News

Liz Seculoff: Survivor's Story

On November 7th, 2005, Liz and her family celebrated her fifth anniversary of being cancer-free.

BY

Fort Wayne, Indiana (November 10, 2005) —

Liz Seculoff, her husband and children.

In March of 2000, I thought no star was out of my reach. After years of fertility treatments, I was raising my eight-month-old daughter and - to our complete surprise - my husband, John, and I were expecting again. Life seemed great; everything good seemed to be happening. However, as my pregnancy progressed, I went into labor a full three weeks early and gave birth to a seriously ill little boy who was given a fifty percent chance of surviving. He would have to undergo critical surgery. All I could think about was how - just a few hours before - everything was wonderful and now my life was dramatically changed in an instant.

Prior to all these events, I had experienced a bloody discharge from my left breast and found a hard lump. The day after my son’s birth, I met with the lactation consultant and told her about my lump. She asked to feel it, and I will never forget the look on her face. She immediately called my doctor and my life was suddenly on a roller coaster ride. In the following three days, I had an ultrasound and a biopsy, and my son had major surgery. My emotions caught up with me and I wondered, “How much of this can one person take?” I thought the odds would be on my side and the lump would be non-cancerous. I was so sure I’d be okay. I didn’t tell many friends about my ordeal.

When my son turned a week old, I received the call that, in fact, I had cancer. My body went numb and I did not remember anything else my OB had to say. I hung up the phone and paced around the house, wondering if I was going to die. I tried to ignore the look of fear from family and friends when they heard the news for the first time. When you are in your early 30’s, I guess few people expect to hear you have cancer.

The roller coaster continued. Soon, John and I were meeting with doctors we never imagined we would know. When the surgeons and oncologists would enter the room, I could tell by the look on their faces this was more serious than I had wanted to believe. They told us we were battling a Stage 3, 15 x 17cm tumor, which was growing quickly with an unknown degree of invasiveness. Apparently, what I had felt was just the tip, because this is about the size of a pop can. Chemotherapy had to be started, then a mastectomy. Due to some of the characteristics of the tumor, my doctors recommended I consult with the Breast Care and Research Center at IU for my treatment. Fortunately for me, I met Dr. Anna Maria Storniolo and Dr. Robert Goulet and felt an immediate connection. Something good was finally happening. With my doctors in Ft. Wayne teaming up with my doctors at IU, I knew I had the best odds of conquering this disease.

I started treatments the day before my son’s original due date. As John and I entered the chemo infusion center, I could not help but notice I was the youngest person there. I wanted to stand up and shout, “There must be some mistake. Cancer is for old people, dying people, but not me. I’m not supposed to be here!

The second chemo is the one that causes your hair to fall out. For three days, it came out in clumps. I was surprised by my reflection in the mirror when I had nothing left on my head. I began to wear a turban and eventually got used to my new wig. The first time I put it on, my daughter wouldn’t come near me. It scared her, and she just pointed at it. I‘d pull it off to show her it was Mommy, and that I was fine. Soon, I had to be careful in public because she loved to remove it and put it on her own head! But it made my day to see my 18-month-old walking around with a full head of adult hair.

My son became stronger as the chemo made me weaker. Before my next treatment, I made a point to run around the house with my daughter, playing and picking her up because I knew that I would soon have no energy. Often, I’d catch John watching us. The sadness of his expression made me realize how frightened he was of my condition. For four months, I fought the cancer with all my strength, not knowing until the actual surgery if the cancer was still spreading. In an effort to keep my spirits up, I asked not to know the odds. I found out later that my husband was told I had a 50% chance (at best) of making it five years. With the chemo finally over, I had to gain strength for my mastectomy and reconstruction. I tried to prepare myself for this necessary but mutilating surgery.

I was back in Indy one week after my operation. Dr. Storniolo and Dr. Goulet came into the office with the biggest smiles on their faces and told us the news: not only had the chemo killed all of the invasive cancer, but the part that was removed had been non-invasive. I was cancer free. As I walked out of the Center I sensed excitement in the entire staff. I felt like an Olympian who had just won the gold medal. John and I celebrated in Indianapolis with dinner and talked about our plans for the future. Later that night, while my children were sleeping, I slipped into their rooms. I whispered in each ear that Mommy was going to be okay and that I would be there to watch them grow up.

In December of 2000, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. Fortunately, she is vigilant about mammograms and her tumor was found early. After two lumpectomies and radiation, I am happy to say she is doing well. I had thought I did not have a history of cancer when the reality was that I was just the first one diagnosed. Further proof that the best prevention is early detection, listening to your body, taking action and - don’t forget - the power of prayer.

During my chemo, I developed a dear friendship with a woman from Iowa who was a few years younger than me. While we did our treatments simultaneously, we realized how similar our stories were: She found a lump while pregnant, was diagnosed after her second child and her tumor was quite large. But our similarities end there. My tumor responded to chemo and hers did not. She continues to fight her battle and, in reality, she is facing my biggest fear: preparing her children for a life without her. Too many women are dying from this disease. We must find a cure so my friend, Michelle, and other women like her can experience the exhilaration of a second chance.

I am truly fortunate. I’ve had lots of support from family and friends. I found comfort in my faith and in wonderful organizations such as the Women’s Cancer Center at Lutheran Hospital. My heartfelt thanks goes to everyone who supports the Vera Bradley Foundation’s breast cancer research. For, now, I have been able to reach out and grab for the stars once again. Today I have been blessed. Today I am cancer-free.