COLUMN: Sometimes you have to take your own advice

Emily Newberry helps put people back together.

She calms their deepest fears, soothes their frazzled nerves, and navigates the twists and turns in the chambers of their heads and hearts.

Emily is a mental health therapist in Macon, specializing in anxiety and obsessive-compulsive disorder.

“I have always been the helper,’’ she said. “I have never been the one who needed the help and support.’’

All that changed on a summer day three years ago when she was diagnosed with breast cancer.

From the beginning, she was determined to overcome the physical, emotional and financial challenges ahead. 

She was confident in her superpowers. Her faith. Her inner strength. Her independence. Her motivation to lace her boots and give cancer a swift kick in the rear.

She has never felt the limitations of life. She has always believed she could do anything. 

“Except I can’t draw,’’ she said, laughing. “I can’t paint. I’m terrible at art.’’

October is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. It’s the second-most common cancer in women, behind skin cancer. Almost 317,000 new cases of invasive breast cancer in women will be diagnosed in the U.S. this year, according to the American Cancer Society.

The odds of a woman in the U.S. developing breast cancer in her lifetime is 13%, a 1 in 8 chance.

Emily’s situational awareness evolved as her journey progressed. After she read an article about how to “get through chemotherapy when you live alone,’’ she checked all the boxes.

She realized she was alone — but not alone.

“I am a therapist. I raised two strong kids. I went through a difficult divorce. But nothing will prove your strength like going through cancer treatments,’’ she said.

When she was diagnosed, she warned her oncologist that she was going to be her “worst patient ever.’’

“She asked me why, and I said it was because she was about to make me very sick,’’ Emily said. “And I wasn’t the ‘worst’ patient. I did everything they told me. I took care of myself. But I got sick because I am very sensitive to medications, and I had every side effect. Every one of them.’’

The tests, the biopsies, the surgeries, the radiation treatments and the more than $1 million in medical bills were almost tame compared to the gut-punching rounds of chemotherapy.

Chemo is a body slam, a wrecking ball to your spirit. Every three weeks, the brutal cycle would knock her flat and pin her down. Then, as she would start to feel better, it was time to climb back into the ring for another three weeks in the torture chamber.

She lost her hair, of course. She wore hats and wigs and tried to smile through the pain. But every bone in her body hurt. The cumulative effect took its toll, as it does with most cancer patients.

There was brain fog. There were the usual stomach issues. Sleeping was uncomfortable. Her tongue and the inside of her mouth turned raw.  She developed neuropathy. She had a horrible skin rash and itched all the time. She could hardly walk from the sofa to the kitchen without getting winded.  

“I kept going because I didn’t want to be the person in the bed feeling sorry for myself,’’ she said. “I did my best. I really don’t know how I did it, but I did. I kept working through the whole thing. I was very sick, but I never stopped working.’’

And she was blessed to have people in her life who wanted to help her. All she had to do was ask. 

So whenever she found herself in low moments and dark places, she closed her eyes and told herself she needed to follow the same advice she gave her clients in therapy.

“I was going to do whatever it took to take care of myself,’’ she said. “But if I needed help, I was going to ask for help. And if someone offered help, and I needed help, I was going to say yes.’’

Her parents drove from Arkansas to help her through a difficult stretch of chemo. Her sons — one living in Little Rock and the other in Charlotte, North Carolina — were only a phone call away and did whatever they could to help from across the miles.

Others stepped to the plate. Her friends. Her church. Her Bible student group. United in Pink. Her co-workers. Her clients. Folks from her old neighborhood. Folks from her new neighborhood.

“I had no idea how big my support system was until I had cancer,’’ Emily said. “If I left the house or went to work, I would come home and there would be something on my front porch. Flowers, food, cards and letters. People would go to the grocery store for me.’’

Two months of radiation followed her six rounds of chemotherapy. 

When the sun came out from behind the clouds, her health started to trend upward again.

After more than a year of rarely leaving the house except for her treatments, she was cleared to travel. The man she is now dating took her to Oregon and Chicago to celebrate. She also went to visit her son, Matt, who was finishing up a semester of studying abroad in Spain.

“I turned 50, too,’’ she said, “and was glad to be alive.’’

On an autumn day in 2023, as football season arrived at the door and the air turned crisp, she had her final treatment.

She rang the bell and declared herself cancer free.

Ed Grisamore writes about everyday life in Macon and Middle Georgia. You can reach him at gris@maconmelody.com.