By Kathy Watson for Shorelines

Everything happens for a reason.

Even stage III colon cancer?

According to Project Manager Pat Ingelse of Management Information Systems, yes.

Marking her 25th year with North Shore Bank and almost 15 months since her January 2014 diagnosis, Pat is the picture of positive thinking and gratitude. “Having cancer has opened so many doors for me,” she says.

The diagnosis
Pat had experienced no warning signs or symptoms until she got what felt like a simple tummy ache. When it lasted three days, then disappeared one day but returned the next, she decided to give her doctor a call.

Colonoscopies save lives
The American Cancer Society suggests that all men and women at average risk for colon cancer start getting screenings at age 50. Pat opted not to, after her brother and a friend experienced complications from the procedure. But now she wishes she’d had the test, as early detection prevents most instances of colon cancer. Get more information here.

He ordered X-rays at her Jan 17 appointment. “I wasn’t at all nervous or scared,” she says. With confidence in her physician and their long-term connection, she felt certain that he would take care of her seemingly temporary ailment.

Even when he instructed her to come back the next morning for a CT scan, she says she felt a sense of calm. Pat expected to leave the clinic after the scan and wait to hear from her doctor by phone or mail. But the receptionist told her to wait, saying the results would be available in 10 minutes.

The news wasn’t good: two tumors in her colon had formed a 100 percent blockage and given her a highly — and dangerously — inflamed gall bladder.

Within two hours she was home, packing a suitcase and heading to the hospital. She texted boss Dean Trout to let him know that she’d “be out for a couple of days.”

The surgery
Pat still didn’t feel a sense of panic or dread. After further tests, including a sonogram and colonoscopy, she was scheduled for surgery, which took place on a Saturday and lasted six hours.

If there was a memorable moment in the fast-and-furious pace of those first days, it came right after surgery. Pat was awake and eying the IV drip. She observed just one line, which she interpreted as meaning she was getting fluids, but nothing for pain — an omission that was more than confirmed by her level of discomfort.

Medical staff often ask patients to express their pain level on a scale of 1–10. When a nurse came in and inquired about pain levels, Pat responded, “Forty-seven!” It didn’t take long to add pain meds to the IV.

Pat spent two weeks in the hospital. Anyone who has worked with her would not be surprised to learn that, despite the extensive surgery and her condition, her computer was never far away. She claims she was “bored stupid” in the hospital, so she passed the time by catching up on work email and staying in touch with colleagues.

The chemo
In early March, Pat’s doctor considered her strong enough to begin chemotherapy. “I met with a nurse to review what my treatment would involve, how long it would last, potential side effects, and what to do in preparation,” Pat says. “She handed me a binder an inch and a half thick, covering everything from the drugs that would be used to how to relax — really?? — to how to talk about it with friends and family. Once I got past the mega list of potential side effects, I was convinced I was going to end up a three-headed alien — but cancer-free!”

By March 10, she’d had surgery to install a port for infusing the drug cocktail and for drawing blood to monitor whether she was ready for the next round. “Can you make me look like Cindy Crawford?” she asked the surgeon just before the anesthesia started to take effect. “He still calls me Cindy whenever I see him,” she says.

The plan: She would show up on Monday morning every two weeks for 12 weeks. Each four-hour session started with blood draws to be sure her count revealed she was strong enough to handle the upcoming chemo onslaught. “If there were concerns, the treatment would be pushed back for a week,” she explains.

The last of the three drugs in her Monday regimen required slow administration, so a pump was added to the port at each session. It became what she calls “my traveling buddy from Monday through Wednesday.”

Pat found Wednesday through Saturday of chemo weeks “particularly challenging, especially the further I got into treatment as the chemicals built up in my system.” Chemo knocked her energy level to almost zero. “The fatigue was indescribable. From session seven until the end, once the pump was disconnected, I would just go home and sleep.” Her final treatment was Sep 10, eight months from her diagnosis.

Pat reiterates that she never really felt scared or nervous, whether in the hospital or after returning home, even though she lives alone.

The job
Pat had barely begun to adapt to the chemo schedule when she thought she was ready to attempt a return to work. “I left the hospital on Feb 6 and worked from home until Mar 31, when I decided to try half a day in the office. It was not my most productive day, but all of the ‘welcome backs’ made it an awesome time.

“After that, I would work at home during chemo weeks and come in for as long as I could the following week. It was important to me to keep things as normal as possible, so I tried to get in as much as possible.”

She was profoundly touched by the amount of support and help that flowed from colleagues at every turn. “They spoiled me rotten!” she says. “Knowing that asking for help is not my strong suit, when I was carrying something in, a set of hands would appear and carry it for me. Someone was always checking to see how I was doing. That made the journey so much easier.”

On days when she could feel fatigue creeping in, she’d pack up some work and head out for the 45-minute drive home to Cedarburg while she still had energy to get there safely. “I learned to listen to my body. After a two-hour nap, I’d be fine and could tackle my next project,” she says cheerily.

The good
Always the optimist, Pat claims, “Chemo wasn’t as bad for me as it is for a lot of people. In fact, something good even came out of it.”

For one thing, the Aurora Cancer Center in Grafton has started incorporating Reiki into its treatment protocols. Offered free to patients and their supporters, Reiki is an ancient Japanese technique described as an energy healing method that involves placing hands in a series of positions over or slightly above the body. It is intended to reduce stress and induce relaxation, thereby triggering the body’s own healing abilities.

After her first experience with Reiki in the hospital — “I have never been so relaxed; I just melted into my mattress” — Pat included Reiki with every chemo session. She is convinced that this holistic, complementary approach made a huge difference in her recovery, so much so that she has trained and earned her Reiki Master certification. She now volunteers and helps others; applying her newfound skills is part of what she considers a positive outcome of her cancer diagnosis.

A second good: Pat is grateful that she didn’t lose her hair, despite having been fitted for a wig just in case. Now familiar with the process, she hopes to be able to help others facing that dilemma.

A third good: People receiving chemotherapy get chilled easily. So, as part of a team-building exercise back at work, Pat and a number of her colleagues have assembled and donated double-layer fleece blankets to the Aurora Cancer Center in Grafton — 23 so far.

“This bank has the most generous and hardworking group of people I have ever had the honor of working with,” she says. “We work hard, but we also have fun getting the job done.”

A fourth good: Because Pat has gone through so much of this process alone, she wants to be a resource and provide support for others. “One thing I found frustrating was not having a lot of people readily available who went through this that I could talk with. If I can help one person who is confused or scared, I want them to call me.”

And a fifth good: Pat has taken on the duties of wellness coordinator for the bank. She is working on an intranet site for employees that will feature speakers who talk about how to support health of body, mind, and spirit. “I want to open eyes to what is out there to create and support wellness,” she says.

The reflection
“We all have things to battle in life,” Pat reflects. “Mine happened to be cancer. No one is superhuman or invincible; it is about facing adversity, regardless of what it is, and kicking it to the curb to the best of our ability.

“Do not be defined by it, but rather be open to the life lessons it brings, and do something good with that. There are a number of us here at North Shore Bank who have either successfully beaten or who are battling cancer. I am willing to bet others also find themselves stronger and have a changed perspective because of it.”

Dean Trout, Sr. VP, Information Systems–CIO, has worked with Pat for 15 years.

“Pat is a wonderful person with a big heart who has been through tremendous adversity, but she has persevered,” he says. “She is a survivor in more than just the cancer sense; she has survived the many technical changes this industry has brought, and she has survived my assigning her new responsibilities and goals throughout our years together.

“She tackles every assignment with vigor and an ‘I can do this’ attitude — including her cancer. I don’t know that she ever feared for the worst, because she always said, ‘I can do this.’

“Yes, we temporarily adjusted her schedule a bit during her treatment, because the no. 1 goal was to get her healthy. She worked around her illness and still owned her responsibilities. Frankly, I think work was often her getaway, her distraction as she was sitting in the chair getting her chemo treatments.

“I’m so proud of her and the way she handled cancer and kicked its tail. Hope combined with desire for a good outcome — and the ability to make necessary changes no matter what — are part of Pat’s nature.”

“I didn’t invite cancer to my party,” Pat says. “I had to come out swinging. I figured I’d either ‘do it big or go home.’ Having cancer made me stop to look around and see all of the good things. It’s surprising how much we miss.”

She reiterates: “Everything happens for a reason. If I can help or be an advocate for just one other person, it will have been worth it.”