Cancer diagnosis makes Canton woman see things she missed before
As she settled into the big chair at the medical center to have poison pumped into a port in her chest for the first time, Angie Budnick wondered: Would the chemotherapy make her sick? What about her hair — how soon until it starts falling out? How long until the treatment starts working ... and what if it doesn't?
Budnick had so many questions. She'd watched her weight and exercised and taken vitamins. But then she felt a lump, and it was breast cancer and she couldn't stop worrying that she'd done something wrong. That she'd inadvertently exposed herself to a cancer-causing toxin. That medication she'd taken at some point in her life fueled the cancer. That it was the result of something in the ground or the water or the pipes in the neighborhood where she'd grown up; so many of the kids from back there seem to have cancer now. Or maybe it was fate, a quirk in her family tree; her father died from cancer, after all. Or maybe it was just bad luck. She didn't know.
Among all these questions, she decided one thing: The only certainty in life is eventual death.
A good sign
Until her diagnosis in May ― an aggressive cancer that accounts for just 10% of breast cancer cases — 49-year-old Budnick, who lives in Canton, had never considered her own mortality.
But there she was, getting her insurance papers together so her husband, Chet Budnick, 58, could find them easily if something happened to her. There she was, purging her considerable wardrobe — she's a shopper — and passing along clothing to loved ones. There she was, telling her family to include music from country star Kenny Chesney at her funeral. Tim McGraw, too. I'll leave it up to you if you want to show my body and then have it cremated, she said to her husband. But if my hair and makeup don't look good, don't show me.. "I try to keep it as upbeat as possible," Angie Budnick explained later. "I try to crack jokes but, at the same time, he needs to know what to do.''
Just as she worked to keep up the spirits of those around her, others tried to do the same for her. Leaving a doctor appointment one day, Budnick's daughter, 19-year-old Alexandra Tomalak, pointed to an SUV in a parking lot on the grounds of Trinity Health hospital in Ann Arbor. On its windows, someone had painted the words "Miracles Happen!" and "Cancer Free". Mother and daughter thought it was a good sign.
A group of friends and family members threw a surprise party for Budnick, who was so unsuspecting she didn't bother to wash her hair before leaving her house. ("I was looking kind of scrubby," she said afterward, adding she thought she was just going to a campfire at a friend's house.) Someone gave her a pink sash with the word, "fighter," on it. Friends wore T-shirts that said "Support Squad" (the a in "squad," the shape of a pink breast cancer awareness ribbon) and #TeamAngie. A sheet cake with white frosting and pink trim bore the message (Expletive) Cancer! The whole event was a pep rally designed to get Angie psyched up for battle and to show how many people in her circle care about her. It was a great boost.
As June 19, her first chemotherapy date, neared, Budnick noticed a change in her surroundings, though maybe it was a change in how she saw things. Everything she encountered seemed more vibrant. Outdoors, the birds seemed to sing sweeter, the air smelled fresher, the sun shone brighter. "I was noticing the bees pollinating. It was just stuff like that I would never pay attention to," she said one day, recounting a walk with her mother and daughter. "I wasn't thinking about being sick. I was just thinking about how beautiful everything was."
And so, in the big chair at the infusion center at Trinity Health Cancer Center in Canton, Budnick covered her lap with a breast cancer awareness blanket she'd brought along and she looked at a photo she'd packed. It was a picture of her and her dad, together, at her high school graduation. He was special to her. She included a picture of him at her wedding and carries one with her on special occasions. But now, seeing him in the photo, was more comforting than ever.
The cancer community
Budnick's hair began falling out in July, which was not unexpected. Her stylist showed up at her house and shaved off the rest. Budnick joked about embracing her Uncle Fester look and included a photo of herself without hair in a post on Facebook. "This is the true face of cancer and chemo," she wrote. "I can say that I've learned a lot about myself going through this. It's what's on the inside that matters, not the outside. Us women put a lot of pressure on ourselves to look good, I've dug deep and have learned to love the new me ... "
She's also learned she's part of a community she hadn't thought about before: the cancer community. "People can obviously tell I have cancer, I wear my head wraps," Budnick said. And because of that, "You start hearing people's stories, their survival stories. It does make you very comfortable to know there's other people that have gone through what you're going through. They're there to support you, even people you don't know.''
At a medical building one day, a woman she'd never seen before gave Budnick a booklet about praying through chemotherapy. I want to pass this along to you, she said. At a doctor's office, a nurse told Budnick about her own ongoing breast cancer battle even though she hadn't yet told any of her colleagues. And the two women hugged.
A realization
The treatment hasn't been easy. Sometimes it makes Budnick nauseous, which is a common side effect. Sometimes it gives her bone pain. And brain fog, or as she calls it, "chemo brain." Sometimes, she's extremely tired. She's been hospitalized twice for infections.
She is scheduled to be done with chemo later this month. and expects to have surgery in November and then radiation after that. Her oncologist, Dr. Chris Reynolds, believes her prognosis is good and she has a 5 to 10 year survival rate of more than 90%. The goal of her treatment, he said, is to cure her.
Of course, Budnick is worried that even if the treatment does its job, the cancer could come back later. And then what? She tries not to think about it, but she does. How could she not?
So she has realized every day is a blessing.
She's become more social during this health crisis. She's reached out to friends, including those she doesn't often see. "We get gathered up in our every day lives and we don't keep in touch with people as much as we would want to or should," she said. "If there's a chance I might not make it, I want to reach out to everybody that I'm friends with and just say 'hello' or 'goodbye' or whatever."
She's also finding delight in unexpected places. She was always an eat-to-live type of person but now her appetite is incredible. Maybe it's from the steroids. Maybe, as she said, it's because "If I'm going to die, I'm not eating a salad today. I'm eating tacos."
It turns out that in facing her own mortality, Budnick has chosen to live.
Contact Georgea Kovanis:
