Cancer: A spouse tells of team battle

Edward Moncrief, The Salinas Californian 3:20 p.m. PDT October 16, 2015

You can’t speak to Tommy Moffitt for more than two minutes and not note the depth of love he had for his wife. The passion and clarity in his voice, and the anger that lies just beneath the surface, are not for his own situation but for what happened to this beautiful and vital woman. She suffered terribly and fought with all that she had — only to die at the age of 44.

“I realize this may be hard on you,” I say. “Tell me if I get too close.”

“Nothing’s too close,” he responds. “But you’re right. It sucks!”

We sit at a table in Portobello’s in south Salinas. Tommy wears a black biker vest with a small pink ribbon stitched on one shoulder and “Kelly,” his wife’s name, stitched on the other side; underneath, the date 1/2/2015.

“Is that your Harley parked in front?” I ask.

“No. I brought hers. It seemed like the right thing to do. We had some good times, riding together.”

At first glance, Tommy’s biker image with his stocky build, ruddy complexion, and scruffy beard seem incongruous with the affable smile and kind eyes. His expansive personality brings it all together. He reaches up and touches the ribbon.

“This is part of Memorial Hospital’s annual fundraising campaign for its Cancer Resource Center. It’s coming up this month on the 21st. It’s called ‘Toast for the Tatas.’ ” He smiles briefly, appreciating the boldness of the event’s title. “Kelly was the keynote speaker last year. She had just gone through surgery for brain tumors. We thought we were done with all that. She seemed like she had beat it. Six months later, she was dead.” His lips and eyes grow tight. The eyes fill with tears.

We spend the next 20 minutes getting some basic facts out of the way. They met in Reno; both working in the media business. Each was in an unhappy marriage. As their relationship developed, they both knew that it was time to make dramatic changes in their lives. They found they wanted, more than anything else, to be together.

“She had, let’s say, a difficult husband. I just married too young.”

In 2010, Tommy and Kelly were married.

Shortly after, they moved to Salinas. Eventually, Kelly took a job with The Salinas Californian as assistant sales manager. Tommy is a sales representative with Comcast.

“In March 2013, I was awarded a trip to the Bahamas as a top sales guy for the company. Just before we left, Kelly had a mammogram. When we returned, she was told that she suffered from Triple-Negative Breast Cancer. TNBC is a rarity. Both breasts were infected.

“When we got the diagnosis, I started doing research. I was driven to know everything I could about her condition: the treatments, the side effects, ways to mitigate the effects, what to do that might eliminate the symptoms.

“You have to understand, Kelly was a marathon runner, a competitive swimmer. She was active, smart, witty, positive, the picture of health … well, except for the diagnosis.”

Tommy takes a deep breath.

“I just wanted to support her through the battle. We made a deal. I would take care of the house; shopping, cooking, cleaning, paying the bills. She had only two jobs: show up for treatments and try to get well. I bought a book, The Cancer-Fighting Kitchen, to make sure that everything we ate was healthy. I drew up a matrix that tracked each symptom and found studies on line that pointed to mitigating measures. We developed an eating and exercise regimen. We did everything right to give Kelly the best chance possible to beat the odds. And to some degree it worked! She avoided a lot of the typical side effects of the chemo and medications. Halfway through chemo, she was working out every day on the treadmill.”

Tommy reaches into his vest pocket and pulls out his cell phone. He brushes it with two fingers and begins scrolling.

“Look,” he says pointing. “There’s Kelly jogging on the machine.” I peer at a side shot of Kelly’s intent efforts, a nylon cap pulled over her bald head.

“My bosses at Comcast were great! When it all started, they said, ‘Don’t worry about work. We’ll cover for you. We’ll handle it.’ They kept me on the payroll. I spent an hour or two a day at work when I could.

“Then in May, she had to have a bi-lateral mastectomy. They had discovered that fourteen lymph nodes were affected, seven of which tested positive. She began chemo once a week for 10 weeks; then two more months on a bi-weekly schedule; and after that, 31 days of radiation. By the time that was over, we felt everything was going to be fine. We tried to put it behind us.”

Tommy begins fingering a chain around his neck. He shows me the two rings dangling.

“These are our wedding rings,” he says. His voice is caught in his throat. He pushes on, “We were so in love. We cherished every moment. We were always laughing, telling jokes, going on rides, hiking. Kelly was alive! She was fun to be with … God, she was a beautiful person.

“In March 2014, they started reconstructive surgery. They gave her silicon breasts. At that point again, we thought we were done with cancer. She was gonna make it.

“Two weeks later …” Tommy stops, places a fist over his mouth, and shuts his eyes. “She began having these intense migraine headaches. Her equilibrium was so bad, half the time she could hardly walk. She had another MRI. When we got home, walked in the door, the phone was already ringing. They said, ‘Get her to the emergency room, now!’ This time, she had a golf-ball size brain tumor that had metastasized. We were told that the cancer had spread from the breasts to the lymph nodes and from there to the brain. She went into surgery immediately, followed by 20 days of radiation focused on the area of the tumor.

“She went on disability; and for six months, we thought, again, we were going to make it. Then, in September, the migraines returned. We had another MRI done. They found three more tumors. She went to Mountain View to a specialist for what’s called cyber-knife treatments. That’s a non-invasive technique that delivers high doses of radiation, aimed at the tumor with extreme accuracy. There, she had another specialized MRI that was intended to map out the surgical paths to excise the tumors. But they found eight more, one on Kelly’s brain stem. They used the technique on that one first to try to keep her from becoming fully paralyzed.”

Tommy’s voice wavers again. He rests his chin on folded hands until he’s ready to continue.

“After the surgery, I met with the doctor privately in a side room. I told him that I had researched this cyber-knife technique. I said, ‘None of these treatments is going to prolong her life. Am I right?’ The doctor said, ‘I have a hard time giving up on a 44-year-old woman.’ ”

“When we got home, we called VNA and Hospice. We knew. The staff was incredible. They showed up faithfully every Tuesday and Thursday —Amy and Ellie. They provided great care and support. They became dear friends. Two weeks ago, I went there to see them. As soon as I walked in, Amy started crying and gave me a hug.

“During that final three-and-a-half months, people came from everywhere to help. Our Harley-Davidson group cooked for us on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. Dave Ferrasci, the club director — a true friend — he organized that. The Harley dealer in town put on a fundraiser for Kelly. Over a hundred bikers showed up. Her plastic surgeon and the nurse practitioners from the Cancer Resource Center also came with food and drinks. The club raised $4,000 to help with our expenses.

“Dr. Payman Haghighat, Kelly’s oncologist, came to the house three times just to be with her and give her support. Kelly’s mom, Gloria, and sister, Tracy, moved in to take care of her. Friends wanted to be with her; but at a certain point, Kelly didn’t want them to come anymore. She couldn’t eat. Her body was emaciated. She didn’t want them to see her that way. She wanted them to remember her the way she was.”

We sit for a moment in silence.

Finally, Tommy says, “You know, 50 percent of the men … yeah, 50 percent, leave when a woman is diagnosed with breast cancer. I’m no saint. I had been through some things in my life. Both Kelly and I had been in previous relationships. Neither of us was happy. We fell in love and never looked back. And Kelly, after a bad marriage, she was just finding herself again. I’ve always been proud of my 29-year career in media; and of the fact that I’ve been sober for 20 years. Then all this happened; and when that first diagnosis came in, I decided that I would do everything I could to support her through it. From my research and reading on the Net, I pretty much knew early on what the end would be. I never told Kelly. I didn’t want her to be afraid.”

“What do you do with the anger?” I ask. There’s a pause.

“I’m handling it. I’ve taken up kayaking. I go on bike rides the way we used to. I rode up to Oregon to visit Kelly’s mom and sister. We’ve become much closer as a family. I rode Kelly’s bike to Asilomar Beach, one of her favorite spots. The bike club came with me, eight of us. We just sat and talked about her. We remembered some of her witty sayings. ‘Let’s bounce, bitches!’ That’s the way she would say, it’s time to go.

“I think, if only it hadn’t metastasized, it might have been manageable. There might have been a chance. If only we had found it earlier. That’s the key, early detection. Every woman should have a mammogram every year. You wait two years; it may be the difference between life and death.”

“What about the future?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I think, at some point, I might be helpful to others who are going through it. Not for a while. It’s still too tender…. You know, we were best friends. We had seven wonderful years together. I did all I could for her. I was a great husband; but still, in the end, it sucks.”