stop it; even though there was nothing there I continued to heave. (This has to be one of the worst feeling ever). I was nausea's to the point that it felt like I was on a boat in a storm, I was sweating and freezing cold and EVERYTHING in my body hurt.

Although I felt like death, I was still upbeat, thinking that this horrible chemo was at least killing that cancer in my leg.

I stayed sick for about 7-10 days after chemo sessions. Sick to the point that all I could do was lay on the couch or in bed. My energy was completely sapped from my body. My head started to ache and my hair hurt.... I knew what was coming. One morning I woke up and there was hair on my pillow, MY hair. I begged my sister to brush my hair for me, I couldn't do it, couldn't watch my own hair just fall out on the brush, so she did. But it fell out anyway. It got thin and I got mad, I called my girlfriend and asked her to come over and bring her hair clippers. She knew what I wanted her to do, and although I know it hurt her heart to do it, she shaved all my hair off. I wasn't about to let it all just FALL out, I wanted to be in control. Back in control... I didn't look in the mirror for a couple days and when I did, oh boy did I cry. I loved my hair, it was long and blond and because I worked in a hair salon I loved to style it and play with it, now I was bald. Seeing my devastation my Mum took me straight to the best wig shop she could find and bought me the prettiest long blond wig in the store! (NOT cheap, cost my Mum a small fortune but made me feel like me - Thank you Mum).

After 3 rounds of chemo in October 2004 I underwent some more tests to see how my cancer was reacting to the treatment. The chemo was working on the tumour but the tumour was too aggressive, chemotherapy alone was not going to save my life. After much consideration back and forth with my doctors and my Dad and Mum I was forced to make a decision. There was even a moment when they thought that tumour removal without amputation might be successful, but my Dad was on it, he questioned everything and something seemed too had been missed? Back in August when they first found my tumour it was found that it had actually fractured one of the bones in my lower leg. This fracture was key in the surgery decision as it made the tumour site unstable, it was uncertain if the tumour had spread or if they could get clean margin lines with a resection (removing the tumour without amputation). After some more talk between me, my parents and the doctors they told me that the best chance of survival would be with an amputation. I was 19 and the decision was mine, keep my leg with a lower chance of survival or have my leg amputated for a higher chance of survival.

I made the choice of life and had my leg amputated on October 28^th/2004.

I woke up in Vancouver General Hospital in a bed facing the window, outside the window it was dark and I could see the beautiful Vancouver skyline. I was alone and a bit disoriented but I knew what had gone down. I lowered my eyes from the window and peered down to see 5 (not 10) perfectly pink pedicured toes. My breath was short, my eyes filled with tears and I rolled onto my side and threw up. I had nurses by my side within seconds making sure I was OK and comforting me as I pulled myself together. I spent a couple hours alone in recovery until I was OK to be taken to my private room. They wheeled me up on my bed up to where my family was waiting and as made eye contact with each of them, their eyes full of tears and sadness I could only smile and give them thumbs up... I was SO happy to be alive and to be with them. Finally that cancer was OUT of my body. I don't remember much of my stay at VGH after my amputation, I know that as usual my parents slept there on the floor or on chairs because they didn't leave my side, I remember deliriousness and extreme pain, but mostly it's a blur. I was sent home to recover before I finished my last 3 chemotherapy sessions.

The last 3 sessions of chemotherapy were the worst. I was so sick and tiny. I didn't weigh more than 90 pounds soaking wet, my hair was gone and now so was my leg. When I had enough energy I hobbled around on crutches, but mostly I stayed in bed or on the couch because I just had NO energy. During this time I dealt with extreme phantom pain in my limb and chemotherapy aches that kept me up all night long, unless I was heavily drugged I couldn't sleep. Christmas was coming up and so was my last chemotherapy session in December 2004, I wanted treatment to be over so that I could spend the holidays with my family and start the new year with chemotherapy behind me. There was a little talk about having to postpone my last session until after Christmas but I demanded it be done. December 20th 2004 I received my last chemotherapy session. FUCK YOU CANCER. I was sick as a dog and couldn't enjoy any delicious Christmas food and drinks but I was there with my family and we were celebrating.

New Year and a new start, 2005 held a lot of firsts for me. I began physiotherapy at GF Strong Rehabilitation Centre in Vancouver as soon as I was well enough, learning the new skills I needed to get back to my life. When I came home at night after physio I would get back to work on what my wonderful physiotherapist had taught me, relentlessly trying to regain my mobility and independence. There were plenty of ups and downs. Getting used to a prosthetic leg was a huge challenge, but I got through it, (with huge thanks to my physiotherapist).  After months of physio and hours dedicated to learning how to properly use my new prosthetic leg I was finally ready to go back to work and live a somewhat “normal” life. I was SO happy to have my independence back.

My hair was growing back and I was going back to school. Life was falling into place and I was so thankful. I had my checkups at the Cancer Agency and had clean results every time; I was cancer free, in remission.

I will never be able to fully express my gratitude to my family, friends and people that took part in my battle against cancer, the people who picked me up when my heart was heavy and carried my spirits when they were low. Thank you just doesn't suffice but I think it every day and tell them as often as I can.

I beat cancer, overcame my disability and was eager for what the future held...

To be continued :)