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 28th/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 :)
