Lisa Cadwalader’s story begins with a mammogram. “My cancer was found during a routine mammogram,” Lisa, who is my aunt through marriage, told me. “I am and will always be a proponent of mammograms.”
During the summer of 2005, Lisa, a program manager at a Silicon Valley tech firm, went in for her regularly scheduled appointment, thinking about other things — work, friends, family.
It wasn’t until the doctor told her he found three areas of concern that she began to worry.
“He wanted to do some biopsies,” Lisa said.
A week later in early August, her doctor called her back with life-altering news.
“He told me two were benign but the third one was cancerous,” she said.
Cadwalader, an optimistic, older sister to two, sat and breathed as her doctor explained her diagnosis and treatment options.
Diagnosis and treatment
Lisa considers herself lucky; she was diagnosed with invasive ductal carcinoma, determined to be between stages I and II.
“I almost feel guilty,” Lisa said. “I have friends who had horrible cases, who died of cancer.”
Oncologists and surgeons ran Lisa through her options: she likely wouldn’t need a full mastectomy. A lumpectomy to remove the mass, followed by radiation and chemotherapy, would likely kill the cancer.
“The surgeon didn’t know how far in or how many lymph nodes he’d have to remove,” Lisa said. “That was the scary part.”
She admits she was terrified. Going into unknown territory, Lisa worked to have as much control as she could of this new situation, going full throttle into her treatment plan.
“I consulted a surgeon and booked an appointment on Aug. 9,” Lisa said, less than two weeks after her mammogram. “I didn’t want to spend a bunch of time figuring things out. Once I made my decision, I ran with it.”
During the lumpectomy, Lisa’s surgeon removed 13 lymph nodes, clearing her body of cancerous cells. To ensure remission, Lisa went through four months of chemotherapy every three weeks, followed by radiation therapy.
While undergoing therapy, Lisa tried to keep her life as normal as possible.
“I scheduled chemo on Thursday afternoon, then took off Friday from work and had the weekend to recover,” Lisa said.
On Monday, she’d be back to work. Lisa’s not a workaholic, but she is a dedicated employee and loves what she does. During her treatment, her work provided a semblance of order and routine, and she had close friends — Amy Garcia and Willa McManmon — who supported her. “We call ourselves the three chicks,” Lisa said.
Lisa admits she called the two colleagues before her family to share her diagnosis.
“I wasn’t comfortable telling my family on the phone,” Lisa said, noting that her dad had died two years earlier. “It was just a lot.”
Losing her identity
When I first met Lisa six years ago, she struck me as a confident, intelligent woman with a laugh and smile that makes people gravitate toward her. Her identity has been shaped by her family, her work and her hair.
Lisa’s not vain, but she loves her hair and, rightfully should. Whenever the family gets together I can’t help but notice how lush, blonde and full of life it is. It’s a good reflection of her personality.
Upon beginning treatment, Lisa’s oncologist warned her that around day nine or 10 after chemotherapy began, her hair would begin to fall out.
“That was hard,” Lisa said. “I didn’t think I could deal with that.”
So, to take control, Lisa made an appointment with her hairdresser. First, she got her hair cut short and had a wig made. She made a follow up appointment to have her hair shaved off, once chemotherapy started.
“The appointment was probably day nine of chemo,” Lisa said. “Sure enough, that morning when I was in the shower getting ready, a large clump came out.”
After she shaved her head, she wore a wig to work in an attempt to feel more like herself. At home, with friends and family, she’d let herself be bald or under a scarf, if she was cold.
After chemotherapy, when her hair began growing back, she didn’t recognize herself.
“Chemotherapy gets over, right? And you eventually start to see this peach fuzz starting to grow,” Lisa, who has dyed her hair blonde her whole life, said. “But it came in as this salt and pepper afro. It grew in kinky and brunette. It was a shock to the system, to not recognize myself in the mirror. I didn’t feel like myself. I tried, but the longer it got, the less I felt like myself.”
With a lost sense of identity, it was easy to feel down. “We’re big criers in this family,” Lisa said. “There were a couple of times I just let it all out.
Finding support
Yet, she didn’t let herself drown in sorrow.
“I decided early on that ‘woe is me’ wasn’t going to do much for me,” Lisa said. “I needed to be strong for myself and for my family.”
Strength under duress is one of Lisa’s defining attributes and is likely one instilled in her growing up. The Cadwalader clan is compassionate, raised to love, be kind and care for family unconditionally.
When she did eventually tell her family about her diagnosis, they reacted the way the Cadwaladers do: They went all in, supporting Lisa every way she needed.
“Mom came to chemotherapy with me every time,” Lisa said. “She’d cook healthy food for me and stay with me.”
As she regained her strength, Lisa also found solace in friends and family, spending time with family and friends in one of her favorite places: Sea Ranch.
Sea Ranch has been a home away from home for the Cadwalader family since Lisa and her two sisters, Lynn Cadwalader and Sara Windsor, were little girls. They’d come up the coast with other families, spending holidays and summer vacations in the coastal community.
“Its just absolutely peaceful there,” Lisa said. “It’s relaxing, restful and a place to get rid of any stress.”
She also got support from furry friends, both alive and stuffed.
Lisa’s cat Charlie, who was by her side for 18 years, snuggled up on Lisa’s stomach, right beneath her chest, when she came home after work or therapy to rest on the couch.
“She wouldn’t leave my side. I’d come up, lay on the couch and she’d lay on me,” Lisa said.
Then there was chemo bunny.
“Alma (Lynn’s daughter) gave me this (stuffed) bunny to take with me when I went to chemotherapy,” Lisa said. “And sure enough, he went with me every time.”
Hopeful for the future
It’s been 12 years since Lisa was diagnosed with breast cancer. With each passing year she gets a little less anxious about her yearly mammogram, but still holds her breath for a moment. To this day, Lisa isn’t sure why she had the experience she had. She doesn’t know why her body became susceptible, since breast cancer doesn’t run in the family.
“I smoked in college and early on in my years in Silicon Valley and sometimes I think that’s what did it,” she said. “I do regret that.”
But Lisa isn’t one to dwell on the past; she’s always looking forward with hope.
“Deep down, I don’t think it’s going to come back,” Lisa said. “And I have the peace of mind that if it does, I’ll deal with it. I’ve been through it before and I know I have my friends, family, community and prayer to get me through anything. I’m just going to keep living my life in a way that makes me happy.”
