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Lincolnville woman uses faith to combat cancer

By ROWENA PLETT

Staff writer

Tambra Owens was having trouble breathing. It was the fall of the year, and her doctor blamed it on allergies. But after several months of treatment, her breathing was getting worse instead of better.

The 43-year-old Lincolnville woman — a wife, mother of four, and librarian at Centre High School — needed her family, friends, and colleagues, and they needed her.

Things were getting desperate. A CAT scan revealed nothing wrong. Finally, her doctor sent her to an ear, nose, and throat specialist at Salina.

He scoped her nasal passages and found what he thought were enlarged adenoids. Surgery was scheduled for Dec. 2 to remove them.

"The surgery went well, and when I woke up, I could breathe," Owens said. "I was so excited."

When the doctor came in, he said the passageway had been 89 percent blocked.

Then he said, "It wasn't your adenoids, it was a tumor the size of a golf ball, and it's probably cancer."

"Well, I'm just happy I can breathe," Owens replied, not letting the truth sink in.

On Dec. 8, she got a call at school. She was told she had nasal-pharyngeal carcinoma and needed treatment immediately. (The pharynx is the muscular cavity at the back of the nose and mouth.)

She was stunned. She told her boss, Neal Weltha, that she had cancer and would need treatment. It was even more difficult to break the news to her husband, children, and parents. Everyone cried.

The day after her diagnosis, Owens was in the school library when Lisa Hanschu of Ramona walked in. The two had never met, but Hanschu sensed something was wrong. When she found out about the cancer, she was understanding because she, too, was battling cancer in the form of leukemia.

"Cancer is not a death sentence," Hanschu said, "You take it one day at a time. We allow ourselves one day a week to cry and no more."

"I felt she was an angel in disguise sent to help me," Owens said. As an added blessing, both had daughters who were in the same class at school and were good friends.

Owens tried to talk to her husband, Brian, about what may lie ahead, but he refused to listen.

When the couple met with the doctor, he asked Owens, "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to treat me like you would if I were your spouse," she told him.

That same day, Owens was referred to Dr. Claudia Perez Tamayo, a radiologist, and Larry Beck, an oncologist (tumor specialist) at Mowry Cancer Center in Salina, and an appointment was set for Oct. 11.

When she and her husband met with Dr. Tamayo, Owens was stone-faced, expecting the worst and seeking the inner strength to handle it.

Tamayo informed them it was an aggressive cancer, had metastasized to the lymph nodes on either side of her neck (she had noticed the swollen glands earlier, but had been told it was due to her allergies), and was just inches from her spine and brain.

The news was like a bomb exploding inside her head.

"So, do I have days, weeks, or months," Owens asked, fearfully.

To her surprise, Dr. Tamayo gave a short laugh and said, "Oh, honey, I can cure this. You aren't going anywhere because I won't let you."

Then Owens broke down and cried. Her tears and those of her husband turned into a determination to conquer this terrible foe.

They discussed the treatment, radiation to the neck five days a week, and chemotherapy one day a week.

"By the time you're through treatment, you'll think you've been through hell and back," the doctor warned. She said Owens may lose her teeth and would need a feeding tube.

At this point, the woman's normal, strong-mindedness led her to assert herself.

"I absolutely will not have a feeding tube," she said. "I will make it without it."

The doctor wanted to insert a porta-cath for drug injections, but Owens was afraid any insertions would make her vulnerable to infections, so she refused it, choosing to take the injections directly into her veins.

She also refused to have her teeth pulled.

Treatment began eight days later and continued for about two and one-half months. The radiation treatments took only about 70 seconds. While going through preparations, Owens sang "Amazing Grace" to herself to keep up her courage.

The treatments left her exhausted. She began to lose weight and after awhile her hair began to thin. She developed an infection which swelled her throat.

"The doctor wasn't kidding about how bad it would be," Owens said. "It was a daily fight to get water down."

She didn't eat solid food for three months and lost more than 30 pounds. Toward the end of her treatment, she spent five days in the hospital and was given nutrients intravenously.

Throughout this time, she was blessed with prayers, help, and concern from family, colleagues, and friends.

Her parents and Brian's parents took turns spending time with the family so Brian could continue to go to his job at Cessna Aircraft in Wichita. They assisted Haleigh, nine, a third grader, and Brittany, 15, a freshman, with school activities. The men transported Owens to treatments.

Weltha and several colleagues had offered to drive her to treatment, if necessary, and superintendent Demitry Evancho gave her a guardian angel coin which had been his mother's. (She later returned it.)

The community brought food and cards and prayed for her. Lawrence Rabon frequently appeared with ice cream and sat with her even when she couldn't talk. (Later, he disclosed he had been diagnosed with liver cancer.)

At one point, Karen Suffield, a local beautician, came to the house, shaved off her remaining hair, and shaped her wig in her normal style.

"My husband was absolutely amazing," Owens said. "He never doubted I would be cured. He worked hard taking care of our kids and our home.

"A lot of people go through their whole married life not knowing how much they're loved. I know how much I'm loved.

"Through it all, I was never worried. I always knew I would be all right. I had prayed that God would give the doctors the knowledge to cure me, and I never doubted I would be cured.

"I never said, 'Why me?' I thought, if God would sacrifice his only son, why not me? I lived on faith."

Another blessing was the fact that she was doubly insured. What her own insurance didn't cover, such as prescriptions, her husband's did. She also had salary protection insurance. "I didn't have the money worries that others might have, " she said.

The treatments left her in an extremely weak condition. Home health workers came several days a week for three weeks, and local nurses Kathy Bloom, Chris Combs, and Sharon Gutsch helped with injections for nausea. Others in the community continued to show support.

She gradually got her strength back and eventually was able to return to her school job.

The cancer left some lasting effects such as a shrunken throat. She finds it hard to eat bread, potatoes, and hamburger, foods which clump up in her throat. She's lost most of her taste, and shortened tendons in her neck have reduced its mobility. Her voice has a slightly raspy sound and she can no longer sing.

"Of course, I always worry that the cancer may come back, but I don't dwell on that," she said.

She still has her teeth and gets them cleaned every three months.

She works at eating properly. Her diet includes many raw fruits and vegetables, and she drinks a lot of water.

Doctors have given her a clean bill of health to date, and she's keeping her fingers crossed that she will remain cancer-free for five years. Then, she will know for sure that she truly is cured.

Owens said she has learned some important lessons. One was humility. Typically head strong, she learned to be dependent. Her values also have changed. Whereas, a perfectly clean house or neat-as-a-pin yard formerly were priorities, now she revels in time spent doing things with her husband and family.

The Owens have two other daughters. Cassie, 22, is a student at the University of Kansas. Jennifer Whitebread, 25, lives with her husband at Pratt. They are expecting their first child in October.

Smiling triumphantly, Owens concluded her story by saying, "This year, instead of taking cancer treatments, I'll be celebrating my first grandchild's first Christmas."

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