Alana Somerville - Holding on to Normal: How I Survived Cancer and Made It to the Other Side, Happier, Healthier and Stronger---A Memoir

Simon & Schuster Canada

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Copyright 2018 by Alana Somerville

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This Simon & Schuster Canada edition May 2018

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Jacket design by Elizabeth Whitehead

Author photo by Marty Pilato

Jacket photographs Stocksy, Shutterstock

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Somerville, Alana

[Chemosabe]

Holding on to normal : how I survived cancer and made it to the other side, happier, healthier and stronger / Alana Somerville.

Originally published under title: Chemosabe : cancer warrior.

Issued in print and electronic formats.

ISBN 978-1-5011-6812-3 (hardcover).ISBN 978-1-5011-6814-7 (ebook)

1. Somerville, AlanaHealth. 2. BreastCancerPatientsBiography.

I. Title. II. Title: Chemosabe.

RC280.B8S64 2018 362.19699'4490092 C2017-906516-5

C2017-906517-3

ISBN 978-1-5011-6812-3

ISBN 978-1-5011-6814-7 (ebook)

All photographs in the insert are courtesy of the author, except as marked.

This is for my children, Charley and Rudy.

I fight for you, in the hopes that you will never have to wage this war.

This is also for Talia.

You were the strongest warrior Ive ever known. I continue this fight for you.

I met Alana in Toronto during Breast Cancer Awareness Month, October 2014. She gave me a copy of this book, Holding on to Normal, and I started it that evening on my flight to New York. I read without pause to the end. I felt drained but enlightened as I journeyed with Alana in her fight against this terrible disease.

While its not pure enjoyment, its a captivating and riveting read that inspires and instills hope. I urge everyone to read it, in order to truly know what it means to be diagnosed with breast cancer.

We all hope we never go through it, although one woman in eight will. Alanas book has inspired me to continue raising funds and awareness for breast cancer, and I commend her bravery in sharing her experience with us.

ELIZABETH HURLEY

E verything changed the summer of 2010.

We had just returned from a week at our friends cottage up north near Haliburton, Ontariomy husband, Greg; our three-and-a-half-year-old daughter, Charley; our six-month-old son, Rudy; and me. We normally would go up north at least once or twice a summer. We would fish, jump off the dock, swim in the river and have bonfires at night.

The time away had been wonderful, as usual, especially because it allowed me to step away from my life at home, which always seemed so busy. Im the type of person who cant sit still. Whenever I do, a little voice in my head runs through all the things I could be or should be doing. Ive always found it impossible to leave things until another day. Going up north forced me to do just that. Even the kids had extra eyes on them, so I could relax and breathe in a way I could never do at home. And Id also begun weaning Rudy, cutting out a couple of feedings during the day and replacing them with formula. The new routine seemed to be working well for both of us.

Basically, my life was perfect. I had everything I had ever wanted. I was married, with two beautiful children. My husband and I had built a house with a pool in a quiet little neighborhood with great neighbors. I was the only one out of three children in my family whose first house was a brand-new one. I had a job as a teacher, loved my work colleagues and had good ties with friends. I was healthy, Greg was healthy, my kids were healthy.

Two years before our cottage trip, though, I began questioning things. Could my life really be going so well? What if there was a threat I couldnt see? While it sounds weird in retrospect, I think I had a gut feeling that someday something would go wrong. In 2008, when I was thirty-one years old, I decided I needed to have a mammogram.

Of course my doctor questioned my reasoning. Why do you want to do that? Do you have a family history? he asked.

That was reasonable. In fact, I had no family history of breast cancer other than a maternal great-aunt whod had it. And my doctor didnt actually consider that to constitute a family history.

I realize Im way too young to get breast cancer, and Im very low risk, I said. I also knew that breastfeeding my daughter for nine months reduced my breast cancer risk. And I ate healthily, I exercised, and I didnt smoke.

So why did I want to have a mammogram?

Ive heard that having a baseline record of breast health could be useful if anything ever comes up in the future, I said.

My doctor nodded, not entirely convinced, but at least listening. In the end, he sent me to a breast screening clinic at the local hospital for a mammogram. Just so you know, he warned, it might hurt a bit. You okay with that?

Sure, I said. No problem.

He was right. It did hurt a bit. But it wasnt so bad, at least for me. The end result? My breasts were a little dense, which is common in young women. Most important, though, they were normal. Wonderful! That was exactly what I wanted to hear, and I felt reassured. Life truly was great.

And life remained great two years later. After we returned home from the cottage, the whole family settled into our usual routine. As I continued to wean Rudy, my breasts produced less milk. Rudy still woke for his regular four A.M. feeding, and the night everything changedSaturday, August 21, 2010was no exception. As I picked Rudy up and placed him on the pillow on my lap, I eased into the routine of feeding. I always felt lucky to have the bonding experience of breastfeeding, something that fathers miss out onalthough I would have preferred to bond at a more reasonable hour of the day.

I cuddled Rudys body close to mine, soaking in that special baby smell as he nursed. I looked down at his satisfied little face, and I couldnt help but smile. He looked just like my daughter, Charley, had as a baby and yet was himself. I shifted him and thats when my world stopped.

I felt a lump in my breast.

I divide my life into two parts: before I was diagnosed with breast cancer and after.

Before, I worried that other people around me would have to go through heartbreak, illness or grief, and that Id have to find the courage to help them. I also thought Id live to be older than a lot of my family members, and I worried about ending up alone, because surely I was the heartiest, the strongest. Surely Id be the last to go. In hindsight, this seems a little shortsighted, because it never occurred to me I could be faced with anything difficult. It would only be someone else . Nothing bad would happen to me .