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Treasuring every moment

Cancer has altered Mary Perry's perspective, making milestones like her daughter's kindergarten graduation that much sweeter.

By VALERIE TAYLOR
Published May 29, 2005

BROOKSVILLE - The cafeteria at Brooksville Elementary twinkled with tiny rope lights crisscrossing the ceiling. The stage was transformed with flowering plants and greenery, with 19 little chairs awaiting occupants.

In the back of the room, silk vines covered two white pillars through which Autumn Perry walked, holding her father's hand.

They passed under a glistening triangle of lifted swords held by uniformed members of Hernando High's Junior ROTC. The pair came down the aisle toward Autumn's mother and Ray Perry's wife of 20 years, Mary.

Smartly dressed in a long, straight, white skirt and black silk blouse, Mary Perry was capturing the special moment with her digital video camera. Her heart raced and she fought back tears as her mind flashed ahead: This is how it could be in 20 years or so. There would be Autumn, walking down the aisle to her waiting groom. And, Perry thought, it's possible that she would not be there to see it.

This was Autumn's kindergarten graduation, but to her mother it was so much more. It was a reminder that days like this are to be cherished - even as the cancer that invaded her breast, her brain and now her bones threatens to snatch away any more treasured moments.

But Perry chooses not to dwell on that as she mixes a positive attitude with a healthy dose of trepidation.

She cries when she recalls the kindergarten graduation May 6.

"It felt like (her dad) was walking her down the wedding aisle, and I felt that I had to be there," Perry said. "It was a reminder of all the milestones that I have to be there for."

Cancer, and the prospect of death, lends an urgency and a clarity to Perry's perspective.

Her battle with cancer began in 2001. Perry was diagnosed with breast cancer after a course of antibiotic treatment, for what was thought to be a breast inflammation, failed. She chose a lumpectomy with radiation instead of a mastectomy. But first, she underwent 24 weeks of chemotherapy. Her treatment was complicated because doctors needed to treat six lymph nodes. Uncontrollable nausea marked the first week, followed by two weeks of improvement, and then the process would start all over again.

"The only way I can describe chemo is if somebody opened up my skull and poured lead into my body, and I had to walk around carrying that lead. Such a severe heaviness like you can hardly pick up your leg," said the 44-year-old Brooksville resident.

The worst was yet to come.

"Forget the cancer," said Perry. "Losing all my hair was worse. You can cover your head and look okay, but with no eyebrows or eyelashes, now you look like a cancer victim. And that's when I got more stares, more, "Oh, she's got cancer.' I just hated that, because I didn't feel sorry for me, so I didn't want anybody else feeling sorry for me."

Autumn was just 2 then, but Perry and her husband, Ray, thought their daughter should know the situation right from the start. Perry told Autumn about the cancer, and why she had to take the medicine and go for treatments.

"I didn't want her to have any surprises," said Perry, whose mother died suddenly when Perry was 12.

Following two reconstructive surgeries and time to recuperate, Perry was ready to return to work as a registered nurse. She started her new part-time job at Brooksville Regional Hospital in 2003. She felt great, emotionally and psychologically.

Later, she joined the staff at Hernando Endoscopy and Surgery Center.

Back then Perry felt she had conquered cancer.

"I felt I had licked it," she said. "My prognosis was about 80 percent."

But in August 2004, the illness resurfaced. She found another lump in the same breast, though her doctor thought it might be scar tissue from the reconstructive surgery.

She answered her cell phone at a restaurant and got the bad news: It was cancer. But as cancers go, this was a "good one."

The cancer was in situ - confined to the area where it originated. This time, Perry wasted no time. She knew what she had to do.

"The first time I had cancer, I waited 30 days to say a prayer. I was too busy and sick," she said. When she prayed, "Dear God, please help me," she says she got a clear message that "it was going to be okay."

Now, dejected, she slumped in her bed and prayed: "God, this time, I'm not going to wait 30 days. I need help." She felt an immediate and powerful presence that lifted her out of bed.

"This is not my imagination," said Perry. "One minute I was lying down, and in a matter of seconds I was standing straight up. And I had an overwhelming feeling that someone was telling me I was going to be okay. I stayed up doing dishes that night."

Two months later, she started noticing spots and bright lights when she closed her eyes. An MRI gave her more bad news: retinal, or brain, cancer.

"That phone call was the lowest point in my life," she said. "That's when I knew I was in trouble."

Meanwhile, at Brooksville Elementary, Autumn's kindergarten teacher, JoAnn Summerall, had been hearing about Perry's struggle with breast cancer. But then she overheard Autumn telling a classmate that her mother had brain cancer. Although she knew Perry to be a private person, Summerall decided to approach her anyway. Summerall recalls the conversation.

"Mary stood in front of me, very calmly, and in her dignified demeanor said, "Yes, I have brain cancer, and I have four to six months. And the thing about it is I will never be able to see Autumn graduate or get married.' "

That was October, but Summerall knew then that she had to try to make something happen, something meaningful for the mother, who was always helping out at school or sending in healthy snacks, supplies or surprises for the prize box.

"I don't have enough adjectives to describe how wonderful this family is," said Summerall. "I grieved all year about this. I was determined that Mary was going to see Autumn escorted by her father, like a wedding. And then I wanted her to see Autumn in a cap and gown."

Summerall got to work. A phone call to Celebrations by Carrie got a commitment to donate the decorations and floral arrangements. Teachers and staff at the school, the Wal-Mart in Brooksville and others pitched in.

As May approached, Summerall worried about the timing. She asked Perry to choose the date for the graduation. Normally in mid May, the celebration was moved up to May 6.

Three weeks of radiation eradicated the brain tumors and stole Perry's hair again. Then her doctors ordered a bone scan.

"My radiologist said it was like looking down Niagara Falls for the first time because (the cancer) was all over," she said. "In my scalp, my neck, my spine, my shoulders, my hips. There was so much that you can't radiate or you'll die from the radiation."

Her childhood friend, Stephanie Pohl, had flown in from Paris to be with her, and they cried in the parking lot for 20 minutes. And then Perry got angry.

"I thought, what an idiot I am. I could have died from the brain cancer, but I saved my brain only to set myself up for bone cancer - one of the most horrible deaths you can have."

Once again, she had to tell Autumn, 6, that "Mommy might die."

"We cry, but we always end on a positive note," said Perry. "She always knows that I'm doing the very best I can."

Then Perry took control. She had adopted a more holistic approach to her health since the first bout with breast cancer. She noticed that when she drank carrot juice, she could touch her breast without feeling the searing pain. When she stopped juicing, the inflammation returned.

"I slacked off the juicing after that, and I think that's maybe why the cancer returned," she said. She juiced again with the retinal cancer, noticing that the spots would clear. If she stopped, the spots came back.

Then she pored over books, enlisted her sister, Cindy McCrory, in New York to help research on the Internet, and sought advice from people in health food stores.

"The doctors weren't telling me anything," she said. "Not one doctor told me to cut out sugar because it feeds the cancer. I had to learn that for myself. They never told me to keep my body more alkaline because cancer loves an acid base. Nobody told me about an anti-inflammatory diet. Nobody. It angers me that doctors don't tell people basic nutrition. It's nothing but chemo and radiation. There's no money in carrots."

In retrospect, Perry says she's glad that she got rid of the brain cancer. It bought her more time. Maybe time for other milestones with Autumn.

Perry follows a regimen that includes juicing carrots, taking flax oil and barley greens, and brewing essiac tea, an herbal tea that's said to reduce the side effects of chemotherapy and radiation treatments.

"I may die next week, but all I know is that what I'm doing is making me feel better. If I keep doing what I'm doing holistically, it'll prevent it from spreading or at least prevent the pain. Maybe it won't be so bad," she said.

She tells her story because she wants peace of mind. "If this (cancer) gets to me and I'm on my deathbed, I want to know that I did everything I could possibly do in this life. I know there are women in Hernando County who could use this information."

According to the county Health Department, 30 Hernando women died of breast cancer in 2003, the last year that figures are available.

Perry is planning to spend most of the summer with Autumn in her hometown of East Greenbush in upstate New York, tubing the creeks, antiquing and "being with nature and the beasts," she said.

In October, doctors gave her three to six months to live. Tests in April showed her tumor markers within the normal range.

"My new doctor says, let's make this a chronic, not a terminal, condition,"' said Perry. "And I like the sound of that."

[Last modified May 29, 2005, 01:04:12]