Hope Within - a very special story

Cancer. The very word is pregnant with emotion, with sadness, with fear. But as these three women share their very different experiences, they reveal that out of sorrow can come hope, joy and an unshakable belief in the strength of the human spirit.Words

When Samantha Naudin was having chemotherapy this year, her son, Wilsen, knew exactly how to cheer her up. For each of the six treatments, Wilsen carefully etched a branch on his powerfully colourful healing tree to help his mum and her recovery. That tree is a testament to the difficult road to recovery. Then came the 30 doses of radiation therapy. Difficult to create another tribute for his mum’s triumphs in the face of adversity? Not for a five-year-old.To Sam’s puzzlement, Wilsen suggested a giraffe. A giraffe with no spots. But now, after her last treatment, the formerly spotless giraffe is complete, with Wilsen’s tenderly coloured circles celebrating the end of another round of treatment. It also celebrates the life and love of his mother suffering from cancer.Cancer. The word carries so much weight.

If you peer into the eyes of people who are suffering there is pain, stress and, more importantly, fear. Cancer is an unpredictable disease and affects vast swathes of people with an estimated 106,000 cases diagnosed in Australia each year.Sam’s is just one of those cases that cause trauma and torment. “That random thing where it could happen to anyone. People were thrown that here’s Sam at 43, fit and active, the world is spinning and she’s laughing all the time. That’s cruel and awful, but cancer doesn’t discriminate,” she explains. Its effects are far-reaching, not limited to those who endure the shock of diagnosis, hours of treatment, hideous side-effects and an anxious wait for the all-clear. These are the most frustrating things about cancer: worry, fear and waiting.

Then there’s hope.Sam Naudin has a reason to celebrate her last radiation therapy for aggressive grade three breast cancer. There is only a 30 per cent chance of a relapse. Good odds for the former athlete and mother of two – Wilsen and Lili, now 2. “For me, to actually lose a breast was not a big issue,” Sam says. “But to go home and tell my 21-month-old she wasn’t able to breastfeed any more was enormous.” Sam’s “whirlwind” journey started last November. After discovering a lump “that felt like a golf ball” under her arm, she thought something was wrong. “I went from running 5-10km a day to not even being able to walk up the road,” she remembers.The doctors, thinking it was benign mastitis and an infection, prescribed antibiotics for a few months.

The mammograms, blood tests and scans were unclear. “Because I was still breastfeeding, there was so much milk that they couldn’t tell what was happening. But from there, I just got really sick,” says Sam who, despite the exhaustion and pain, continued to care for her children and teach learning support at Sunshine High School.Things changed after the biopsy. “The afternoon doctor call. The four o’clock call. They leave the really good ones until last,” Sam says, unable to resist injecting some humour. “The doctor rang and said, ‘I don’t have good news’. And I said, ‘I know I’ve got cancer’. I knew something was wrong and almost wanted her to tell me that something was wrong because I was so ill.”

From then on, it was tense. “It was telling my partner of nearly 15 years that I had breast cancer. It was telling my family and friends. It was telling work colleagues. It was kind of surreal because it felt like I was sitting in the control box and I knew I’ve got to do something about this. And everyone around me just crumpled. And they’d cry. I suppose they shared that feeling of not being able to do anything.”Her diagnosis came on Valentine’s Day, an irony that isn’t wasted on Sam. “Oh great. Woo hoo. Happy Valentine’s Day.” Scheduled for a week later, surgery took out the right breast and 16 lymph nodes, two of them cancerous.

After surgery, the regular rounds of chemo and the long trail of daily radiation therapy were “tormenting”. “The first round of chemo knocked me so hard I didn’t want to go back again. And I’ve run marathons and had two difficult childbirths,” she shakes her head. “But I tell you what, if they hadn’t said this will save your life, I wouldn’t have gone back again.” Because the therapy can last hours, Sam loaded herself with books and a sketchbook, but this proved futile. To prevent problems with her fingers and toes during chemotherapy, she had to wear over-sized mittens to stop her doing anything with her hands. “The chemo is so lethal, it can lift the nails off the nailbeds,” she explains. “It was unbelievable torture, but the thought of my nails coming off was enough for me to just sit there and go, ‘You know what, someone will read to me’.”“It’s such bubbly disgusting stuff,” Sam continues, in a rush of horrific images. “When they hook you up to this bottle and you’ve come from a lifetime where you’ve trained and known everything you put in your body. Then, all of a sudden, this toxic thing gets hung above you. And the person who’s hanging it is in a suit that looks like they’re going to the moon. If anyone drops any of it, it’s like run for your life. And that is what’s going inside you. It was so hard to get my head around the fact this stuff was going to help me.”As if that wasn’t enough, Sam’s partner, Mandy, left after the third round of chemotherapy. “It was fright and flight,” Sam says, her vibrant spirit muted for a second. “Look, it still makes it really difficult that in your greatest time of need, someone who’s known you for that long steps out.”

But her mum stepped in. Helen, 70, has nothing but praise for her daughter. “I am so proud of Sam because of everything she has gone through.” Helen has moved into an extension at the house to be close to her daughter and, despite her age, isn’t slowing down. “Mum’s this exercising, aerobics, cardio-funk, dancing thing. She’s full of energy. She’s wild,” Sam laughs. Although her mum’s love of ironing is “a bit weird”, she’s been a big help.Helen, in tandem with their extended family and friends, has supported Sam through her difficult time. “These people are making a big difference to making me want to get up and not ever letting go of the belief in the fact that I would survive this,” Sam says. It is touching to see such tenacity. Sam’s drive and determination are infectious but it is her positive spirit that beams. Although the past eight months have writ enormous changes in lifestyle and taken her from an athletic buxom girl to a shadow of herself at just 50kg, she maintains her optimism.

During her therapy, she kept a journal and some words radiate from the pages: I am grateful for this experience. I must now add to this happiness. Life seems like it’s going in the direction of that shining light. Here I am again sitting in ‘you can do it’ mode. “There are times. My God, I’ve sat in the corner of my wardrobe and cried so hard and thought I’d never come out again,” she recalls. “But normality seems to keep things flowing. “The whole way through this experience, my two and five-year-old kept me grounded. Because if I think about the past and how difficult it’s been and I look at what my future is going to look like, it can be quite daunting. But then my kids will ask me ‘What’s for lunch?’ They kick you into the now.” Her journey has inspired those around her. A friend lost 20kg after taking up running; others push themselves further in their sports or make appointments for checks. Now, Sam gets to “come back as a healthier me, that’s for sure”.“For me, support, motivation and getting me back on track is about athletes,” Sam admits, allowing glimpses of her indomitable strength. “It’s the whole scope of looking after each other as well. I missed that a little bit when I was racing at a high level. I thought it was about me; I’ve got to win. I thought that was the important part. When really, the important part was being out with a whole crew of people and the people behind you making it happen.”Her inspiration has come from sources as diverse as fellow cancer sufferers Lance Armstrong and Raelene Boyle to Gloria Gaynor’s I Will Survive. Family as well. Sam sees it as a blessing to “hold the hands of my children through this time”.

However, she’s not looking forward to some things: “I’ve got to shave my legs again. It’s such a pain.” With a low chance of relapse, Sam does not feel like she’s in “a bad space”. Indeed, her motivation is ingrained in her favourite quote, “Keep moving forward until you can look back with joy”. She explains her philosophy in her own humble words, “You’ve got to be laughing and having fun at the same time. You can’t stay in the black hole”. And her return to full health? “Imagine what I’m going to be like when I’m firing on all cylinders.”

samantha naudin
inspired by your website and the opportunities for women to explore the world!

naudov3@bigpond.com