BayouKidz | The “C” Word…Again

article by Cindy G. Foust

Hello devoted readers of this wonderful magazine, BayouLife, and who share this community where we all live. I probably don’t say this often enough, but I feel very fortunate to live, work and raise my family in our great area. I do. Just this week, Scott and I found ourselves on a weekly dinner date with our children and our precious little pookie girl. Did I mention I was a grandmother now? I couldn’t remember if I did, so on the outside chance I haven’t…or you missed it…I’m a grandmother. Anyway, we were at dinner at a West Monroe restaurant and my daughter-in-love said, “Mrs. Cindy, you and Mr. Scott know a lot of people.” Yes, I know we do, darling, or at least I hope we do since we have lived here our entire lives! But isn’t it wonderful to be at dinner and have your neighbors and friends walk by your table and not just speak, but stop to visit? I love it, particularly if I haven’t seen them in a while and I get to show off my family.

Yes, living in a small town has lots of advantages, and bumping into friends and family routinely is definitely at the top of the list. This is not a hit on big city life, if that’s your jam, but for me, I love being insulated by the familiar, by a community that supports you in the highs and lows of life, and cheers you on for both. Anyone with me? Y’all know I frequently write about my life, the highs and the lows, and all the stuff in between. Because that’s where most of us live, right? Somewhere in the in between? But sometimes you can be just riding your Harley in the in between (just kidding, I don’t have a Harley, but I want to ride one), and suddenly, without warning, you can get gobsmacked.

And I’ve been gobsmacked. And for some reason, only the children’s column writing gods probably understand, I have felt this compulsion of late to write about the gobsmacks. Now, before any of my grammar pros out there get me, I know gobsmack isn’t a word, but Dr. Seuss made up words like “yuzz-a-ma-tuzz,“ “zizzer-zazzer-zuzz,” and “nizzards” and nobody wrote him a ticket. Gobsmack, in case you’re interested, is actually British slang, meaning “utterly astonished, astounded, or completely shocked, often to the point of being speechless.”I think we can all agree, friends, that we’ve all been gobsmacked a time or two. And one such time for me was in August of 2020, when I found out I had the “C” word…again.

I promise, I’m going to connect the dots, readers, between living in a supportive community and breast cancer. You know, it just sometimes takes me a minute.

In the month of October, which has become a national beacon for breast cancer awareness, and because I have been in the sharing mood of late, I wanted to recount my “recurrence” story and speak to my journey from 2012…to 2020…to today. And here’s why…in the same way I knew that someone needed to hear my story about Samuel in August, I feel just as compelled in October to write about my breast cancer story. I don’t know how I know, I just know.

Because hearing that you have any type of cancer the first time is every bit of the gobsmacked definition, “utterly astonishing,” “astounding,” “completely shocking,” and it renders you “speechless.” But hearing you have had a recurrence? Well, that’s a “floob-boober-bab-boober-bubs” horse of a different color (thank you, Dr. Seuss, that word sounded like a better choice of words than the “curse” ones I wanted to use, but Cassie wouldn’t allow). In 2020, during the most extraordinary time in the medical history of the world, a global pandemic, a virus that was taking the lives of old and young alike, that was creating division in our great country and rendering us to our knees, I found out my cancer had returned. In a word…gobsmacked.

My decision to go to Houston for a second opinion was based on the fact that M.D. Anderson is a research hospital and I was frightened out of my mind. Hearing the word “recurrence” during a global pandemic created panic in every crevice of my being. When I made my way to M.D. in September 2020, I wasn’t able to start treatment until December 2020. And during that time, in case you want to feel a little bit more sorry for me, M.D. had a no-visitor policy, so Scott had to drop me at the door and wait in the parking garage. All the scary tests and all the scary doctor appointments had to be done by myself! And on top of that, did I mention I had to wait four months to start treatment?

Anybody else out there like to wait?

Because, let me tell you, the waiting is the worst! The mind is a powerful thing that can work you into a tailspin before you know what has hit you. Waiting for test results or waiting for treatment to start is like being in the wilderness without a compass. Because for me, once the treatment plan was in place and I knew the direction I was going, I could finally take a breath.

Now, treatment wasn’t a birthday party at Skatetown (Mrs. Kathy Porter, I see you), but through the support of my family, my friends, my colleagues, this community (I finally circled back), I was able to make it through those harrowing 16 weeks. And today? I am cancer-free and feeling better than I have in 10 years.

So, the question I probably get asked the most often, from those who have had a “C” word diagnosis, is “How did you make it through the treatment?” That’s fair because I had the same question, too. I mean, we all want to see someone who has made it through, right, to the other side, and they are doing okay? For me, I used the loving wisdom of one of my best friends, Lori French, who helped hold me up during that time, and leaned in to what she said: “Cindy, you have to put yourself in a bubble, keep your head down, and stay focused on your treatment. And pray.” And that’s what I did. I continued to work, to take care of my family, I went out to eat with my friends, I went to movies, and I survived a snowcopolypse. Quite simply, I lived my life.

And when it was over and the harrowing part was in my rearview mirror, it almost felt like it had happened to someone else. But through those weeks, I felt the spirit of this community, the prayers of friends and family, the meals being brought to my home, and my girls (Shelley and Paula) who helped me Cold Cap to try and keep my hair (and I did!). And I was never more grateful than to live in a community that quite frequently wraps those of us who get gobsmacked up in their arms and puts their legs under you until you can walk again. Because you will, in fact, walk again.

In this month of breast cancer awareness, I am a poster child for early detection, regular screening, and above all else, reporting and following up on a symptom. Don’t ignore it! At the same time, I am also a proponent of reaching out to those whom you know have been gobsmacked. They need you. Give them that support, because that’s what creates “energy and drive to get through to the other side.” And just like that, I ended my column just like Dr. Seuss would…with a rhyme.

Cindy G. Foust is a wife, mom, author and blogger. You can find her blog at the alphabetmom.com for weekly columns about home life,  parenting, small business stories and insight with a smidgen of literacy. Give her a like or follow on Facebook and Instagram.