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Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 13/08/2014 (3541 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

Tim Smith/Brandon Sun Cheryl and Colin, mother and son bonded by cancer, wrestle on the kitchen floor one evening in April.
Tim Smith/Brandon Sun Cheryl and Colin, mother and son bonded by cancer, wrestle on the kitchen floor one evening in April.
About a week after Cheryl had been diagnosed with breast cancer, she broke the news to eight-year-old Colin and six-year-old Emily at a family meeting. Colin hugged his mom: “We’re cancer buddies? You have cancer, too?” And then, she recalls, “Emily starts to get upset and says, ‘It’s not fair — everybody has cancer except me!’ and storms to her bedroom. “And I’m sitting there thinking, I can’t believe this is my family. I have one child that’s excited because I have cancer with him and I have another child that’s upset because she doesn’t have cancer.”
About a week after Cheryl had been diagnosed with breast cancer, she broke the news to eight-year-old Colin and six-year-old Emily at a family meeting. Colin hugged his mom: “We’re cancer buddies? You have cancer, too?” And then, she recalls, “Emily starts to get upset and says, ‘It’s not fair — everybody has cancer except me!’ and storms to her bedroom. “And I’m sitting there thinking, I can’t believe this is my family. I have one child that’s excited because I have cancer with him and I have another child that’s upset because she doesn’t have cancer.”
Colin looks up as his chemotherapy drugs are administered at the CancerCare Manitoba facility at Health Sciences Centre Winnipeg in April. Colin's chemo treatment began in September, 2012 and is scheduled to continue until October 30, 2015.
Colin looks up as his chemotherapy drugs are administered at the CancerCare Manitoba facility at Health Sciences Centre Winnipeg in April. Colin's chemo treatment began in September, 2012 and is scheduled to continue until October 30, 2015.
Two years ago, everything in Cheryl’s family of three seemed pretty normal. Colin was just about to start first grade and his younger sister Emily was all set to join him at École Harrison in kindergarten. Except Colin, then six, had been mentioning a sore throat. “But like any other kid he was still eating, still drinking, still fighting with his sister,” Cheryl said. “On the third day of his complaining, it was ‘OK, enough, let’s take you to a walk-in’.” At the end of the doctor’s visit, Cheryl mentioned that Colin didn’t eat a lot of meat and the doctor agreed that he looked a little pale, so he ordered some lab work to check for iron deficiency. An hour later Cheryl received a call from the doctor at work. She remembers the conversation in snippets like ‘lab work’, ‘awful’, ‘all over the map’, ‘CancerCare’ and ‘meet me at the emergency room.’ Her son had leukemia — acute lymphoblastic leukemia. That means his bone marrow makes too many lymphoblasts, and not enough other cells. “I didn’t even understand fully what that was at that point. I just knew that it wasn’t good and we didn’t want it and now Colin had it.”
Two years ago, everything in Cheryl’s family of three seemed pretty normal. Colin was just about to start first grade and his younger sister Emily was all set to join him at École Harrison in kindergarten. Except Colin, then six, had been mentioning a sore throat. “But like any other kid he was still eating, still drinking, still fighting with his sister,” Cheryl said. “On the third day of his complaining, it was ‘OK, enough, let’s take you to a walk-in’.” At the end of the doctor’s visit, Cheryl mentioned that Colin didn’t eat a lot of meat and the doctor agreed that he looked a little pale, so he ordered some lab work to check for iron deficiency. An hour later Cheryl received a call from the doctor at work. She remembers the conversation in snippets like ‘lab work’, ‘awful’, ‘all over the map’, ‘CancerCare’ and ‘meet me at the emergency room.’ Her son had leukemia — acute lymphoblastic leukemia. That means his bone marrow makes too many lymphoblasts, and not enough other cells. “I didn’t even understand fully what that was at that point. I just knew that it wasn’t good and we didn’t want it and now Colin had it.”
With her mother Lora at her side, Cheryl lies on a gurney in the pre-op holding area just before being wheeled into an operating room to undergo a lumpectomy. Hopes were high that the results of the lumpectomy would eliminate the need for more invasive surgery but within weeks of the operation Cheryl would learn she had multiple tumours in both breasts and less than two month's from her initial surgery she would undergo a bi-lateral mastectomy and reconstruction.
With her mother Lora at her side, Cheryl lies on a gurney in the pre-op holding area just before being wheeled into an operating room to undergo a lumpectomy. Hopes were high that the results of the lumpectomy would eliminate the need for more invasive surgery but within weeks of the operation Cheryl would learn she had multiple tumours in both breasts and less than two month's from her initial surgery she would undergo a bi-lateral mastectomy and reconstruction.
Although Cheryl and her childrens’ father are divorced, news of Colin’s diagnosis pulled the family together from both sides. And while his parents, grandparents and other family and friends were devastated by the news, Colin remained his typical happy self. Tragedy and hardship have ways of putting things in perspective, and of letting you know what you’ve taken for granted. While packing for Colin’s first trip to the CancerCare Manitoba unit in Winnipeg, Cheryl threw in all of his favourite long story books, the ones she used to avoid when reading him bedtime stories so she could get on with other chores or have a bit of time to herself. Now all Cheryl wanted was more time with her kids.
Although Cheryl and her childrens’ father are divorced, news of Colin’s diagnosis pulled the family together from both sides. And while his parents, grandparents and other family and friends were devastated by the news, Colin remained his typical happy self. Tragedy and hardship have ways of putting things in perspective, and of letting you know what you’ve taken for granted. While packing for Colin’s first trip to the CancerCare Manitoba unit in Winnipeg, Cheryl threw in all of his favourite long story books, the ones she used to avoid when reading him bedtime stories so she could get on with other chores or have a bit of time to herself. Now all Cheryl wanted was more time with her kids.
Cheryl lies on her living room couch in pain one day after her lumpectomy surgery. The operation only took a few hours but involved removing 3 lymph nodes in her left breast and armpit which caused her more discomfort than she was expecting.
Cheryl lies on her living room couch in pain one day after her lumpectomy surgery. The operation only took a few hours but involved removing 3 lymph nodes in her left breast and armpit which caused her more discomfort than she was expecting.
The immediate few weeks after Colin’s diagnosis were a blur. “He went from being a normal kid to being a very sick kid very fast. Life forever changed that day,” she says. Cheryl remembers holding Colin and rocking him in his room at the Children’s Hospital in Winnipeg and feeling guilty because she hadn’t even known he was sick. That is how cancer began to become “normal” in Cheryl’s household. Chemotherapy, lumbar punctures, blood counts, constant trips to CancerCare Manitoba in Winnipeg, missed school for both Colin and Emily. All are pencilled in on the calender on Cheryl’s fridge — right next to sports camps, in-service days, birthdays and the rest of their day-to-day schedule. As routine as dealing with serious disease has become in Cheryl’s household, she and her family make sure to deal with their challenges as positively as possible. “(Colin has) never had the idea in his head that he is sick. We’ve always said, ‘Your blood is sick, not you’. And I think that’s helped him a long ways with his attitude with it. Our family motto is: ‘Never give up.’ We just keep saying that.”
The immediate few weeks after Colin’s diagnosis were a blur. “He went from being a normal kid to being a very sick kid very fast. Life forever changed that day,” she says. Cheryl remembers holding Colin and rocking him in his room at the Children’s Hospital in Winnipeg and feeling guilty because she hadn’t even known he was sick. That is how cancer began to become “normal” in Cheryl’s household. Chemotherapy, lumbar punctures, blood counts, constant trips to CancerCare Manitoba in Winnipeg, missed school for both Colin and Emily. All are pencilled in on the calender on Cheryl’s fridge — right next to sports camps, in-service days, birthdays and the rest of their day-to-day schedule. As routine as dealing with serious disease has become in Cheryl’s household, she and her family make sure to deal with their challenges as positively as possible. “(Colin has) never had the idea in his head that he is sick. We’ve always said, ‘Your blood is sick, not you’. And I think that’s helped him a long ways with his attitude with it. Our family motto is: ‘Never give up.’ We just keep saying that.”
Colin has a smiley face drawn on his bandaid after having blood drawn in the emergency room at the Brandon Regional Health Centre in March. He had spiked a fever over 38C that morning which for someone in his condition means a trip to the ER to have his blood cell count checked. The fever ended up being a symptom of a viral infection.
Colin has a smiley face drawn on his bandaid after having blood drawn in the emergency room at the Brandon Regional Health Centre in March. He had spiked a fever over 38C that morning which for someone in his condition means a trip to the ER to have his blood cell count checked. The fever ended up being a symptom of a viral infection.
Colin eats a doughnut brought by his grandmother in a bed in the Brandon Regional Health Centre emergency room during a visit in March for a fever.
Colin eats a doughnut brought by his grandmother in a bed in the Brandon Regional Health Centre emergency room during a visit in March for a fever.
Colin is still undergoing maintenance chemotherapy, treatment that will continue until Oct. 30, 2015. However, by all accounts he is doing great right now. His bright orange hair, which he lost during the initial chemo rounds, has grown back. He looks like every other kid and maybe has even more energy than most. He took part in basketball camp this year as well as volleyball camp. “He’s just a ball of energy and I’m so thankful for it,” Cheryl says. Colin’s great response to his leukemia treatment and his upbeat attitude made it seem like the worst that cancer could throw at them was over. He still has a serious disease but had beaten the worst of it and his outcome looked positive.
Colin is still undergoing maintenance chemotherapy, treatment that will continue until Oct. 30, 2015. However, by all accounts he is doing great right now. His bright orange hair, which he lost during the initial chemo rounds, has grown back. He looks like every other kid and maybe has even more energy than most. He took part in basketball camp this year as well as volleyball camp. “He’s just a ball of energy and I’m so thankful for it,” Cheryl says. Colin’s great response to his leukemia treatment and his upbeat attitude made it seem like the worst that cancer could throw at them was over. He still has a serious disease but had beaten the worst of it and his outcome looked positive.
Cheryl is very conscious about giving her family as normal a life as possible despite the hands they've been dealt. This means taking time to play with her kids despite how lousy she feels.
Cheryl is very conscious about giving her family as normal a life as possible despite the hands they've been dealt. This means taking time to play with her kids despite how lousy she feels.
After months off work because Colin’s blood cell counts had plummeted, Cheryl was finally set to go back this past February. Then a reminder popped up on her phone: She was due for a followup ultrasound. She’d booked the first ultrasound the previous summer after feeling a lump. It showed nothing — her doctor assured her she was too young to have breast cancer and she shrugged off her worries as just being cancer paranoid, due to Colin’s illness. However, during her second ultrasound, doctors found a cyst and ordered a biopsy. Cheryl was at CancerCare in Winnipeg with her son when a nurse called to discuss the biopsy results. Instead of giving the results over the phone, the nurse wanted to book an appointment for Cheryl to speak to her doctor. That’s when Cheryl knew it was not good. “When I walked into my doctor’s office to get the official results, he knew I had been at CancerCare and he asked me how Colin was doing. And I said, ‘Colin’s fine — tell me it’s not cancer.’ He had tears in his eyes and he just nodded. “And I just totally lost it. I’m sure people in the waiting room heard me crying. How in the world am I going to do this, too? How am I going to get over my cancer and be strong enough to help Colin get over his? I totally lost it. The doctor held me and said, ‘We’re going to figure this out.’” After the appointment, Cheryl sat alone in her car in the clinic’s parking lot, trying to process the latest round of devastating news. She wasn’t sure how to tell her kids. “They miss out on so much with Colin having cancer and are ripped off from a normal childhood and now they have to have a mom that has cancer, too.” Within a week, Cheryl called the family meeting where Colin discovered he had a cancer buddy and where Emily realized she was the odd one out because she was healthy. “I said, ‘You guys know what cancer is right?’ and they said, ‘Yessssss, Mom’ because cancer is such a normal word in this house and I’ve tried very hard to not make it scary and tragic. “And I asked, ‘You know what boobies are, right?’ and they both kinda giggled and said ‘yes’. Well, mommy got breast cancer.”
After months off work because Colin’s blood cell counts had plummeted, Cheryl was finally set to go back this past February. Then a reminder popped up on her phone: She was due for a followup ultrasound. She’d booked the first ultrasound the previous summer after feeling a lump. It showed nothing — her doctor assured her she was too young to have breast cancer and she shrugged off her worries as just being cancer paranoid, due to Colin’s illness. However, during her second ultrasound, doctors found a cyst and ordered a biopsy. Cheryl was at CancerCare in Winnipeg with her son when a nurse called to discuss the biopsy results. Instead of giving the results over the phone, the nurse wanted to book an appointment for Cheryl to speak to her doctor. That’s when Cheryl knew it was not good. “When I walked into my doctor’s office to get the official results, he knew I had been at CancerCare and he asked me how Colin was doing. And I said, ‘Colin’s fine — tell me it’s not cancer.’ He had tears in his eyes and he just nodded. “And I just totally lost it. I’m sure people in the waiting room heard me crying. How in the world am I going to do this, too? How am I going to get over my cancer and be strong enough to help Colin get over his? I totally lost it. The doctor held me and said, ‘We’re going to figure this out.’” After the appointment, Cheryl sat alone in her car in the clinic’s parking lot, trying to process the latest round of devastating news. She wasn’t sure how to tell her kids. “They miss out on so much with Colin having cancer and are ripped off from a normal childhood and now they have to have a mom that has cancer, too.” Within a week, Cheryl called the family meeting where Colin discovered he had a cancer buddy and where Emily realized she was the odd one out because she was healthy. “I said, ‘You guys know what cancer is right?’ and they said, ‘Yessssss, Mom’ because cancer is such a normal word in this house and I’ve tried very hard to not make it scary and tragic. “And I asked, ‘You know what boobies are, right?’ and they both kinda giggled and said ‘yes’. Well, mommy got breast cancer.”
A frustrated Colin struggles to get his homework done one Sunday evening in April after a weekend of late nights.
A frustrated Colin struggles to get his homework done one Sunday evening in April after a weekend of late nights.
Once again, news that cancer had attacked Cheryl’s family spread fast. A co-worker started a fund for Cheryl’s family at the Westoba Credit Union, and staff and parents of children at École Harrison held fundraisers, planned meals and offered any other support they could give. Friends rallied around her, even throwing her a “bye-bye boobie” party. The generosity has been both unbelieveable and unnerving for Cheryl. She’s very grateful for all the love and help but also isn’t used to handouts. She was hesitant when I asked if I could begin documenting her family’s journey because she didn’t want her family to be known as ‘the cancer family.’ At events after her diagnosis, she longed to be able to make it through the night without being bombarded by questions, consoling and knowing glances everywhere she turned. But regardless, Cheryl realizes how lucky she is to have so much love and kindness bestowed on her family.
Once again, news that cancer had attacked Cheryl’s family spread fast. A co-worker started a fund for Cheryl’s family at the Westoba Credit Union, and staff and parents of children at École Harrison held fundraisers, planned meals and offered any other support they could give. Friends rallied around her, even throwing her a “bye-bye boobie” party. The generosity has been both unbelieveable and unnerving for Cheryl. She’s very grateful for all the love and help but also isn’t used to handouts. She was hesitant when I asked if I could begin documenting her family’s journey because she didn’t want her family to be known as ‘the cancer family.’ At events after her diagnosis, she longed to be able to make it through the night without being bombarded by questions, consoling and knowing glances everywhere she turned. But regardless, Cheryl realizes how lucky she is to have so much love and kindness bestowed on her family.
After the kids go downstairs to play, the weight of the following day's impending double mastectomy finally gets to Cheryl and she sobs in the arms of her friend Annie Jago-Fordyce. Within a few minutes she dries her tears and heads downstairs to play with her kids one last time before heading to Winnipeg for the surgery.
After the kids go downstairs to play, the weight of the following day's impending double mastectomy finally gets to Cheryl and she sobs in the arms of her friend Annie Jago-Fordyce. Within a few minutes she dries her tears and heads downstairs to play with her kids one last time before heading to Winnipeg for the surgery.
As quickly as support came, so did the medical response. One thing that’s evident about cancer care in Canada, it’s very robust. Immediately after her diagnosis, she was paired up with a cancer navigator, whose role is to guide Cheryl through the steps of her treatment. Within days, she had also met with surgeons and oncologists. Based on her age, medical history and biopsy results, Dr. Ethel MacIntosh — a Winnipeg surgeon who specializes in breast cancer surgery — recommended a lumpectomy, hoping that the tumours were localized and could be removed without the need for a more invasive mastectomy. The surgery was scheduled for March 12 at Health Sciences Centre Winnipeg. Cheryl’s mother Lora took time off work to be at her side for every appointment and operation, and to help out with the kids; Cheryl has custody the majority of the time. Lora had lost her husband, Cheryl’s father, to amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, also known as ALS or Lou Gehrig’s Disease, in late 2012. His death was another hardship felt by the entire family. “He was the perfect grandpa,” Cheryl says. “My dad never sat on the couch when the kids were home. He was their jungle gym.”
As quickly as support came, so did the medical response. One thing that’s evident about cancer care in Canada, it’s very robust. Immediately after her diagnosis, she was paired up with a cancer navigator, whose role is to guide Cheryl through the steps of her treatment. Within days, she had also met with surgeons and oncologists. Based on her age, medical history and biopsy results, Dr. Ethel MacIntosh — a Winnipeg surgeon who specializes in breast cancer surgery — recommended a lumpectomy, hoping that the tumours were localized and could be removed without the need for a more invasive mastectomy. The surgery was scheduled for March 12 at Health Sciences Centre Winnipeg. Cheryl’s mother Lora took time off work to be at her side for every appointment and operation, and to help out with the kids; Cheryl has custody the majority of the time. Lora had lost her husband, Cheryl’s father, to amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, also known as ALS or Lou Gehrig’s Disease, in late 2012. His death was another hardship felt by the entire family. “He was the perfect grandpa,” Cheryl says. “My dad never sat on the couch when the kids were home. He was their jungle gym.”
At Health Sciences Centre Winnipeg the stress is getting to Cheryl and she buries her head in her hands while waiting to meet with the plastic surgeon prior to surgery.
At Health Sciences Centre Winnipeg the stress is getting to Cheryl and she buries her head in her hands while waiting to meet with the plastic surgeon prior to surgery.
The night before Cheryl’s lumpectomy she and her mom stayed in Winnipeg. Neither got much sleep. The next day, surgery only took a few hours. Dr. MacIntosh’s team removed the tumour spotted by the ultrasound as well as three lymph nodes under Cheryl’s arm to help determine whether cancer had spread beyond her breast. Lora was a ball of nerves in the waiting room, anxious for news of the procedure. When Cheryl was OKed to leave, Lora drove her home to Brandon. When I checked in on her via text the following day, her first words were: “Today sucks… I hurt.” Despite the pain, Cheryl was optimistic that her oncology results would be positive and she wouldn’t need any further surgery. Spring break was around the corner, as was Colin’s birthday, and he was enrolled in an after-school volleyball/basketball camp at Neelin High School for three weeks. There were lots of enjoyable moments to look forward to.
The night before Cheryl’s lumpectomy she and her mom stayed in Winnipeg. Neither got much sleep. The next day, surgery only took a few hours. Dr. MacIntosh’s team removed the tumour spotted by the ultrasound as well as three lymph nodes under Cheryl’s arm to help determine whether cancer had spread beyond her breast. Lora was a ball of nerves in the waiting room, anxious for news of the procedure. When Cheryl was OKed to leave, Lora drove her home to Brandon. When I checked in on her via text the following day, her first words were: “Today sucks… I hurt.” Despite the pain, Cheryl was optimistic that her oncology results would be positive and she wouldn’t need any further surgery. Spring break was around the corner, as was Colin’s birthday, and he was enrolled in an after-school volleyball/basketball camp at Neelin High School for three weeks. There were lots of enjoyable moments to look forward to.
As Cheryl is readied for surgery, her mother Lora sits under the weight of her worries for her daughter in the corner of the room.
As Cheryl is readied for surgery, her mother Lora sits under the weight of her worries for her daughter in the corner of the room. "You really lose part of your dignity through this process," Cheryl says. "I'm used to having my privacy, my space. Cancer kinda took that away. I didn't really have a choice, i had to give it all up because I needed help. And I needed someone to be with me and I'm thankful that my mom stood up to the plate and was able to be there for us." Lora has been at Cheryl's side throughout her whole ordeal and sometimes takes it harder than her daughter.
In early April, Dr. MacIntosh called Cheryl with the pathology results from her lumpectomy. It wasn’t the news she had been hoping for. The offical diagnosis was triple negative multifocal breast cancer. The results showed a series of tumours and the suggested treatment was a bilateral mastectomy as soon as possible. Breast tissue would be removed from both of Cheryl’s breasts. Surgery was scheduled for May 5. While the lumpectomy was a day surgery that only took a few hours, the mastectomy was scheduled to take more than eight hours and Cheryl would have to stay in hospital for the first three or four days of her recovery. The days until her surgery seemed to rush by and drag on at the same time. Cheryl dreaded going under the knife again but was also anxious to get the cancer out of her.
In early April, Dr. MacIntosh called Cheryl with the pathology results from her lumpectomy. It wasn’t the news she had been hoping for. The offical diagnosis was triple negative multifocal breast cancer. The results showed a series of tumours and the suggested treatment was a bilateral mastectomy as soon as possible. Breast tissue would be removed from both of Cheryl’s breasts. Surgery was scheduled for May 5. While the lumpectomy was a day surgery that only took a few hours, the mastectomy was scheduled to take more than eight hours and Cheryl would have to stay in hospital for the first three or four days of her recovery. The days until her surgery seemed to rush by and drag on at the same time. Cheryl dreaded going under the knife again but was also anxious to get the cancer out of her.
Cheryl is wheeled to an operating room for her double mastectomy and reconstruction. Barely three month's have passed since her diagnosis and she going under the knife for the second time.
Cheryl is wheeled to an operating room for her double mastectomy and reconstruction. Barely three month's have passed since her diagnosis and she going under the knife for the second time.
As fear envelops Cheryl and she begins to break down on the operating room table, she is comforted by Karen Sagness, a Clinical Resource Nurse for Plastic Surgery and Regina Kostetsky, an Anesthesia Clinical Assistant, who brush her hair out of her face and wipe away her tears.
As fear envelops Cheryl and she begins to break down on the operating room table, she is comforted by Karen Sagness, a Clinical Resource Nurse for Plastic Surgery and Regina Kostetsky, an Anesthesia Clinical Assistant, who brush her hair out of her face and wipe away her tears.
The day before the big surgery, Cheryl packed for her trip to Winnipeg — an exercise she’d practiced several times, taking things out and putting more things in, stressing over what to bring. She also packed up everything her kids would need during their week-long stay with their father, while she was in Winnipeg. Her stress and fear levels were through the roof, but she was determined not to let her children see her upset. She had texted me earlier: “I’m just living in denial right now; otherwise I’ll have a complete breakdown, to be honest.” When the kids disappeared downstairs to have a Nerf gun battle, Cheryl finally cracked, if only for a few minutes. “I don’t want to do this,” she sobbed into a close friend’s comforting shoulder. But a few minutes later, she dried her tears and went downstairs to join in the Nerf battle — one last play with her kids before surgery. Screams of laughter echoed through the house. Then she hugged her kids, sent them off with their dad and headed to Winnipeg with her mom.
The day before the big surgery, Cheryl packed for her trip to Winnipeg — an exercise she’d practiced several times, taking things out and putting more things in, stressing over what to bring. She also packed up everything her kids would need during their week-long stay with their father, while she was in Winnipeg. Her stress and fear levels were through the roof, but she was determined not to let her children see her upset. She had texted me earlier: “I’m just living in denial right now; otherwise I’ll have a complete breakdown, to be honest.” When the kids disappeared downstairs to have a Nerf gun battle, Cheryl finally cracked, if only for a few minutes. “I don’t want to do this,” she sobbed into a close friend’s comforting shoulder. But a few minutes later, she dried her tears and went downstairs to join in the Nerf battle — one last play with her kids before surgery. Screams of laughter echoed through the house. Then she hugged her kids, sent them off with their dad and headed to Winnipeg with her mom.
Monitors keep vigil over Cheryl's vital sign's while she is under anesthetic for the ten-hour surgery. A drape keeps the mess of surgery from her breathing tube and monitoring equipment.
Monitors keep vigil over Cheryl's vital sign's while she is under anesthetic for the ten-hour surgery. A drape keeps the mess of surgery from her breathing tube and monitoring equipment.
I met Cheryl on the morning of the surgery at admitting, on the first floor of HSC Winnipeg. We were to be there by 5 a.m., with surgery scheduled for shortly after 7. Once again, she had barely slept. From admitting, she was given a room in pre-op where she was visited by the plastic surgeon and his team. They would go over the surgery and use a marker to diagram where they would be making incisions on her body. Cheryl’s room featured a forest scene mural on one wall — chosen, one can assume, for its calming effect. But Cheryl was a having a tough time finding her calm. As she often does, she tried to undermine the seriousness of the situation by cracking jokes, although they came across more forced that day. Between the laughs were moments of quiet reflection. This wasn’t day surgery. This was big. As Dr. Edward Buchel, the plastic and reconstructive surgeon, went over the markings on her body and answered her questions, tears began to run down her cheeks. The closer the surgery got, the harder it was to push down her fears. The surgeon embraced her in a long hug, reassuring her that she was in good hands. As Cheryl was moved to the pre-op holding area for her final meetings with the surgical teams and surgery preparation, her mother Lora was having a difficult time keeping her emotions at bay. She welled up with tears as she hugged her daughter goodbye and watched her being wheeled away to an operating theatre. When Cheryl arrived in the operating room, her teams were already busy prepping for surgery. They moved her from the gurney to the operating table and prepped her for anesthetic. “I don’t want to do this,” Cheryl said, losing her fight to hold back tears. “I know,” said one of the nurses compassionately, “but you have to.” Reassuring her that she was in good hands, they laid her down on the table. She asked the anesthetist whether she could count out loud until she lost consciousness — something she does with Colin when he is put under for lumbar punctures. “1, 2, 3, 4 … 16, 17” She beat Colin. Then she was out.
I met Cheryl on the morning of the surgery at admitting, on the first floor of HSC Winnipeg. We were to be there by 5 a.m., with surgery scheduled for shortly after 7. Once again, she had barely slept. From admitting, she was given a room in pre-op where she was visited by the plastic surgeon and his team. They would go over the surgery and use a marker to diagram where they would be making incisions on her body. Cheryl’s room featured a forest scene mural on one wall — chosen, one can assume, for its calming effect. But Cheryl was a having a tough time finding her calm. As she often does, she tried to undermine the seriousness of the situation by cracking jokes, although they came across more forced that day. Between the laughs were moments of quiet reflection. This wasn’t day surgery. This was big. As Dr. Edward Buchel, the plastic and reconstructive surgeon, went over the markings on her body and answered her questions, tears began to run down her cheeks. The closer the surgery got, the harder it was to push down her fears. The surgeon embraced her in a long hug, reassuring her that she was in good hands. As Cheryl was moved to the pre-op holding area for her final meetings with the surgical teams and surgery preparation, her mother Lora was having a difficult time keeping her emotions at bay. She welled up with tears as she hugged her daughter goodbye and watched her being wheeled away to an operating theatre. When Cheryl arrived in the operating room, her teams were already busy prepping for surgery. They moved her from the gurney to the operating table and prepped her for anesthetic. “I don’t want to do this,” Cheryl said, losing her fight to hold back tears. “I know,” said one of the nurses compassionately, “but you have to.” Reassuring her that she was in good hands, they laid her down on the table. She asked the anesthetist whether she could count out loud until she lost consciousness — something she does with Colin when he is put under for lumbar punctures. “1, 2, 3, 4 … 16, 17” She beat Colin. Then she was out.
Dr. Ethel MacIntosh's (second from right) and Dr. Edward Buchel's (bottom centre) surgical teams work in tandem removing the cancerous tissue from Cheryl's breasts and harvesting replacement tissue from her abdomen. Despite a crowd upwards of 8 people working around Cheryl's body at one time, everyone knows what everyone else is doing and works in sync with one another.
Dr. Ethel MacIntosh's (second from right) and Dr. Edward Buchel's (bottom centre) surgical teams work in tandem removing the cancerous tissue from Cheryl's breasts and harvesting replacement tissue from her abdomen. Despite a crowd upwards of 8 people working around Cheryl's body at one time, everyone knows what everyone else is doing and works in sync with one another.
Dr. MacIntosh and Dr. Buchel arrived and scrubbed in. Nine hours were scheduled for the surgery, mostly because of the tedious process of reattaching the blood vessels in Cheryl’s breasts afterwards. The mood was positive and professional. The surgical teams put on some music and got down to work. Cheryl was a candidate for a procedure known as a nipple-sparing mastectomy, in which the skin of the breasts and the nipples are preserved while tissue from within is removed. It would allow her to preserve the look and feel of the breasts she’s used to. Dr. MacIntosh’s portion of the surgery went relatively quickly. Her team removed the cancerous tissue from both breasts, weighed it, and then were off to perform more surgeries. They’d check in on Cheryl again later in the day. Dr. Buchel’s team worked for close to 10 hours straight, taking small breaks in turns. Dr. Buchel himself barely took a break at all, aside from a few drinks of water and some time to stretch. His team’s job was to take healthy flesh from Cheryl’s abdomen and use that to replace the tissue that had been taken from her breasts — effectively giving her a tummy tuck and eliminating the need for implants, which require more maintenance down the road. A monitor hooked up to a microscope allowed Dr. Buchel and his team to carefully reattach the many tiny blood vessels between Cheryl’s remaining breast tissue and the new tissue from her abdomen, using very small tools.
Dr. MacIntosh and Dr. Buchel arrived and scrubbed in. Nine hours were scheduled for the surgery, mostly because of the tedious process of reattaching the blood vessels in Cheryl’s breasts afterwards. The mood was positive and professional. The surgical teams put on some music and got down to work. Cheryl was a candidate for a procedure known as a nipple-sparing mastectomy, in which the skin of the breasts and the nipples are preserved while tissue from within is removed. It would allow her to preserve the look and feel of the breasts she’s used to. Dr. MacIntosh’s portion of the surgery went relatively quickly. Her team removed the cancerous tissue from both breasts, weighed it, and then were off to perform more surgeries. They’d check in on Cheryl again later in the day. Dr. Buchel’s team worked for close to 10 hours straight, taking small breaks in turns. Dr. Buchel himself barely took a break at all, aside from a few drinks of water and some time to stretch. His team’s job was to take healthy flesh from Cheryl’s abdomen and use that to replace the tissue that had been taken from her breasts — effectively giving her a tummy tuck and eliminating the need for implants, which require more maintenance down the road. A monitor hooked up to a microscope allowed Dr. Buchel and his team to carefully reattach the many tiny blood vessels between Cheryl’s remaining breast tissue and the new tissue from her abdomen, using very small tools.
Surgical instruments including scalpels and clamps sit on a tray within easy reach of the surgical teams alongside tissue from Cheryl's abdomen that will be used to replace the tissue removed from her breasts.
Surgical instruments including scalpels and clamps sit on a tray within easy reach of the surgical teams alongside tissue from Cheryl's abdomen that will be used to replace the tissue removed from her breasts.
As the surgery enters its seventh hour Dr. Edward Buchel and Dr. Jing Zhang work with their eyes glued to microscopes so they can have a better view of the tiny blood vessels they are working to re-attach in Cheryl's breasts.
As the surgery enters its seventh hour Dr. Edward Buchel and Dr. Jing Zhang work with their eyes glued to microscopes so they can have a better view of the tiny blood vessels they are working to re-attach in Cheryl's breasts.
From an outsider’s perspective, the work seemed very procedural, and not graphic or shocking. If anything, much of the reconstruction appeared tedious and monotonous — small steps carefully repeated. Following the 10-hour surgery, Cheryl was awakened from anesthesia and taken to initial recovery before being moved to a room in a recovery ward. Lora stayed at the hotel attached to the hospital all week and spent most of her time at her daughter’s bedside. The surgery was on a Monday and Cheryl was given the green light to go home on Thursday. She missed her kids.
From an outsider’s perspective, the work seemed very procedural, and not graphic or shocking. If anything, much of the reconstruction appeared tedious and monotonous — small steps carefully repeated. Following the 10-hour surgery, Cheryl was awakened from anesthesia and taken to initial recovery before being moved to a room in a recovery ward. Lora stayed at the hotel attached to the hospital all week and spent most of her time at her daughter’s bedside. The surgery was on a Monday and Cheryl was given the green light to go home on Thursday. She missed her kids.
Part Two of ‘Testing Positive’ will be posted Aug. 23, 2014
Part Two of ‘Testing Positive’ will be posted Aug. 23, 2014

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