Victoria mom keeps family strong while fighting breast cancer
By by Dianna Wray - DWRAY@VICAD.COM
Oct. 5, 2012 at 5:05 a.m.
Updated Oct. 6, 2012 at 5:06 a.m.
I have been blessed enough to have a super hero in my family. I swear she wears an invisible cape. I was 11 years old when I saw my mother cry for the first time. It was pouring raining outside when I found her alone in her vehicle. I knew it couldn't be good news.
I open the car door and sat down and asked her what was wrong. The first thing that came out of her mouth was "the doctor found a lump in my breast." I remember feeling so sick to my stomach.
The next sentence that came out was life changing, literally. "I have breast cancer." I cried with her that day, all I could think about was that she was going to die. My mother was 27 years old when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. She was a single mother at the time with five children and I was the oldest, and I had no idea what I could do to fix her or help this go away.
After the news, began a series of doctor visits. Chemo and radiation left my mother tired and nauseous. Her long curly locks that hung down to her bottom fell out by the handful. She spent most days too weak to get out of bed, and I feared that the end was near. It looked like we were losing her. No matter how tired or sick she was, she kept fighting.
With the little strength she had left, she made sure we did our homework and studied.
I remember on Thanksgiving morning she handed me her special stuffing recipe that she once swore she wasn't going to give me until she was on her death bed, I cooked it to the best of my ability. My turkey came out dry and the stuffing had no flavor whatsoever but all six of us ate it without complaint. My siblings ate quietly, because they feared it was our last Thanksgiving with her. Words cannot describe how truly grateful we were that year.
My baby brother was 4 years old then and I found him one day praying to God near my mother's bed. All four of us joined him in tears. I know this sounds crazy but asked God if we could join her in heaven. We all slept in our mommy's bed that night.
Soon after my mom had a lumpectomy to get the tumor out, that was the second time I saw her cry. even after all that cancer took from her, the hair, the breast, she kept her strength she fought hard for us.
We grew up so fast those years but that made our small little family stronger and closer. She would kill me for throwing this out there, but she is now 40 years old and a tough cookie. With all her struggles she still found the strength to make sure we stayed grounded, and she is the reason we have all gone to college and became successful, because of this strong, beautiful mother we are able to enjoy many more years with her.
I feel so blessed to have a strong mother as my rock and hero. Mom, thanks for fighting for us. We would be lost without you.
Many people fight cancer, each one of those people fight for their family, fight to live another day, and fight to the death. They lose body parts; receive scars, some pass away, but all are truly remarkable people. True heroes.
Thanks mom, for fighting for us, for giving us more time with you.
We love you. - Emma, Monica, Eduardo, Marissa and Baltazar.
She sat in the car, tears rolling down her face, while the rain beat down on the roof.
Cancer. It was November 2000, she was 27 years old and she had breast cancer. Inside, five children waited for her, the oldest 11 and the youngest barely more than a baby. She needed to go to them, but when she left the car she'd have to stop crying.
Her eldest daughter, Emma, ran through the rain and climbed into the gray Oldsmobile. In her 11 years, she'd never seen her mother cry before.
That had been a point of pride with Bertha Medinas. From the moment she held Emma, her first child, in her arms, Medinas had promised herself she would take care of her children.
Medinas grew up in the Victoria projects. She got pregnant at 14, and she found herself on the street with nowhere to go and a baby on the way.
"You are 15. You have a baby. You need to grow up," she told herself.
She'd had nothing then, 15 years old with an eighth-grade education and no job, but she was determined to find a different life for her children. She talked her way into a job bussing tables at Siesta Mexican Restaurant, and then she was a waitress, a convenience store clerk, whatever job she could get to bring home money and feed her children.
She found a house in the country, just outside of Inez. It wasn't anything fancy, a red brick structure sitting on a small tract of land toward the end of a winding country road. Just miles from her childhood home in Victoria, it was another world for Medinas and her children. She bought the house, bit by bit, from the owner.
She worked long hours getting together the money to live on, but every night they sat down around a dinner table, like families did on television.
Then the pain started.
Medinas didn't have health insurance, so it took a lot to get her to the doctor, but when she developed pain under her arm, she found herself in a doctor's office. They told her it was nothing.
She told them she couldn't lift her arm, that something was hurting. The doctors dismissed her, but when the pain went away she went to another doctor to see if he would listen. This time, he did.
It was just before Thanksgiving, and she was in the kitchen cooking dinner when the phone rang.
"We need to talk," the doctor told her. "Can you come in next week?"
"It's Friday. I can't wait until next week. You need to tell me now," she said, heart thumping.
He told her. Stage three breast cancer.
"What am I going to do? I'm going to die and my kids - what's going to happen to my kids?" The thought hammered through her head.
Next week, the tests confirmed it.
When Emma ran out of the house and hopped into the car, it was a moment she would never forget - the first time she saw her mother cry. Trying not to scare her daughter, she told her about the cancer.
Even then, Medinas didn't like letting her daughter know this. The children believed that their black-haired mother was Wonder Woman and she wanted it to stay that way. It soon became clear, she didn't have a choice.
They started chemotherapy and, by the second treatment, she began losing her long black hair. Seeing a pile of it on the pillow when she woke up one night, she went to the stylist the next day and said to cut it off.
Staring at their mother, her hair cropped short as a boy's, the truth sank in for all of them.
Please, give me time, Medinas prayed. Let me live long enough for Emma to grow up and not leave them alone, she asked God.
First her hair went, then they cut out pieces of her breasts. On the days after chemo, it felt like her bones would snap just from walking. Emma would take over on those days, helping the others get ready for school, leaving a plate of toast by her mother's bed.
Like her mother, Emma never let anyone see her cry, hiding in her room or waiting until late at night to let the tears flow.
They were strong for each other.
"There were days we all wanted to give up and stop fighting and each one of us would help the others and say, 'You can do this,'" Emma said.
It went on like this for four years. In late 2004, the doctor told her that she was in the clear, that her white blood cell count was good and she could schedule reconstructive surgery whenever she was ready.
It was over.
Medinas is 40 years old now and Emma has become a nurse. Medinas' children are a tight-knit clan who are there to support each other no matter what.
Medinas is now an office assistant for Fesco and has health insurance. Her children continue to get their education.
Medinas had to let them see her cry, but by clinging together, they had learned something that they still carry with them about life.
"The little things didn't really get to us, because we were dealing with really big things" Emma said, remembering.
Her mother agreed.
"We'd made it this far. We can do anything," Medinas said.
Group keeps money for cancer in Crossroads , click HERE
Namesake of pink fire truck stays positive, click HERE
Flash mob for cancer awareness, click HERE
Survivor honors 8 family members killed by cancer, click HERE
Readers remember battles with cancer, click HERE
Oceans For Emotions: Seeing pink, click HERE