Linda Legendre
Transforming her role as healer
My name is Linda Legendre. I am a single woman, a nurse practitioner and a mother of two grown children. I finished an aggressive treatment for tonsilar cancer in June 2002, so I also describe myself as a cancer survivor. I'm told I have an excellent prognosis and have been able to return to work full time at the job I love. I have once again become involved with hiking activities, my photography projects, and many of the things that hold meaning for me. I find my relationships with my family and friends to be deeper and even more precious than in the past, and I'm learning to live one day at a time with a feeling that approaches peacefulness as I strive to redefine what health and healing mean to me.
Prior to January 2002, my whole world was focused on health. My identity and all my values centered around living a healthy and holistic life. In my job, I tried to inspire patients to desire a high level of good health for themselves. On Jan. 3, I went for an evaluation of a small painless lump on my neck and was diagnosed with an advanced stage IV cancer. All I remember was being offered neck surgery and radiation as a treatment option, and I was advised to go home and think about this before I made a decision. That day felt like my own personal 9/11. I had never contemplated my death before, but I did on that day.
A friend who works at Dana-Farber convinced me to come for a second opinion to hear about a different treatment option. A few days later, I was sitting with the Dana-Farber Head and Neck Oncology team, hearing about the chemotherapy and radiation treatment they offer, followed by the scary risks involved with these treatments. The words felt like bullets. I wondered at the time if anyone actually showed up for this treatment after they'd heard about all the side effects and dangers that can occur. I was particularly appalled with the notion of the G-tube that they described as a necessity during radiation. It forced me to imagine how sick I would become during this treatment. It was a double-edged sword to work in the medical profession and have access to more information than others might have. More knowledge gave me the sense that I had choices, but it was difficult to read about this illness objectively when I was now the patient.
My emotions felt bare and unprotected, and all I could see was the harshness of my situation. I had a huge decision to make and it needed to be done much more quickly than one would ordinarily make decisions of this nature. My son, daughter, sisters and father immediately came to my rescue, and my friends and coworkers joined the family circle to be a major source of my support. I cried every day, but it was as much for the overwhelming feeling of the loving presence surrounding me as it was for the fears of what I would experience over the next six months. I started writing my thoughts in a journal, and I found myself looking forward to the venting that I could do in that book.
My daughter flew in from her home in Seattle and went with me to appointments to help me absorb information. She also gave me a book by Pema Chodron called Guide to Fearlessness in Difficult Places that gave me a philosophical base to calm myself. I returned to those thoughts throughout the entire treatment. The Buddhist philosophy of living only in the moment was particularly helpful, as was the belief that we all live with impermanence, but only remember that during difficult times
My son and I talked over the phone a number of times about spirituality and the "meaning of life" and how that affects making difficult decisions. I welcomed any philosophy that would help me keep moving through this decision period without enormous doubts. I decided on treatment at Dana-Farber and the process started.
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