Standing Tall: A Father's Lessons Through His Daughter's Cancer

© 2011 Tom Benford with Andrea Benford Theis. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 1/13/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4520-4395-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4520-4396-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2010909801

Printed in the United States of America

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DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my daughter, Andrea Renee (Benford) Theis, who, throughout her illness, never once complained about pain or asked, Why me? Rather, she battled small-cell ovarian cancer with an attitude she called, KCA, meaning, Kick Cancer’s Ass. Her determination and desire to pay it forward have laid the groundwork in the fight to identify, treat and defeat small-cell ovarian cancer.

This book is also dedicated to Eris Theis, Andrea’s husband, who demonstrated a love that went far beyond their years together. Eric portrayed an unselfish love for Andrea as her guiding light throughout her treatment. Caring for her personal and medical needs, Eric illustrated exactly the meaning of standing tall as a husband. Eric, I thank you.

Contents

DEDICATION

Introduction

Chapter 1      February 27, 2006 – It’s Back

Chapter 2       Rock My World

Chapter 3      Dad, I Have Cancer!

Chapter 4      Planes, Trains and Automobiles

Chapter 5      Serendipity

Chapter 6      A Miracle Phone Call

Chapter 7      Meet the Doctor

Chapter 8      Chemotherapy

Chapter 9      A Light at the End of the Tunnel?

Chapter 10      Faith—Courage—Strength—Hope

Chapter 11      The Gathering

Chapter 12      Our Holiday Miracles

Chapter 13 The Perfect Cancer

Chapter 14      A Life Well-lived

Chapter 15      At Peace

Chapter 16      Paying it Forward

A Reflection—Meaningful Coincidences and How We Won by Standing Tall

Finding Help

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

A LETTER FROM MELISSA

Introduction

In northern Arizona, strong and majestic ponderosa pine trees tower over the forests, protecting the delicate balance of nature. The Grand Canyon State is home to the largest contiguous stand of ponderosa pines in the world and, as you stand below them, you can hear the trees wrestling with the wind as they accept their roles as guardians of the forest. A ponderosa pine tree can grow to a height of 100 to 200 feet, have a circumference of 30 to 80 inches and live from 300 to 500 years.

Another of Arizona’s many wonders is the monsoon season. The monsoon, which usually begins in the middle of July, rolls into the desert and the surrounding mountains, bringing with it much-needed rain, accompanied by some of the most sensational lightning and thunder shows seen anywhere on Earth. Arizona has one of the highest incidences of lightning strikes in the United States, second only to Florida.

The ponderosa pines tower high in the forest, so it’s easy to understand the threat that monsoon lightning poses to these trees. It’s not uncommon for the tallest trees to endure many strikes during their lifetimes, survive the strikes, and continue as guardians of the forests.

For quite some time, I’ve accepted a similar role as the guardian of my family. By this, I mean that I’m always watching over my family, which includes my parents, brother, my four children, wife, grandsons, and numerous nieces and nephews. I am always ready to help by giving advice or offering my sometimes-unsolicited opinion. Much like the ponderosas, I do my best to watch over the family and always stand tall. As a family, we have endured many lightning strikes: a divorce, a new marriage, a traumatic and fatal automobile accident, the deaths of my wife’s father, mother and brother, and many of the major and minor incidents that families must deal with on a daily basis. My wife and I have two college-age daughters, so it’s not hard to understand our challenges.

Like the majestic and mighty ponderosas, I was susceptible to a lightning strike and, in the spring of 2005, I was about to receive a strike that would try my soul or as they say, rock my world. I would have to be able to withstand this strike and, like the ponderosa pines, continue to thrive and grow as the guardian of my family. I would have no choice but to stand tall.

In writing this book I want to accomplish three things: First, I am going to tell you a story about Andrea, the oldest of my three daughters, and her battle that became our family’s battle to overcome a traumatic illness, small-cell ovarian cancer.

Second, you’ll learn how our family managed cancer and how you can safeguard your family, friends or employees from allowing a traumatic illness to become a crisis and how you can continue to live a new life of normalcy. This book deals not only with cancer; its messages can be used to help with other serious health-related issues, such as heart disease, stroke, Alzheimer’s, accident recovery, or any one of hundreds of ailments that create serious challenges. For our family, the challenge was small-cell ovarian cancer.

Third, I’ll explain how I was able to deal with this life-changing event from the perspective of a father, Andrea’s father, and how I did my best to stand tall beside her.

Chapter 1      February 27, 2006 – It’s Back

I slowly closed the back door, listening for the gentle click of the handle as I left. The house was dark - too early for my wife, Sally, and our two daughters, Carly and Katie, to be up yet.

Walking to my truck, I felt the crisp morning air brush my face. It’s much colder this morning, I thought. Unusually cold for a late February morning in Phoenix. As I started the engine, I looked at the outside temperature on the dashboard. Forty-one degrees. It felt much colder.

I backed out of the driveway and shifted into drive and as the engine started to accelerate, it seemed the truck knew the task at hand: Drive to Banner Good Samaritan Hospital—as we did every morning that Andrea was there–for morning briefings, as they had come to be known. Instead of tuning into the morning news program to hear about what happened overnight in faraway places, we would huddle around a hospital bed and listen to the latest findings of Dr. Alan Gordon.

From the parking garage, it was a short walk to the hospital’s main entrance, but just long enough for the warmth I had felt in the truck to evaporate. I exchanged hellos with the valet gent, Jim, who greeted me each morning.

Pretty cold this morning, he said with a comforting smile. I nodded in quick agreement as the warm air of the hospital reception area greeted me. Past the information desk, the radiology department, past the gift shop and then the coffee shop, where I exchanged a quick wave of the hand to Todd, the coffee concierge. Around the next corner was the chapel, where my visits almost always started. But this morning was different—I was running late, which meant I was MIA upstairs. I skipped the chapel and headed straight for the elevators.

The elevator knows I’m in a hurry, I thought, as it inched its way up the elevator shaft, stopping on each floor while hospital workers and visitors got on and off in silence. Finally reaching the twelfth floor, the doors opened with the familiar ding and I crossed the threshold with out missing a step, then through the double doors marked C, where the nurses and their assistants greeted me with their usual smiles. I saw Dr. Gordon just entering Andrea’s room and I hurried to catch the door, following on his coattails. When I entered Andrea’s room, I received a weak, Hi, Dad. And with that, the morning briefing began.

I stood and listened to Dr. Gordon relate his findings of Andrea’s latest exam. I began to shudder as I could feel the muscles in my shoulders and my neck tighten. My heart pounded as I tried to look calm and reassuring to Andrea. I stood on one side of her as her husband, Eric, stood on the other.

It was back. Not again, I thought. It was the lightning strike that I had been bracing for. How much more could Andrea withstand?

Andrea looked up, smiled weakly, and asked, What do we do now?

Only Andrea would calmly ask that of her medicine man. We waited for his answer. How would Dr. Gordon answer this young woman with whom he had bonded so closely? Did he have any magic left? He shook his head and started to leave the room, when Andrea, in a much firmer voice, said, Hey, Doc, don’t you give up on me.

Gordon smiled, I won’t. I need to make some calls. We’ll talk after I check into some things. And with that, the door slowly clicked shut.

* * *

Andrea was not used to doors closing on her. The ability to open doors was one of her greatest strengths.

Just a few years earlier, Andrea had joined Glaxo Smith Kline (GSK) as a medical detail representative. It was her dream job and she loved calling on the doctors in her sales territory. She had established a warm and friendly relationship with her clients. A couple of years after she had started with GSK, she was promoted, and her territory changed. This meant calling on new docs. She was working with a new drug that GSK had developed, presenting it in her new territory.

At one point during that time, she had difficulty connecting with one of her doctors who had an extremely busy practice. After several failed attempts to get an appointment with him, Andrea was finally able to schedule a one-on-one meeting in his office. Andrea intended to discuss this new GSK medication that this particular doctor was not yet prescribing.

As the meeting started and they began talking, Andrea’s eyes were drawn to an old wooden baseball bat standing conspicuously in the corner of his office, just an arm’s length away.

Did you play baseball? Andrea asked.

After listening to him list his many accomplishments of a successful, yet interrupted, college career, she said, Well I didn’t play baseball, but I did play college softball at New Mexico State University.

His eyes quickly sized up her slight 5’2 frame, but Andrea headed him off, saying, Believe me, there was some speed and power in this body when I played."

Then, to Andrea’s delight, he asked, How is it that the left-handed batters do that funny, running swing out of the batters’ box?

It’s called slapping. I was a slapper. Andrea blurted.

He reached for the bat, grabbing its handle, and pointed it at Andrea, saying, Show me how it’s done.

Right here in the office? Andrea asked.

Sure, move those chairs there’s plenty of room.

After rearranging the furniture, she gripped the bat handle and, as she stepped into an imaginary batters’ box, she kicked off her heels and hiked her skirt up a little above her knees. Andrea took her stance, and with the vision of an opposing pitcher going through her wind-up, she started her steps under the scrutiny of the doctor’s eye. As she shuffled her feet, the bat moved through an invisible zone, narrowly missing a clock on the doctor’s desk. Andrea caught the doctor’s eyes, smiled and said, It’s done something like that. I’m a little out of practice.

For the next half-hour, she continued perfecting the art of the slap. The doc was delighted, giving Andrea much more time to discuss her product than she had expected. Through this simple demonstration, a strong working relationship developed between doctor and rep–a team effort that was initiated years before, on a softball field somewhere in Phoenix, Arizona. It was Andrea at her best, having fun and getting the job done. As Andrea’s GSK supervisor Brian Harvey once said, With Andrea, fun’s not an option; it’s a part of Andrea that we all love.

* * *

Now Andrea’s situation was very different: A doctor-patient relationship with no slapping demonstrations—only a clock that ticked, ticked, ticked, ever too quickly.

Chapter 2       Rock My World

On May 3, 2005, I spent the day with my son-in-law, Eric, at Banner Thunderbird Hospital in Glendale, Arizona. I drifted from trivial conversation with Eric to memories of Eric becoming a member of our family’s circle of trust three years earlier when he and Andrea married. I was so pleased with Andrea’s choice for a husband.

Their first three years of marriage were filled with excitement and fun as they started their new life together. Eric was a pharmacist and had graduated from the University of Florida with a doctorate degree in pharmacology. After graduating, he decided to move to Arizona with no real reason in mind. Eric would later marry the first woman he dated in Arizona–Andrea.

Andrea grew up in Phoenix and was an outstanding student athlete in high school and college. She received All-American honors in softball while attending Glendale Community College and earned a full-ride athletic scholarship to New Mexico State University in Las Cruces, where she led the softball team in several categories and received All-Big West Honors. She graduated in four years with a bachelor’s degree in communications, and after a very successful, but brief, advertising job, she found her dream job with GSK. Life was good, a new home, a close family, good friends and she and Eric were planning for children of their own.

In November 2004, Andrea called to tell me she had suffered a miscarriage. For the moment, sadness consumed us but, as usual, Andrea was quick to rebound, deciding that the miscarriage was God’s way of correcting something that was not quite right. Her words made sense to me and we all moved on with our lives.

In March 2005, Andrea had another miscarriage and her gynecologist decided to run some tests to see what might be causing her to miscarry. After several tests revealed nothing of concern, her doctor, Judy Tom, ordered one more test. Andrea had her blood drawn for the test, but when the doctor’s office called to give her the results, they told her that the lab had run the wrong test and that the test showed she was still pregnant —not possible! The doctor quickly ordered an ultrasound and there it was, a small growth on her left ovary, approximately 6 centimeters.

In the following days, additional tests were run: X-rays, more ultrasounds and a CA-125 blood test to check for cancer cells, which was negative. Andrea was assured that the growth would turn out to be nothing of concern, and with her age, excellent physical condition, a negative CA-125 test and no family history of cancer, a routine surgery to remove a benign growth was everyone’s expectation.

In an e-mail that Andrea sent out just prior to her initial surgery, she showed no concern, only her sense of humor–how she could laugh at almost any situation. She felt that this ordeal was nothing more than a minor interruption in her life.

Sent: Thursday, April 28, 2005 9:21 PM

Subject: Just an update…

Hello All,

First of all, I just want to acknowledge the fact that I must have the best set of friends and the best family! I can’t thank you all enough for all the prayers and support you have given us. Thank you, thank you, and thank you!

I want to let you all know that I did get the final details of my surgery and it will be on Tuesday May 3 @ 1:30 (they moved it up a bit, which is great … this way I will not have to starve as long. :) ) Eric and I met with Dr. Tom on Monday and she is still going to attempt to remove this little beast through the scope which would be awesome! (The recovery time would only be about a week) But due to the size and depending on what she sees once she gets in there, she may have to make an incision, which would mean about a 3-4 week recovery. (Anybody see any good movies lately? :) ) If she is able to use the scope, I should be able to go home that night and if not, I will be there for three to four days before I come home. We will plan on having to stay but it would be awesome if we could come home, you know for Otis’s [Andrea and Eric’s dog] sake!

Again, I can’t thank you all enough! And I continue to believe