Letters to Sydney is a poignant journey of a young mother as she is diagnosed with cancer.  Facing the reality of death, the author begins to write to her young daughter who is too young to conceive of what is happening.  Though odds were decidedly against her the author was given hope and strength through faith.  Armed with many resources the cancer receeded and the joy of life became paramount.

This book provides hope when there is none.  It gives encouragement to stand up and fight, though difficult at times.  Letters to Sydney is a glimpse of light in dark times. 

“Letters to Sydney is a compelling and riveting approach to give hope to those experiencing cancer.  It is a must-read for every woman diagnosed with cancer.”
Greg Anderson
author – The Cancer Conqueror

Founding Chairman & CEO

Cancer Recovery Foundation of America

“A moving story told in an interesting manner.”
Bernie S. Siegel, M.D.
Author – Love, Medicine & Miracles

Heather Jose has been a cancer survivor for over seven years.  Her in depth, hands on approach to fighting cancer has inspired many over the years and earned her respect within the cancer community for playing an active role in her health.  Heather has published works in magazines and enjoys speaking about her experiences.  She lives with her husband and children in Michigan.  To contact Heather about speaking to your group please email heather@letterstosydney.com

I am going to rock your world.  Me, the one who is suppose to protect you from all the evils of the universe.  I’m sure that you can’t understand this at 14 months old, but I’m afraid you’re going to feel the effects.  You see, Mommy has this terrible thing called cancer, and it’s threatening our time together.  I love you Chunks, and I thought I’d better write it all down.  I remember the first time I saw your tiny toes. I couldn’t believe how perfectly formed they were, and yet they were so small.  Now you are a precious gift toddling around my house.   You have this wild blonde hair (where did you get blonde?)  that sticks up no matter what.  I love it.  It completely suits you.   I don’t know how to prepare you for what is to come other than to promise that I’ll take good care of you.  People keep telling me that you won’t even remember this.  I have to say that scares me more than anything right now. 

Yours,
Mommy

What is a crisis really?  Losing your keys when you’re late?  Having feelings for someone and not having them returned?  These and many other things appear at times to be difficult, but I would never call them a crisis anymore. 

It started out as a lighthearted doctor’s visit.  My husband Larry, my 14-month-old daughter Sydney and I had all gone to my checkup so that we could chat with Meredith.  She had gone to medical school with my older brother Troy, and he referred me to her when I called to tell him that I was pregnant.  We had all gone through the pregnancy and delivery together and now hadn’t seen her since my six-week post delivery checkup.  I’ll never forget her in the birthing room saying, “It’s a girl!  Sydney, right?” as soon as she was born.           

I was still in a daze, and Meredith having known the names we had chosen for a girl or a boy had already named my baby.  

So there we are in the exam room, marveling over Sydney’s growth, commenting on Meredith’s own pregnancy.   I tell her that I came for my yearly check up but that I also had this nagging pain in my sternum that seemed to come and go quite often.  As soon as my top half is exposed the questions about my left breast begin.  Meredith asks if the nipple has always been retracted.  I answer no and redirect her to the pain in my chest.

“It feels muscular,” I say. “Do you think it’s from carrying all of my bags all the time?”    

I was working as an occupational therapist for a school system.  Part of my everyday routine was carrying toy-laden bags in and out of elementary schools.  Everyone could always tell a therapist, the one carrying all the bags.  They often weighed fifty pounds or more.

I went on to explain that the pain would go away with Tylenol, but that I wanted to know why it was hurting.  On a scale of 1 to 10, I’d rank the pain a 4, nothing serious, just bothersome.  It had been there for a while though, probably since the summer months.

Meredith continued to focus on my breast and after a few more questions asked if I would mind a colleague coming in to take a look.  I told her no, that would be fine.  After a quick look and a brief consultation with her in the hall Meredith came back in.  I was ready for some answers.

“Isn’t that normal?  All of my friends said that their breasts changed dramatically throughout pregnancy.  I didn’t know that I should be concerned about it.”

“It’s probably nothing,” Meredith said,” but I want to make sure.” 

“What could it be?”  I asked, wanting a straight answer.

“A cyst, a benign tumor, or,” with hesitation because she didn’t want to tell me, “it could be cancer.”

Imagine that; Me with cancer?  I don’t even know what cancer is. 

We proceed to pack up and go home while Meredith sets up appointments to figure this whole thing out.  By the time we are home we’ve convinced ourselves that we can handle it, and then we’ll move on. 

No one ever has time to be sick.  I had, the week before, resigned from my job to take a similar one closer to home.  It would mean less driving, and that I could be working in our home school district where my husband was a high school teacher and head football coach. I was excited about the prospect of working with people who lived in my community, to get to know them on a professional level as well as becoming familiar with the elementary school that Sydney would attend in the future.  How would my future employer feel about this?  I didn’t even have a relationship established yet.

Besides the job thing, how could I have cancer?  I am not atypical, and 26 year olds don’t get breast cancer.  I grew up in a small, uneventful town in southern Michigan.  I am a middle child, the only sister to my older brother Troy, and younger brother Josh.  We lived a normal life, my mom a computer programmer, my dad a biology teacher at the high school that we all attended.  I had done well there, graduated and gone on to college to be an occupational therapist.  While in college I met my husband at a YMCA camp where I was working in the summer.  Six months after graduation from college we married and two years later Sydney was born.  My life had always just rolled along, small ups and downs, but in the scheme of things incidental.

There is nothing like a life filled with incidentals. A life where your biggest worry is about positive changes in your life and the world is at your fingertips.