One in eight women will be diagnosed with breast cancer in their lifetime. Sara hoped that by being that person, seven of her friends would be spared.
I met Sara through Nancy, a friend who was always planning get-togethers with her gal pals, when we all had dinner together at Deep Blue the summer of 2003.
I liked Sara instantly. She had enviable style, a keen sense of humor, and a genuinely friendly nature. She was an acclaimed Art Director in the Wilmington and Philadelphia creative communities, but she would be the last to tell you. Her friend Madeline referred to her as “twinkly.”
Sara was also a breast cancer survivor. By the fall of 2004, the cancer had returned, and Sara had a double mastectomy.
On St. Patrick’s Day, 2005, fate crossed our paths again. I was touring a loft in a converted cotton mill in the Rockford Park area of Wilmington, and Nancy suggested calling Sara for the inside scoop, as she lived in the building.
Her rave review of the river view and unique setting changed my life: making a bid resulted not only in a new home and a new friend, but a new husband, too. (Apparently, overcome with excitement, Gary popped the question in the realtor’s office later that day.)
Before moving in, Sara invited us to a progressive cocktail party to meet some of our new neighbors. She embraced us as friends while wielding a carefully selected, tasteful gift for each host.
That, I was learning, was Sara.
As I launched a new professional organization business, Sara’s advice was invaluable. I called her to help narrow down some photos for marketing. It was fascinating to watch her work. Being called on for her expertise, escaping the reminders of illness, transformed her spirit.
Initially, Sara kept the subject of her health fairly private. We talked about it in generalities, and only when she raised the issue. As our friendship grew, the details unfolded. I had witnessed the passing of my parents and brother. Sara knew that. I was saddened, but not afraid, to discuss illness. It was an honor to become a confidant.
After surgery and chemotherapy, most people’s self image might be shaken, not Sara’s. She surprised me one day by wryly announcing that she received more attention from men when she was wearing her long, sassy cinnamon-colored wig than ever.
You had to love her chutzpah.
As Sara’s illness progressed, I saw people at their best. It wasn’t clear which came first. Did Sara intuitively know her friends’ strengths and allow us to help in comfortable ways? Or, did we simply rise to the occasion, helping in ways that suited our personalities? Either way, Sara was surrounded by love and support.
The number of close, deep friendships Sara had was a testament to her character. She had friends to match every facet of her personality - lifelong friends, long-distance friends, colleagues turned confidants, fashionistas, connoisseurs, and people she met while undergoing chemotherapy.
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How to help a friend with breast cancer: Persuade them to accept help. Ask them what they want that help to be. Superwomen want to continue to be superwomen. Offer a temporary reprieve. Pick up groceries when you do your own shopping, or research services like shoprite.com, which delivered groceries to Sara’s door from their Concord Pike location. |
Reactions to a cancer diagnosis vary. Of course, loved ones are shocked and saddened. Everyone wants to help, but some shy away, fearful of saying or doing the wrong thing. Others jump in with such fervor, trying desperately to help, that they unwittingly lose sight of their loved one’s wishes.
Sara taught us all the value of allowing her to maintain a sense of control and a sense of self as we found ways to help.
One sent care packages from California – everything from the frivolous to the practical: elegant earrings, funny cards, and framed photos of happy times together.
Another long-time friend and colleague drove Sara to the hospital for chemotherapy treatments. His wife cared for Sara’s cats, ordered their special food, scheduled vet visits, and made trips to the pharmacy.
Others sorted out closets or helped with cleaning. Her closest friend did a little bit of everything from errands to Home Depot for minor home repairs to whisking Sara to the Jersey shore for some much needed R & R.
Over lunch one day, I asked Sara when her treatment would be finished. It was a clumsy assumption. She explained that treatments would always be part of her life. The tumors couldn’t be eradicated. Now efforts were being made to control their growth. Suddenly, heartfelt assurances that everything would be fine weren’t appropriate. It was time to listen.
If you know someone who is dealing with cancer, the best thing you can do is to be present for them. Ask her how you can help. If she resists help, make smaller gestures. Always be sensitive to her wishes. Don’t presume that she values your effort to tidy the pantry over spending time with you, one-on-one.
Though infinitely positive, Sara had concerns about her work and finances. Dr. Katherine Sahm, of the Christiana Institute of Advanced Surgery, says the most difficult cases she sees are “those that don’t have a support system. Delaware has a lot of excellent programs that give amazing support, but there are things people don’t think of. Someone living alone might need help cleaning, walking the dog, or getting to and from treatments. Help with these simple things allows a patient to focus on the issue at hand, getting well."
Experiences with my family made certain turning points in Sara's illness sadly recognizable.
After a trip to the doctor in the fall of 2007, Sara was told that it was time to begin hospice care. Facing the gravity of the situation, an ever selfless Sara had the presence of mind to ask how I was taking the news. We talked for a while before she excused herself to make some phone calls, worrying aloud, “My friends are going to take this so hard.”
On tough days Sara was comforted by the river view which she raved to Gary and me about only two years earlier. She watched it through the reflection of her mirrored closet doors. As she grew weaker, we grew concerned about her being alone. Friends came over often; our visits started overlapping.
Sara was a tireless advocate for her own health. She was one of several women featured in an article in the October 2001 issue of “Rosie" magazine written by Tracy Chutorian Semler. The piece featured the latest tools and technology to detect cancer. After Sara’s initial lumpectomy, her physicians tried bone and CAT scans to locate the source of the cancer. Breast MRIs were relatively new at that time. After Sara’s first MRI didn’t reveal the source of the cancer, she lobbied her insurance company to approve another one. After researching doctors, hospitals, treatments, and clinical trials to extend her life, Sara’s efforts turned to planning for the end of her life.
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Breast cancer is the second leading cancer in women exceeded only by lung cancer. Of those who are diagnosed, ninety percent survive. African American women have a higher incidence than Caucasian women before age 40. The trend reverses after that. African American women are more likely to die from breast cancer at every age. Delaware's incidence is 130.1, compared to 131.0 in the U.S. It is the first time in years that Delaware's incidence is lower than the national trend. Unfortunately, Delaware's mortality rate is 28.3, compared to the U.S. rate of 26.4, placing Delaware 7th in the U.S. Statistics provided by the American Cancer Society and Delaware Breast Cancer Coalition |
Throughout, Sara maintained control and dignity.
She formed a plan and shared it with all of us. She asked her brother and her closest friend to share responsibility for medical decision making, via a health care proxy, when she became unable to do so for herself. They would also serve as the executors of her will. She wanted to stay at home for as long as possible despite having great faith in her doctor and hospital. When she no longer felt comfortable, or safe, at home she would go to the hospital. There she hoped to be surrounded by her friends. We were yet to know the full extent of her plans or her thoughtfulness.
Sara spent Thanksgiving 2007 with us. Gary helped her up the stairs, the first flight she had attempted in a while. She insisted on contributing exquisite wine and fine cheese to the festivities. Everyone ate too much, including Sara, and she surprised us by asking for a doggie bag including pie! We wished the evening could go on forever.
A week later a simple phone call to check on Sara signaled alarm. She was anxious. She tried to call using both her land line and her cell phone but couldn’t work either. She thought it was anxiety. In reality, the cancer had spread to her brain. I called an ambulance and we rode to the hospital together.
Feeling better the next day, Sara asked her doctor about going home for a few days. I opened my mouth, searching for a gentle way to discourage her decision, when Nancy simply said, “Let’s see how things are tomorrow.”
It must be close to impossible to fathom your own mortality. We were relieved that Sara didn’t see it as the end.
Sara went to sleep and didn’t regain consciousness. The next day friends arrived and left her room, hugging and sniffling. It was a busy ward for critically ill people, and the noise and activity were unsettling.
The heaviness in the room toward the beginning of the evening dissipated and calmness slowly crept in. Knowing Sara’s fight was coming to an end everyone began to grieve in their own way. There must have been at least three different denominations of prayer happening around her, silently and aloud.
Five of us remained. I held her left hand. Nancy, the friend who had introduced us, held Sara’s right hand. Susan and Gwen sat by Sara’s feet, and Elizabeth prayed quietly. A hand-dyed sarong, a gift from a life-long friend, was spread across the bed for added warmth.
As her chest rose and fell, someone told Sara they loved her, someone else read from her favorite magazine, and we all shared stories. Surrounded by her friends, Sara-Jo Matthys died peacefully in her sleep on November 29. She was 49 years old.
The day of her funeral and for sometime after, friends distributed personal items that Sara had set aside for friends and relatives: a special charm bracelet for Nancy, a pair of pearl earrings for me. The list goes on, each item selected for what it would mean to the recipient.
Caring for someone we love can challenge us and make us face parts of life we would otherwise choose to ignore. It can also bring out the best in us and console us later, knowing we helped another person through their most trying time. In all honestly, I don’t know if we did everything right. The important thing is that we tried.
Sara loved her friends and family. She loved life, and she wanted her experience to make a difference. One in eight women will be diagnosed with breast cancer. Sara hoped that by being that person, seven of her friends would be spared. Let’s try to save more.
Susan Frost is a life coach, writer, speaker, and the owner of Organize My Life, a Wilmington-based company that helps women achieve their personal and professional goals through organization.
