Mary Joan Nastri

I was moving apartments on a hot August day in 2008, and as I climbed the steps to the second floor, I noticed I had a difficult time taking a deep breath. I also noted my left arm swelling. I rushed to urgent care.

Once I was seen, the doctor noticed my arm was significantly larger than my right and sent me straight to the ER. After a chest X-ray, I was told I had a large mass in my chest. A friend was there with me when I got the news. I was shocked, overwrought and frankly, didn’t remember much of anything until I landed at the University of Wisconsin Carbone Cancer Center.

Before my oncology appointment, I remembered a friend at work, Sherri, who became sick with a second occurrence of ovarian cancer and eventually died from it. I told her I wish there was a Gilda’s Club in Madison. She nodded but didn’t want to talk about it, she didn’t tell her daughter either. She was going to face it on her own. I understood secrets all too well in my own family. Secrets about what individuals were going through, so as not to engender pity from the rest. It was a lonely environment and unsafe environment not only to express my feelings but also for my body. “Home” was where I was abused, emotionally, psychologically and sexually.

As a former New Yorker, I remember reading about the opening of Gilda’s Club in NYC. I thought what a wonderful place and I yearned to join, to be someplace where I could express my feelings and get support, only to learn it was for people facing cancer. I was disappointed and put the information away. With my own cancer diagnosis 20 years later, I remembered the club. Weeks before I had heard that Madison Gilda’s Club would be opening, and I thought of my friend Sherri and became wistful. When I left the cancer center that August, crying and filled with fear, I sought out the new club.

I was filled with trepidation as I approached the red doors because I didn’t know what to expect. What I found was a welcoming place and the program manager offered solace as she saw my distress and asked me if I’d like to talk in her office. I nodded, “yes.” It was hard for me to trust people, but I gave her a chance because I needed to, my life depended on it. She sat there with me and held a place for me to unburden myself, about my family, my diagnosis and the uncertainty. She even made me smile. Humor would help me through — it was one of my strengths. I knew I had found the right place and at the right time.

The activities at the club engaged me. I discovered yoga, relaxation techniques and worked in the art room. These kept me occupied after my work day and in between appointments. I met many others who had traveled or who were traveling the same journey. I learned to trust again, I trusted my body to do what it needed to, I trusted others to be in the space I was in for a short while, I trusted my journey and whatever would happen. I remember one member said to me, “I remember the first time you came into these rooms, you were so scared. Now look at you!”

I volunteered to become Gilda’s Club ambassador and talked in front of audiences about the club, but more importantly, I wanted to impart to not go through the journey alone. I learned to lean on others and to be there for those who needed it. When I finished treatment, I told my doctor that maybe I shouldn’t be going to the club anymore. She said, “go—people need to see what the outcomes could be,” and she said that I received so much out of the club, that it would be good to give back. I agreed.

This post was written and submitted by Mary Joan Nastri. The article reflects the views Nastri and not of CURE®. This is also not supposed to be intended as medical advice.

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