My Dear Friend - Lucie Konnik

Lucie Konnik is a wife, mother of four and grandmother. I don't know how old she is, but I would guess between 55 - 65. She looks good. It's tough to make a judgement on her age. She has golden hair, almost the color of wheat. Laughing eyes. She's tall and strong and has a brilliant sense of humour. She is also a wonderful story-teller. She is positive. Complimentary. Kind. And proud of her family and her life. She came to Canada from Holland many years ago, but has a thick accent (she might laugh at that - I think its thick).

Lucie called me yesterday morning before eight o'clock. She didn't get me on the line and left a voice-mail message. Something along the lines of, "I woke up this morning and went for my walk, and suddenly my story, my breast cancer story, was there to tell. So I rushed home and began writing, and it just flowed out of me onto paper. I hope you might be able to take it and use it in October's issue."

October's issue is already at the printer. It will be ready in a few days. I called her back.

"Lucie, we're too late to include it, but could I still take it and keep it until next year, for the next breast cancer issue?" Yes, she agreed that would be fine, but needed to re-write it so that it was fit for me to read.

About 4:30pm my phone rang again, only I was in the grocery store, so I turned the ringer off and let the message pick it up. When I checked it only a few minutes later, it was Lucie.

"Kim, I've re-written the story, but if you don't come get it tonight, I may not give it to you." She didn't need to explain that to me. I 'got' the need to hand it over to someone else right away or she might change her mind and stow it away somewhere instead. Hide it from others eyes. Or worse, destroy it.

I called her right back. "I am just leaving the parking lot of the grocery store... I will be to your house in five minutes."

She handed me a sealed envelope. We chatted in the sunshine for a couple of minutes, shared a laugh or two and talked about the importance of me taking her story. She was grateful. Maybe even relieved.

October's magazine has a huge feature on breast cancer. I am sorry Lucie's story didn't make it into the issue, so I decided to place it here, for many to read.

MAMMOGRAM
Lucie-Konnik

Nothing to it.
Done it many times before.
I laugh, breast cancer is not in my family.
After it is done, I wait for the results.
Now I am told, that I have to go back.
Another screening.
Waiting again, what is going on?
We have to do an ultrasound, they say.
Are you kidding me?
There is no breast cancer in my family.
Machines, needles, doctors appointments.
My life's a mess.
This is not happening.
Decisions have to be made.
I feel so lonely, so helpless.
What is the right decision?
Nobody seems to know.
Surgery has to be done.
The doctor is wonderful, she feels like a friend.
I need this compassion so desperately.
Everything is done now.
Healing process is to start.
It feels so strange.
I cannot take it all in.
Flowers. Cards. Comfort.
Love from family and friends.
Still my brain is not getting used to it.
It is telling me it is just surgery.
Slowly I come back to reality.
My breast is gone. There is a scar there.
I look at it.
Someday's I smile, I cry, I scream with anger.
How dare this stupid thing insdie my breast take over my life?
Grateful, I survived all this.
Thankful for all the wonderful people.
Doctors, nurses, homecare, family, friends.
Months later.
Sometimes still angry, scared, questions,
Will it come back?
I have learned so much about myself.
In a strange way, I learned that cancer can be a blessing.
I am a woman, strong and ready for the future.
Today is today. Nothing else counts.
(copyright 2007 Lucie-Konnik)

A YEAR AFTER SURGERY
Lucie-Konnik

Waiting room.
Women sitting in a row.
Television going, everyone staring without taking it in.
My name is called.
Going to that dreadful room.
Undressing, not saying much.
'It is a bit uncomfortable,' she says.
Machine presses my breast.
'You can go now,' she says.
Back to the waiting room I go.
Staring into space, mind going crazy.
'You can leave,' she says.
I jump up, and want to scream!
I am free to go!
'You come back now,' she says, 'In a year.'
A year. A wonderful year.
Back to my house, husband, children, grandchildren.
Full with daily problems.
But I am back to live.
In a year, she said.
You have to come back.
I take it.
I feel like a butterfly.
(copyright 2007 Lucie-Konnik)


My love to you, Lucie.