I’ve always had an inkling that breast cancer would be in my future. All you had to do was be a woman in my family and you would have breast cancer. When my mom went through her breast cancer journey, I underwent genetic testing and discovered I didn’t carry the breast cancer genes. Regardless, I always felt like it was just a matter of time until cancer found me. When it finally happened, the premonition did nothing to ease the shock.
Friday the 13, January 2023 is when I received my breast cancer diagnosis. It was discovered during a routine mammogram when I was 43 years old. As is the way of things, I found out via my digital chart before getting a phone call from the clinic: “Newly diagnosed ductal carcinoma in situ (DCIS) in 2 locations.”
It was terrifying at the beginning when there was so much I didn’t know. I was astonished by all the medical jargon that held no meaning for me. Internet research seemed to get me further from understanding. More than anything, though, I worried about how my kids would handle this journey and if they would be scared of me when my hair fell out. They were 13, 10, and 7 at the time.
Through conversations with my Nurse Navigator, a nurse who coordinates all the different types of cancer-related appointments, I learned I was Stage 0. Barely cancer. Some sources cite it as pre-cancer. I liked to tell people I had just a titch of cancer. Despite that, the intervention plan was aggressive and 3 tiered: lumpectomy, 34 rounds of radiation, then hormone supplements for 5+ years. Chemotherapy wasn’t in the plan. I wouldn’t lose my hair.
A plan was in place. I met with the surgery team. I met with genetics (“Really? Do I need this test? I’ve already had this test. Do genes change?” Turns out they didn’t.) I met with an oncologist. I met with the radiation team. I received my parking pass for the super secret parking lot that radiation patients get to use because they are in clinic so often. I adjusted my work schedule to accommodate daily radiation appointments.
But then, a curveball. Surgery was unsuccessful. The tissue that was removed failed to show clear margins, which meant that the tumors weren't fully removed. I opted for a second lumpectomy to get the rest of it out. Those margins were also not clear. What I feared - and what I desperately wanted to avoid - was going to be the next course of action: bilateral mastectomy. The level of grief I felt about this was profound. It was on my mind nearly every minute I was awake. I struggled to accept that this was the resolution to my titch of cancer. It felt like burning down a house to kill a mosquito.
The mastectomy was scheduled for Monday, July 24, 2023. It was a long surgery and I left the hospital the next day afraid to hug anyone or wear a seatbelt because of the pain. I had drains coming out of my body that stayed with me for several weeks. On Friday, July 28th, I sat in my oncologist’s office, drains and all, and learned that the cancer was finally gone. More than that, I wouldn’t need radiation anymore because there was nothing left to irradiate. Plus, I wouldn’t need hormones either which was another big relief because I wasn’t excited about early-induced menopause. I cried in the office and the whole way back to the car. The cancer was gone and my medical interventions were complete.
Reconstruction has been another big and intrusive part of the story. It’s a process that still continues as of this writing. At this point, I’m not sure what the relationship with my cancer is. I don’t consider myself a cancer “survivor” since I barely had cancer. I certainly had my fair share of uncomfortable procedures, scans, and surgeries. The emotions were intense. However, I was never sick or at risk of not surviving. “Thriver” is another word that’s used in the cancer community, but that doesn’t resonate with me either. I have a strong sense of imposter syndrome when it comes to cancer. As though I never really had it.
That said, I do feel a sense of pride for being part of the cancer community, a community that no one ever wants to be a part of. I so appreciate connecting with others who have gone through the journey. I feel a calling to offer support to those in similar situations. But above all, I feel so immensely grateful to my husband, who never missed an appointment, and to all the people who supported me along the way - with notes, visits, meals, and even flowers. In fact, when I think back to my cancer year, flowers are what I think of first now. Flowers and the love they represent.
