Bettye and Sylvia
Left
to right: Bettye and Sylvia
By Bettye, a participant from California
My name is Bettye and I am the oldest of nine siblings, five girls and four boys. As the oldest, I’ve always had, or felt a sense of responsibility for the well-being of the eight. I was born, reared and schooled in Mississippi, but I have lived in Los Angeles for the past forty (40) years. I have a brother here, but the others are still in Jackson.
It was the first Saturday in March 2006, when I received the devastating news that my baby sister, Sylvia, had been diagnosed with breast cancer. It was as if an NFL linebacker had tackled me headfirst, with the helmet into my stomach. I couldn’t breathe. I had phoned my mom to inform her that my brother was in the hospital. After I gave her my news, she told me about Sylvia. I said something to her like, “It’s going to be all right. How is she? Does everybody know?” Babbling on and on, I was close to falling apart, but I couldn’t do it on the phone with my mom. I got off the phone as soon possible and let the tears flow; part fear, part sorrow, part dismay, part fatigue, part “why not me?”. I’m the oldest…I was a mess. I felt like I had failed Sylvia somehow and allowed this to attack her.
I composed myself a bit and called Millie, another sister. We talked and cried together. She said, “I wish it were me. I’m older and I have seen my child get grown and I have seen my grandchildren.” When she said that, the oldest sibling thing kicked in. I had to try to make her feel better. I told Millie not say that or wish that. It was not meant for her. We cried some more then started making plans for the fight. We both agreed that Sylvia needed to gain some weight. I knew I had to call her RIGHT AWAY. If I delayed, I wouldn’t be able to talk to her.
Sylvia had just visited Los Angeles about two weeks prior to see our brother. She had come to encourage him. Now, she had a fight on her hands. I called her and she sounded up, alert, and ready to fight this thing. Her major concern was how to tell her children, ages 17 and 14. I suggested she get our mother or Millie to be there when she told them. I don’t rightly remember if she did, but when she told them, it wasn’t as difficult or bad as she had initially thought it would be. She assured them she was not about to die, but she would probably have a few bad days before she got well.
I became her nutritionist. I called and told her what she was supposed to eat and how often. She tried to complain, but I wasn’t having it. I called every morning to inquire about her breakfast. In addition to three meals and two snacks per day, she also had to drink two nutritional drinks per day. Therefore, in the midst of her surgeries, chemotherapy, etc., things that can wear you down, she gained weight, and was in good spirits. She needed care at home and our mother was right there. So were her children and Millie. She has a really great man in her life, and he was there for her also.
I went to see her in July that year, and just lost it completely when I saw her. She was plump, for her, glowing, prettier than she has ever been, and not a hair on her head. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, she was gorgeous. I have so much respect, and admiration for her tenacity in the face of her “storm.” I’m sure there were fear and trepidations, but she never let on. Even when she lost every strand of hair, she smiled anyway and kept going. She’s a year cancer-free, her hair is back, and now she cries all the time. Not to worry, it’s a family trait. She is fine. I thank God on a daily basis for blessing her, bringing her through this crisis and keeping her smile in tact. In blessing her, He so richly blessed her family, friends and loved ones.
I joined the Sister Study, because of Sylvia, to do my part in helping to eradicate this awful disease. I shall endeavor to get more women to join. We as women should become more involved in taking charge of our health concerns. Early detection is of paramount importance. Breast cancer is not, and shouldn’t be an automatic death sentence. With more research, studies of genetics, living conditions, and health issues this disease will become obsolete. If not in my lifetime, then I pray soon.