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| Power Style Wellness Connections |
Keep Laughing and other things to learn from Heidi
By Connie Meyer
Holidays have not been the best for Heidi Caravan, director of
programming for WFPL. On New Year’s Eve of 2005 she
found a lump in her right breast. This was not the first time
Heidi experienced this sort of scary find. Five years previously
she found a lump in the same spot. After having a
mammogram, the doctor told her she had fiber cystic breasts
and the lump was nothing out of the ordinary. Everything
appeared normal until that fateful New Year’s Eve.
This time Heidi did not listen to the doctor. Something inside
told her to pursue it. When Heidi insisted on checking it further,
the doctor scheduled her for a mammogram and ultrasound on Valentine’s Day, 2006.
Those tests resulted in the need for a biopsy. The next day she had a bone scan. The
day after, just before leaving for a surprise birthday cruise she had planned for her
husband, she found out the lump was cancerous. The bone scan details were yet to be
known.
The cruise would be the last cancer-free time the Caravans would spend together. Heidi
and her husband, Ron, received the devastating news that her lump was lobular
cancer, which does not usually show up on a mammogram. It was also stage four, and
the bone scan showed the cancer had spread to her bones from her knees to her skull,
as well as the bone marrow.
The only good news was the cancer is a low-grade lobular lesion that is non-
aggressive. Openly optimistic, Heidi is quick to point out that if she still lived in her
native Canada she would probably be dead by now. When she contacted her sister with
the news, it took her sister two months to be checked via mammogram. That is how
overloaded the Canadian socialized medical system is.
With a cancer diagnosis, that seems grim, Heidi Caravan remains hopeful. Her
contagious laughter and incredible humor defines a determined spirit. Her cancer has
been treated aggressively. Heidi has endured numerous tests, including bone scans,
MRI’s, CT scans, injections to increase red blood cells, and monthly doses to
strengthen bones. The list is endless.
Since her cancer has already spread, there is no point in surgery. After trying some
hormonal treatments, Heidi and her oncologist, Dr. Janell Seeger, decided to attack her
cancer with a particularly caustic kind of chemotherapy.
After her first chemotherapy treatment, Heidi threw up for eight straight days and ended
up spending 11 days in the hospital due to dehydration. Heidi stresses the importance
of finding an oncologist you trust. She tells how Dr. Seeger held her hand through her
first round of chemotherapy and adds quickly, “They just don’t make them like her
anymore.”
When I ask Heidi about her first thoughts when she found out her cancer had spread,
her answer is as remarkable as Heidi herself.
“My first thought was — how long am I going to live? Of course, no one can tell you that.
I started thinking I’d had a really great 37 years and if this was my fate, so be it. I’ve
always thought like that — there’s no point in worrying about things you cannot change.
It just makes you old!
“Things ran through my mind. I thought how great a world this is, where a kid from a little
place called Foxtrap in Newfoundland can grow up to lead a radio station in Louisville,
Ky. My main concern through all of this was — and still is — my husband. Like many
men, Ron doesn’t talk a lot about his feelings. I know he’s really angry about the whole
thing, but you really have to play the hand you’re dealt. It’s been a struggle for both of
us to sit down and plan our wills and final wishes. I’ve always had a problem with
negativity, and now it’s even more so. I can’t handle hearing people complain about
petty things. Life is truly too short.”
To date, Heidi has had 10 blood transfusions to bring up her red blood count. She
recalls joking about the first transfusion’s failure to “kick in” as soon as she had
expected. “I thought they must have given me the blood of a lazy person.”
That seems a logical assumption since Heidi has always been the exact opposite. When
asked about the hardest part of living with cancer, Heidi quickly responds, “slowing
down.” She is no longer able to stay up as late and has learned to listen to her body.
The super A personality that used to stay up late turns the phone off at 10 p.m., and
sleeps through most weekends. Heidi continues working at the job she loves because “I
love being in the community and cancer forces you to pace yourself.”
Heidi has received incredible support from friends and co-workers at WFPL. Her “real”
family may be in Newfoundland, but her WFPL family is just as real and just as
supportive. Heidi’s husband, Ron, put up ramps and guardrails for her at home. “He
seems to know what I need before I have a chance to ask for help.”
Heidi has used her incredible sense of humor to put co-workers at ease. It did not take
long for them to respond in kind. Heidi’s face lights up in a smile as she points to a
sticker prominently displayed on her door. It was given to her by a WFPL colleague and
says “Cancer Sucks!”
Heidi readily admits the difficulty of asking for help but quickly adds, “I’m over that now!”
She tells how a study from UofL reports that blueberries help cut down breast cancer
tumors. Before Heidi knew it, her friend and colleague Jeneen Wiche offered the berries
from her farm and several WFPL employees picked them for her. Heidi quickly provides
other examples.“Stephanie Sanders, one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met,
organized a team for the Relay For Life walk to raise money for cancer research in my
name. We raised over five thousand dollars! Stephanie is one of those people who
anticipates when you need something without being the least bit bothersome.
“She babysat me when I was released from the hospital. She fetches things for me at
work. She makes sure I’m doing okay. Others, like Julie Goodwin, Rita Stern, and Carol
Pye, have made meals for us. This is very helpful because I can’t stand up for long to
cook. Robin Fisher is my medical surrogate. She’s been incredible. She drives me to
doctor’s appointments, answers questions for me that I ask multiple times (chemo
brain), and scolds me when I’ve worked too many hours during the day. Julie Kredens
cheers me up on the darkest days. I can’t think of anyone on staff who hasn’t helped
us.”
Heidi just ended another round of chemo — four doses, three weeks apart. The last
scheduled one was July 13. In typical “Heidi fashion,” she downplays the difficulty of
more chemo.
“This round seems to be okay. I have been nauseous, but mainly I’m really tired and in
pain. I have painkillers, but I try not to take them during the day because they make me
sleepy. I also have a Fentanyl patch on my back for pain. It has to be changed every
three days and does give me some relief.”
Right now Heidi is on “chemo cocktail” that contains Texol and Avastin. Her last tumor
marker showed good news. “That’s the thing with this dreaded disease — there’s no set
treatment. You just have to try stuff to see what happens. I’ve exhausted all the oral
meds I can take, so we have to find something that works. The doctor says this round
shouldn’t make me lose my hair. I told her I don’t care about my hair. I just want to live!”
Heidi graciously agreed to share her story with the hope that it might help others who
are living with cancer or just receiving a cancer diagnosis. With determination Heidi
adds, “Something good has got to come out of this.”
Something good already has with Heidi Caravan’s openness and willingness to talk
about her cancer. Cancer is no longer the death sentence people used to connect with
the word. Just saying “cancer” used to be heard only in whispers. Heidi has definitely
brought cancer out of the closet and into a much needed dialogue on its meaning.
“Mortality numbers I thought the other day, ‘Whose stupid idea was it to start giving
patients a number on how long they have to live?’ We are all terminal. Cancer forces
you to face the fact head on. People often ask, ‘What’s the prognosis?’ I guess they
expect me to spit out a number. I’m usually saucy when I get that and say, ‘Well, I’m
here today; hopefully I’ll be around tomorrow. I have a new cake recipe I want to try.’ I
get odd looks for that one.
“You know I love to laugh. The folks at Louisville Oncology call me their happiest
patient. In a way I like going there because it’s hard to look at someone laughing or
smiling and not smile back, so in my own little way I think I’m cheering other cancer
patients up.
“I have had people say, ‘How can you laugh at all this?’
“I reply, ‘Well, it’s either laugh or cry, and I prefer the latter. Besides, laughing is good
for your soul.’”
Anyone who knows Heidi Caravan would have to agree.
Connie Meyer writes regularly for Today’s Woman. Her book, Starting From Scratch,
(published by Vintage Romance Publishing, LLC) is an anthology of 14 Louisvillians’
true love stories that took place before 1969. She is also a commentator for Louisville’s
NPR station WFPL 89.3 FM. You can reach Connie at conniemeyer@iamtodayswoman.
com.
By Connie Meyer
Holidays have not been the best for Heidi Caravan, director of
programming for WFPL. On New Year’s Eve of 2005 she
found a lump in her right breast. This was not the first time
Heidi experienced this sort of scary find. Five years previously
she found a lump in the same spot. After having a
mammogram, the doctor told her she had fiber cystic breasts
and the lump was nothing out of the ordinary. Everything
appeared normal until that fateful New Year’s Eve.
This time Heidi did not listen to the doctor. Something inside
told her to pursue it. When Heidi insisted on checking it further,
the doctor scheduled her for a mammogram and ultrasound on Valentine’s Day, 2006.
Those tests resulted in the need for a biopsy. The next day she had a bone scan. The
day after, just before leaving for a surprise birthday cruise she had planned for her
husband, she found out the lump was cancerous. The bone scan details were yet to be
known.
The cruise would be the last cancer-free time the Caravans would spend together. Heidi
and her husband, Ron, received the devastating news that her lump was lobular
cancer, which does not usually show up on a mammogram. It was also stage four, and
the bone scan showed the cancer had spread to her bones from her knees to her skull,
as well as the bone marrow.
The only good news was the cancer is a low-grade lobular lesion that is non-
aggressive. Openly optimistic, Heidi is quick to point out that if she still lived in her
native Canada she would probably be dead by now. When she contacted her sister with
the news, it took her sister two months to be checked via mammogram. That is how
overloaded the Canadian socialized medical system is.
With a cancer diagnosis, that seems grim, Heidi Caravan remains hopeful. Her
contagious laughter and incredible humor defines a determined spirit. Her cancer has
been treated aggressively. Heidi has endured numerous tests, including bone scans,
MRI’s, CT scans, injections to increase red blood cells, and monthly doses to
strengthen bones. The list is endless.
Since her cancer has already spread, there is no point in surgery. After trying some
hormonal treatments, Heidi and her oncologist, Dr. Janell Seeger, decided to attack her
cancer with a particularly caustic kind of chemotherapy.
After her first chemotherapy treatment, Heidi threw up for eight straight days and ended
up spending 11 days in the hospital due to dehydration. Heidi stresses the importance
of finding an oncologist you trust. She tells how Dr. Seeger held her hand through her
first round of chemotherapy and adds quickly, “They just don’t make them like her
anymore.”
When I ask Heidi about her first thoughts when she found out her cancer had spread,
her answer is as remarkable as Heidi herself.
“My first thought was — how long am I going to live? Of course, no one can tell you that.
I started thinking I’d had a really great 37 years and if this was my fate, so be it. I’ve
always thought like that — there’s no point in worrying about things you cannot change.
It just makes you old!
“Things ran through my mind. I thought how great a world this is, where a kid from a little
place called Foxtrap in Newfoundland can grow up to lead a radio station in Louisville,
Ky. My main concern through all of this was — and still is — my husband. Like many
men, Ron doesn’t talk a lot about his feelings. I know he’s really angry about the whole
thing, but you really have to play the hand you’re dealt. It’s been a struggle for both of
us to sit down and plan our wills and final wishes. I’ve always had a problem with
negativity, and now it’s even more so. I can’t handle hearing people complain about
petty things. Life is truly too short.”
To date, Heidi has had 10 blood transfusions to bring up her red blood count. She
recalls joking about the first transfusion’s failure to “kick in” as soon as she had
expected. “I thought they must have given me the blood of a lazy person.”
That seems a logical assumption since Heidi has always been the exact opposite. When
asked about the hardest part of living with cancer, Heidi quickly responds, “slowing
down.” She is no longer able to stay up as late and has learned to listen to her body.
The super A personality that used to stay up late turns the phone off at 10 p.m., and
sleeps through most weekends. Heidi continues working at the job she loves because “I
love being in the community and cancer forces you to pace yourself.”
Heidi has received incredible support from friends and co-workers at WFPL. Her “real”
family may be in Newfoundland, but her WFPL family is just as real and just as
supportive. Heidi’s husband, Ron, put up ramps and guardrails for her at home. “He
seems to know what I need before I have a chance to ask for help.”
Heidi has used her incredible sense of humor to put co-workers at ease. It did not take
long for them to respond in kind. Heidi’s face lights up in a smile as she points to a
sticker prominently displayed on her door. It was given to her by a WFPL colleague and
says “Cancer Sucks!”
Heidi readily admits the difficulty of asking for help but quickly adds, “I’m over that now!”
She tells how a study from UofL reports that blueberries help cut down breast cancer
tumors. Before Heidi knew it, her friend and colleague Jeneen Wiche offered the berries
from her farm and several WFPL employees picked them for her. Heidi quickly provides
other examples.“Stephanie Sanders, one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met,
organized a team for the Relay For Life walk to raise money for cancer research in my
name. We raised over five thousand dollars! Stephanie is one of those people who
anticipates when you need something without being the least bit bothersome.
“She babysat me when I was released from the hospital. She fetches things for me at
work. She makes sure I’m doing okay. Others, like Julie Goodwin, Rita Stern, and Carol
Pye, have made meals for us. This is very helpful because I can’t stand up for long to
cook. Robin Fisher is my medical surrogate. She’s been incredible. She drives me to
doctor’s appointments, answers questions for me that I ask multiple times (chemo
brain), and scolds me when I’ve worked too many hours during the day. Julie Kredens
cheers me up on the darkest days. I can’t think of anyone on staff who hasn’t helped
us.”
Heidi just ended another round of chemo — four doses, three weeks apart. The last
scheduled one was July 13. In typical “Heidi fashion,” she downplays the difficulty of
more chemo.
“This round seems to be okay. I have been nauseous, but mainly I’m really tired and in
pain. I have painkillers, but I try not to take them during the day because they make me
sleepy. I also have a Fentanyl patch on my back for pain. It has to be changed every
three days and does give me some relief.”
Right now Heidi is on “chemo cocktail” that contains Texol and Avastin. Her last tumor
marker showed good news. “That’s the thing with this dreaded disease — there’s no set
treatment. You just have to try stuff to see what happens. I’ve exhausted all the oral
meds I can take, so we have to find something that works. The doctor says this round
shouldn’t make me lose my hair. I told her I don’t care about my hair. I just want to live!”
Heidi graciously agreed to share her story with the hope that it might help others who
are living with cancer or just receiving a cancer diagnosis. With determination Heidi
adds, “Something good has got to come out of this.”
Something good already has with Heidi Caravan’s openness and willingness to talk
about her cancer. Cancer is no longer the death sentence people used to connect with
the word. Just saying “cancer” used to be heard only in whispers. Heidi has definitely
brought cancer out of the closet and into a much needed dialogue on its meaning.
“Mortality numbers I thought the other day, ‘Whose stupid idea was it to start giving
patients a number on how long they have to live?’ We are all terminal. Cancer forces
you to face the fact head on. People often ask, ‘What’s the prognosis?’ I guess they
expect me to spit out a number. I’m usually saucy when I get that and say, ‘Well, I’m
here today; hopefully I’ll be around tomorrow. I have a new cake recipe I want to try.’ I
get odd looks for that one.
“You know I love to laugh. The folks at Louisville Oncology call me their happiest
patient. In a way I like going there because it’s hard to look at someone laughing or
smiling and not smile back, so in my own little way I think I’m cheering other cancer
patients up.
“I have had people say, ‘How can you laugh at all this?’
“I reply, ‘Well, it’s either laugh or cry, and I prefer the latter. Besides, laughing is good
for your soul.’”
Anyone who knows Heidi Caravan would have to agree.
Connie Meyer writes regularly for Today’s Woman. Her book, Starting From Scratch,
(published by Vintage Romance Publishing, LLC) is an anthology of 14 Louisvillians’
true love stories that took place before 1969. She is also a commentator for Louisville’s
NPR station WFPL 89.3 FM. You can reach Connie at conniemeyer@iamtodayswoman.
com.