Karen Moore is more than just a cop. After almost 20 years in law enforcement, she has become a well-loved icon in the northwest Harris County area served by the Pct. 4 Constables Department. Her ready smile and enthusiasm for her job are contagious, and her concern and compassion under fire and in control as Chief Deputy are legend.

On February 11, 1999, Karen Moore learned that she had breast cancer. But that’s not the beginning or the end of the story.

Karen explains that, for most of her 56 years, she has behaved "as she was supposed to;" staying home with her young children until they were ready to leave the nest before venturing out to find a career for herself.

"I guess I never really thought about going outside the lines," she said. "Just like my mother before me, it was ingrained in me to respect authority...to do what those in authority told me to do. It would never occur to me to challenge something a physician said. ‘Here are some pills for you; they’ll make you feel better...’ I don’t think I would even ask what was in them or why I needed them. That was just a function of the time in which I grew up...a part of the culture of the time."
 

"I do remember one time trying to read -- upside down -- what a pediatrician had written on one of my children’s charts in the doctor’s office. I might have tried to read it for myself but I wouldn’t even have thought about asking him what he had written there... I simply waited to be told what he thought I needed to know. It’s funny --

looking back from this point in my life -- I can see that I was pretty good at doing what was expected of me, but I wonder what would be different if I had questioned more or been less compliant."

In 1980, Karen worked in a Harris County Commissioner’s office when her friend, Dick Moore, decided to run for Constable, Pct. 4. 

"I was just in the right place at the right time," she remembers. "Dick won the election and I accepted a civilian clerical job in the Headquarters office. I decided almost right away that law enforcement was where I’d like to continue my career, so I completed the requirements of the Texas Commission on Law Enforcement to become a Certified Officer."

Karen says she has a different perspective from the "cop" on the street, and feels that it is exactly this different view of things that has helped her succeed in the field. In 1992, she was promoted to Chief Deputy with responsibility for oversight of investigations and the civil, warrants and patrol activities of 251 people. Karen has increasingly been called upon to be the Department’s interface with the media, especially on the high-profile cases.

Karen and her husband, Phil, have been married for 38 years and have three grown children -- all married -- and two granddaughters, who are the love of her life. It was of her daughters and granddaughters that Karen thought first when her doctor called her.

"I have always been very conscientious about protecting my health," she said. "I eat right, I get plenty of exercise, I don’t smoke and I get regular check ups. I had a mammogram last July which returned the expected results...everything was fine. There was a leftover from childhood, I guess, that whispered in the back of my mind, that you "just don’t" touch your breasts. However, last December, for some reason, I did a breast self exam. I don’t know if I did it ‘right,’ but there, on the underside of my left breast, was a tiny little knot about the size of a B-B. ‘That’s nothing,’ I told myself. Besides, I don’t have time (during the holidays) to worry about it."

"In January, I checked again and the B-B was still there. I called the doctor and had an ultrasound exam scheduled for February 2nd. As I lay there, I watched the screen and, sure enough, even I could see the small dark circle that showed up on the monitor. All of us were so sure it would turn out to be nothing, that I wasn’t even worried about having a needle biopsy. As a matter of fact, the radiologist couldn’t even see or feel the offending lump, and passed on his confidence that there was nothing to it before performing the biopsy. It really never occurred to me that anything could be wrong."

"I remember that I was sitting in my office with a group of people when the call came from my doctor. I joked with him when I picked up the phone. ‘See,’ I said, ‘you didn’t find anything, did you?’ In no way was I prepared for his answer."
 

"For a sickening minute, everything came to a dead stop as I heard him tell me that I had breast cancer. Here I was, with people -- strangers, really -- sitting there in front of me, with the news exploding in my head; echoing the dreaded C-word over and over -- cancer, cancer, cancer. I was only half listening to the doctor as he told me that he didn’t usually pass along the news in this manner, but that he knew I would want to know right away."

"Is there a good way to learn that you have cancer?" Karen asked rhetorically. "No, I’m sure there is not. At first, I was outraged to be told such a momentous diagnosis on the telephone. Thinking about it later, however, I’ve come to the conclusion that it was probably for the best. If he had asked me to come in to see him...and maybe to bring my husband with me...I would have panicked, thinking the worst. This was swift and clean. Maybe he felt that I was a cop and I could take it, or maybe he saw some strength in me that I hadn’t seen in myself."
 

"I kept up my facade long enough to end the meeting. Once I was alone, overwhelming waves of emotion crashed over me. I’ve since learned that I reacted like so many other women upon hearing the news. I was soon caught up in galloping denial: Surely the lab results had been mixed up; they just couldn’t be mine. I’m a good person, I’ve done all the right things...how could this happen to me?"

"Actually, I didn’t go through any screaming histrionics. I tend to keep things like this private and inside, so after getting a grip on myself, I called my husband to tell him the news and then went in and told Dick. I couldn’t wait to get home to sort out what I had been told and to decide exactly what to do next. For the first time in my life, I realized that I had some important decisions to make; life-altering decisions that -- no matter how much I wanted someone to hold me and reassure me that everything would be all right -- I would have to make for myself. I would gladly, at that moment, have become like a four year old child with someone telling me exactly what to do and how to get well and promising things would be back where they were before I knew I had cancer. I wanted to hear that I wasn’t going to die."

"It really didn’t take long before my strong will to live and survive this insidious disease took over. I wanted it out of my body...NOW. I was emotionally ready to go on the attack, and I was ready to learn about the weapons at hand. Fortunately, Becky, my surgeon’s nurse assistant, provided exactly the help I needed to get through the next weeks. I soon felt cared for-- even protected-- and confident that I could, indeed, get through what was to come. I can tell you without fear of contradiction, however, that I was absolutely terrified when I had to undergo liver and bone scans. Even I knew that these were areas where breast cancer can spread and it was obvious they were looking for more."

"Strangely enough, I was intimidated by the massive, impersonal medical machines and by the professional personnel in this alien environment. After a while, though, as the technicians began to talk to me and ask questions about what I did, the roles suddenly switched, and a kind of reverse intimidation occurred. They were intimidated by my career and what I had to do on the job. Amazing. But, it did succeed in putting me more at ease, and I did get through the tests."

"I think that, without question, the most difficult thing I’ve had to do during this surreal time was to tell my children that I had breast cancer. My mind was still having trouble putting this phrase in the same sentence with ‘me.’ I had never in my life put the two concepts together...not even in my wildest nightmares. Now, advancing uninvited to the head of the line, was a new worry. Something had invaded my body that could impact on the lives of my girls and my granddaughters. I found that thought devastating. I still do."

"I don’t know how other husbands do in situations like this, but Phil has been incredibly supportive. For that matter, so have our children as well as friends and associates. I am blessed with a strong faith and an excellent support system. When it comes right down to it, I am a very private person. I have always said that, if I ever got sick, I wouldn’t complain to anyone who would listen. I am, after all, a survivor. All I want is a fair chance against this thing. I know this has happened to me for a reason, and I understand that I didn’t bring it on myself by foolish behavior or ignoring good health advice. It all boils down to this: I don’t have to like it, but I do have to beat it."

Karen’s diagnosis was DCIS -- ductal carcinoma in situ. This highly curable form of cancer involves cancer cells that start in the milk passages (ducts) and have not penetrated the duct wall into the surrounding tissue. Generally, this breast cancer is treated with surgery or surgery followed by radiation therapy. 
 

Karen and her family met with surgeon Phil L. Leggett, M.D., and reviewed the results of all her tests. Together they decided on a lumpectomy. Also called breast conservation therapy, this surgical procedure removes a breast cancer and a small amount of benign tissue around the cancer, without removing any other part of the breast.  "Emotionally, it is awfully difficult for a doctor to tell a patient they have cancer," Dr. Leggett explained. "You never get used to it. Fortunately, by self exam, Karen found her problem early which gave us the option of breast conservation. Hopefully, all women will learn to do self exam and have regular mammograms." Karen’s surgery was performed on Friday, February 19th, and she began the healing process -- both physically and emotionally. On Monday afternoon, she was back at work and hasn’t missed a day since. She continues her walking regimen and still follows it religiously, and she’s working on maintaining a positive attitude about what lies ahead (radiation therapy).

"I know that by the end of the 5 weeks and three days of radiation treatments ahead I will be tired and maybe even run down a little. But, let's make this clear from the start...this cancer will not beat me."

Karen’s upbeat attitude is not simply a front; she believes it and lives it. That’s not to say that the reality of breast cancer is ever very far from her thoughts. It invades her sleep, with wakeful hours spent going over and over the alien things happening to her body...the "what if’s," the worries about any familial links she might pass down. You can see the thoughts chase across her mind when she is talking about something else; maybe just a fleeting shadow, but it’s there in her eyes.

"I am truly appalled by what I don’t know," she says in frustration. "There is really an information overload. Every day, I learn something new and still I can’t keep up with the flow of news about breast cancer. On one hand, I am reassured by the incredible amount of research that is devoted to finding a cure and, on the other hand, I worry that I’ll miss something to help me make the right decision. That haunts me...the fear of making the wrong choice."

"Right after I was diagnosed, I absolutely hated hearing about other people’s experiences with breast cancer. This was about ME...this was happening to me! Damn it, not to someone else. Its amazing how you start to think of things in terms of BC and AC -- that’s before cancer and after cancer. With every day that passes, I discover that I am regaining emotional stability. Yes, I am impatient to get on with an aggressive fight against the invader and to have the worst behind me. I know there will be bad days ahead, and I’m preparing to deal with them in my own way, but it is time to progress to the next step. Now, I’m ready to talk about what has happened -- is happening -- to me. In fact, I feel a need to tell everyone I talk with that I have breast cancer."

"I often wondered what I wanted to do when I ‘grew up.’ Now, after having put in enough time to be approaching the end of my law enforcement career, I can see working in breast cancer advocacy. Women I have told about my cancer have started doing their own breast self exams and some scheduled mammograms. Perhaps by sharing my experience with the disease, I really can make a difference in someone else’s life. It is something I believe in with all my heart, and when I stop to think about it, taking that path may just be the reason that this happened to me."