October is not just Canadian Thanksgiving, It’s also Breast Cancer Awareness Month. For me they kind of go together.
I cannot believe it’s been a year since I last wrote in my blog. Today. Exactly 1 year. So much has happened in that year. We continued to deliver food hampers until Christmas and then we moved to delivering soup in the back of a van throughout the neighborhood. In April we opened Refuge of Hope to children who come every day for meals, school and love. If you want to know more, check out our Facebook page or website. Lots of stories and photos there! I got so busy caring for these sweet little ones that I forgot to take time to write about it. Honestly, I think I forgot to take time to process it much at all. It was a whirlwind and it was scary and it was so awesome. Single moms. Their broken children. Our desire to keep families together while they found a way to get back on their feet. A pandemic. Fundraising. Hiring staff. It’s been a lot.
And then out of the blue the diagnosis. A blindside. A new journey that I didn’t expect or want and yet I embrace because it’s my new story.
In mid August I went for a regular checkup to a new doctor I had found whose office was right around the corner from my house. It had been years since I had gone for a checkup and I knew my blood pressure was high and that I had a painful lump in my breast. The internet told me not to worry – painful lumps are almost always fibroids, seldom cancer. But it was an irritation that needed to be dealt with and I squeezed the appointment in late one afternoon. Dr Susana did all the good doctor things – sent me for some blood tests and a mammogram. Here in Mexico, there is almost no wait times – I could get a mammogram any day I wanted and I scheduled it for a week later. There is also little wait time for results. By the time the test was finished the technician handed me a giant white envelope with the films and the report – things looked suspicious, a biopsy was recommended. I was not really concerned – there is no cancer in my family and the internet – it said it was a fibroid.
A week later I saw the doctor who would do the biopsy. I expected the jab of a long needle but he told me that the mass needed to come out, so he wanted to do surgery. Do you want it tomorrow or Monday? Well – Monday I need to be at Refuge of Hope, so let’s do it Saturday. Tomorrow.
The surgery went well. Because of the blood thinners I am on, local anesthesia was out of the question, and they used a general which meant I slept like a baby. There were a few small complications – the mass was close to the muscle which made it a bit trickier. My blood pressure didn’t want to come down so Grant had to go home for my meds. But when I woke up Dr. Chacon told me everything looked good, he wasn’t concerned about the mass. The sample would go off to Guadalajara for testing and he would send me the results on Thursday via What’s App. Which is a weird way to get a cancer biopsy result, but Mexico does love What’s App!
On Thursday I heard nothing. On Friday I heard nothing. Late that afternoon I sent the doctor a message “You said I would have the results on Thursday and I have heard nothing. I’m getting nervous…..” Silence. Ghosted by my doctor who always answers right away when I text him. On Sunday afternoon he sent me a message “Sorry I was busy all weekend so I didn’t answer you. See you at your appointment tomorrow”. No thumbs up. No “All’s well”. No smiley face emoji. Nothing about the results. That’s probably not good right?
On Monday afternoon I went to Dr. Chacon’s office. From the start he was struggling to look me in the eye. Stumbling over his words. “Your results….. your results…. Wait let’s look at your incision first. Oh, very good. Ok your results. Oh wait, let’s take out those stitches. Okay the results. Well, I can print the results. Where’s the paper. Oh, the results…..” I felt bad for him. He’s young. He wants his patients to be okay. He wants biopsies to be negative and lumps to be fibroids. So I looked at him “Should I ask my husband to come in?” “Oh yes please”. Relief on his face. A 2 minute reprieve.
We sat at his desk and he looked at us. “It’s bad. Your results are bad. It’s malignant”. Then he started talking cancer stuff, Spanish and English words flowing together. Understanding completely evading me. They would send the tumor for more tests to see what type it was. I would need more surgery – the margins of the first one were not clear. I would need radiation. I would need lymph node biopsies. I would need to meet with the oncologist. It was September 13th and I had breast cancer.
A few days later I met with the oncologist and 3 days after that I received the results of the chemical tests. By What’s App of course. A whole new vocabulary I was just learning. Estrogen negative. Progesterone negative. HER2 positive. Ki-67 30%. Aggressive Stage 2 Invasive Ductal Carcinoma. Fast growing. Radiation would not be enough. The recommendation is minimum 6 months chemo, then 16 sessions of radiation.
5 days later I arrived at the hospital for another surgery. More lump removal and the lymph node biopsy to find out if it had spread. If they found it had there would need to be brain and bone and lung scans. By the time I woke up in the operating room the pathologist already had the good news – it had not spread. It was not in the lymph nodes. The surgery had removed the cancer. Unfortunately, because of the aggressive type of cancer and the danger that cells might have been left behind, chemotherapy and radiation are still the recommended treatments.
6 weeks. From a simple checkup to a second surgery to remove cancer. From spending my evenings searching Pinterest for preschool crafts to days researching cancer terminology and clinics and treatments. From mornings being dive bombed by hugs from little ones to having to tell them that Tia is a bit sick and can’t pick them up right now. From planning work trips and Christmas plans to counting the weeks on the calendar to choose the best dates to start treatments.
Honestly this has been hard. The day I was in the hospital recovering from surgery, we found out my father-in-law was dying from Covid. In Canada. My poor sweet husband, having to choose which hospital bed to sit beside.
But also, it has been easy. Because it’s just how life is. We don’t get to choose the path. We are tenderly placed on it and when it hits a hard spot, we gather up all that we are and all that we have in our souls and we walk through it. We gather our people and we ask them to pray because really, we know it’s out of our hands now. We can’t embrace how wonderful life is and how good God is if we don’t acknowledge that there is also brokenness around us and within us and the goodness surrounds that too.
Why am I sharing my story here? Why am I telling strangers about my toughest times? Because I simply don’t want to hide. I don’t want to try and remember who knows and who doesn’t and when people say “How are you?” I don’t want to just say “Fine” and do the fake dance. This is my story today. I am okay showing my weakness and asking for grace. I have lots of decisions to make very soon. I am not committed to the standard treatments being offered. I am also not scared to look at them and analyze them. To weight the percentages and prognosis. To look at alternatives.
So in this October, this Breast Cancer Awareness Month, I choose to focus on Thanksgiving, rather than pink ribbons. On turkey and pumpkins and family and gratitude. Because the choice is mine and I am truly thankful!
“For the Lord is always good. He’s so loving that it will amaze you— so kind that it will astound you! And he is famous for his faithfulness toward all. Everyone knows our God can be trusted, for he keeps his promises to every generation!” Psalms 100:5 TPT
The days consisted of driving and delivering golf carts to tourists in town enjoying Mexico. Walking the streets, and seeing the most interesting sights. There were days when we would be driving back through the streets in a golf cart when I would hear “KAREN…KAREN…” and Karen would say “Grant Stop the cart..she would jump out and the children would run down the street and throw their arms around her. You see this is who the Swansons are, they are love, they love the least of these, and again, I was the one who was blessed, inspired, and encouraged.
A few days ago, we came home to find a note shoved under our door. The note (translated) said: “Hi, I am Luna. Nacho, tomorrow you will marry me. I love you. Please wear a suit. At 1:00. It will be at your house.” Enclosed with the note was a red and white bow tie. To go with the suit, I suppose.
I will never forget that day. We had absolutely no shared language, but we played games and colored pictures and ate soup and wiped snotty noses and honestly, we didn’t consider if our presence in their home could be hurting these little ones, we just wanted to love them. Perhaps our motivation was more to assuage our gringo guilt, but our love was genuine, and our laughter was shared.
But on Thursday, Carlos took my phone from me and asked for a selfie with me. He applied some filters, opened my Facebook app and posted the picture with the caption, “Carlos. Karen. Friend” with a bunch of emojis of smiles and heart and thumbs up. He looked happy in the picture. And it hit me really hard. I have known Carlos for the better part of his life. Longer than his dad was alive with him. Far longer than his own mom knew him before she left. What started as an afternoon visit from strangers turned into a selfie and a caption filled with love. A friendship.
I have had many people tell me the main reason they couldn’t live in a southern location like Mexico is because they would miss the changing of the seasons. I know what they mean. The crocuses and tulips popping through the ground in spring after the many months of cold. The hot days and nights of summer with vacations and BBQs and lake swims. The reds and golds and oranges of fall leaves. The new crisp air and the change of wardrobes from cutoff jeans to long jeans. From flip flops to sneakers. Everything pumpkin spice. And then the inevitable sudden blast of that first snow. The beautiful frosty trees and the not so welcome blizzards and wind chills and trapped at home snow days. Life in Canada, especially in Saskatchewan, is defined by the change of the seasons and conversation about the weather. Good and bad. So much talk about the weather.
We also were visited by a large poisonous cane toad last week – probably looking for water after a long period of winter drought. As per usual, puppy Nacho needed a 3:00 a.m. visit outside. I haven’t decided if he really needs to go peepee every night, or if he is just too bored to sleep – I strongly suspect the latter. But I staggered down the stairs and into the garage to let him out the front door. I could see something in the stray cat’s food dish which sits in the garage and as I bent down and looked closer, I saw the dangerous cane toad. Nacho sniffed at is as well which could have been deadly for him. Cane toads are extremely poisonous and dogs who touch their skin can die within 20 minutes. Being as it was 3:00 and my superhero protector was snoring deeply upstairs, I found a pail and covered the food dish, leaving it for a morning evacuation by someone other than me. Unfortunately, when hubby went down in the morning to bravely save his family, the little poisonous darling had escaped and now I live in fear of whether he is long gone or whether he is waiting amongst the garage stuff to reappear. We have moved all pet food and dishes inside to keep everyone safe, and I am wondering if that was raccoon cat’s plan all along – conquering the final frontier to move from the garage and into our home for good.
These are the signs that tell us that rainy season is almost here. Hurricane season officially began this week. There are 19 hurricanes predicted for the Pacific side of Mexico this season. Living in a bay, we are mostly sheltered from such occurrences, but many of our neighboring communities are at risk. As the dangers of the hurricanes pass us by, the winds and rains of the accompanying tropical storms will make themselves known. The clouds have started to roll in. It is almost time. Time for the heavens to open and the pounding rains that come quickly and stop just as quickly. The fun of watching little children dripping with sweat, running around enjoying the cooling waters on their faces. The deep puddles for jumping in…. and getting stuck in. The powerful thunderstorms and mesmerizing lightning shows over the ocean.
guy) had to tell him we have no carts available. We have bookings into September. We have an Art Gallery in town acting as an agent and they also have more bookings than they can handle. It’s still a tiny business. It’s not exactly going to change the world. But for Kelly whose husband can’t walk very well, it has meant they can get out of their condo and enjoy the next month of their vacation. It means families can take their children on real Mexican adventures in a new culture, seeing more than the fake Mexico of an all-inclusive resort. It’s a service that is welcome here and that is good for us. It means we can earn enough to allow us to continue to give freely to the little ones we have grown to love so deeply. It means we can finance the life that we know we have been called to. And it means that we too can continue to jump in our own cart with our shaggy puppy and be part of the fabric of this town.
When you move to another country – a really different country – traditions change and that can be hard. Over these past 3 years, I have tried to hold loose those things that no longer work here and to cling to what is truly the most important. I have been willing to exchange cold air for hot breezes, crispy snow for soft sand, hash brown casserole for chilaquiles, Christmas carols for tuba banda music. This year we put up our tree and covered it with the family heirloom decorations we have been hanging since our children were babies. But everything else was different and it was fantastic!
In early Fall, our youngest daughter Brett suggested we travel somewhere different for Christmas this year. She was planning a 5-month trip through Mexico, and although she could easily fly to our home, she really wanted to show us a place she had grown to love. Her boyfriend would be there and our oldest would fly down from Canada. Oaxaca. Let’s all meet in Oaxaca this year. Every part of our Christmas tradition would be different, but we would be together and that is the tradition that means the most.
Karen Moves to Mexico 