Cancer survivors offer encouragement at Humble's In the Pink event

In both cases, the news was shocking.

Leigh Rozelle was diagnosed with breast cancer in December 2015. At 37, she'd never even had a mammogram.

Cancer wasn't a thought in Dr. Stephanie Parke's head when she delayed getting the colonoscopy at the suggestion of her obstetrician/gynecologist at the age of 41. In 2013, she was diagnosed with a rare form of ovarian cancer.

Both women shared their stories Friday, Oct. 20, at the 10th annual In the Pink luncheon hosted by Northeast Hospital Foundation and held at the Houston Airport Marriott at George Bush Intercontinental. Proceeds from the annual luncheon benefit Project Mammogram and other foundation programs.

Rozelle was cold the night she found a lump on her breast. She went to bed, happened to cross her arms and felt the lump. Still in her 30s, Rozelle did not conduct regular self examinations, but she knew something was off.

She set up an appointment with her physician, who set her up for tests at Memorial Hermann.

"I will never forget the day that I walked into that office," Rozelle said. "And I think that's when it really hit me that I could be dealing with something very very serious. There were women wearing scarves. There were women without scarves that were bald. There were women of all ages, races, and the thing that was most shocking to me was the amount of women that were there."

It was Dec. 23 and a breast surgeon conducted an ultrasound, and then sent Rozelle for a biopsy on Christmas Eve. The radiologist told Rozelle he was 99 percent sure she had cancer. The official diagnosis came Dec. 28. Rozelle had triple negative stage 1 breast cancer, a more aggressive form of the cancer, but it was caught early in the process.

Rozelle had a double mastectomy and went through five and a half months of chemotherapy before having two reconstructive surgeries.

"And I really do truly believe that because of my early detection is what saved my life, and it was merely by accident, so I cannot urge you strongly enough to please do your physical exams," Rozelle said. "Please do your mammograms and your ultrasounds because cancer does not discriminate against age."

There was a mixture of humor and tears as Parke told the In the Pink audience about her journey, which began with feeling bloated and turned into a stage 4b diagnosis of a rare form of ovarian cancer.

She cracked jokes about her constipation symptoms and said she thought it was hemorrhoids when there was blood in her stool. She eventually was sent for a colonoscopy, which she put off for months before setting it up, drinking a shake the day before meant to clean her out.

That was the night her husband and three boys coined the term, "The poo-poo sprint."

The next day, the doctor found a polyp in her colon. Her treatment included an eight-hour surgery, a week in the hospital and 18 weeks of chemotherapy.

She lost her hair, but continued to try and stick to a routine as a working mom. She had to stay busy to keep her mind off darker thoughts.

"What if I die? What will happen to my husband and kids - who were 5, 9 and 12," said Parke, straining to get the words out through her tears. "I kept thinking, 'At what age can a mom die where she's given her family enough love and guidance and taught them all of the important lessons in life.' At what age is that OK? Well it's not. There's never a right age.

"So I figured out I cannot hang out in that state of mind. I had to say busy."

Parke and her friends celebrated her last day of chemo with a bell-ringing party.

"I was done with chemo, but little did I know that chemo and its side effects stay in your body for a long time, and chemo and cancer were not done with me," Parke said.

She felt like she'd been through a war. She was exhausted and weak. Her brain was foggy from the chemo, which takes awhile to leave the system.

Parke said she began getting agitated, she was mad at the world and wanted to sleep all the time.

"I had been fighting so hard to get to this place to make it through treatment and to get back to life as normal, but my life was anything but normal," Parke said. "And this is what no one tells you: Surviving survival is just as hard as surviving cancer. What I needed was a flashing pen that reminded me I'm amazing, I'm a miracle, I'm a survivor."

She'd put all her energy into fighting cancer, working, and taking care of her family, responsibilities and community. She now felt empty and filled with fear. Fellow ovarian patients she had befriended were dying off one-by-one.

Parke described her exhaustion, fear and anger as an ugly beast growing inside of her. She should have asked for help, but she didn't know what she needed and she didn't want to appear weak.

Counseling after chemo should be mandatory, Parke said.

It wasn't until six months ago when a friend invited her to a spinning class that Parke had her "aha moment." She thought she'd vomit or embarrass her and her friend, but Parke made it. She'd underestimated what her body could do.

"In that moment, I realized I am strong, I am alive, and it's about time I stopped waiting to die and started working to live," Parke said. "I have to stop worrying about the future. So here I am today. It's been a long journey, but I am now living each and every day to the fullest."