Six months ago, on March 25, a routine well-woman exam quickly evolved into what I like to refer to as “Dante’s seven levels of hell — my own personal version.”
First, you think, “it won’t be that bad” as you see the tumor on an ultrasound (it is). Then you think, “maybe it’s benign (it’s not). Then you think, “well, maybe just minor surgery” (it’s not).
It’s major surgery — a double mastectomy with immediate reconstruction, followed by an aggressive dose of chemotherapy. Final diagnosis? Stage IIB breast cancer with lymph node involvement.
All that was the easy part. Winding through the ups and downs of treatment was the tricky part: Telling your spouse, your sister, your immediate family, your 17-year-old son, select friends, and employer; praying you don’t lose your job that you just started four months earlier (you do); and the feeling of holding my breath: “I can’t breathe — how am I going to get through this? How are we going to keep it all together?”
But you do start to breathe again, and you find humor in the strangest places — such as a possible career change to Hooters girl after surgery? No one looks at your face!
Or comments such as “my aunt had that…she died eight years ago.”
(A note to those who want to share this type of thing: Don’t.)
After a near-death hospital experience in July, when a reaction to chemotherapy dropped my white-blood-cell count to zero, I began to look at fear and life a new way.
I’m not afraid to speak up, for me or anyone else. What have I got to lose? I have hope and dreams for the future — things will work out.
Now, at 53, I am a walking talking science project! I am back on track with weekly chemotherapy at a wonderful office for treatment close to my home, an amazing doctor, nurses and staff. I have been blessed with wonderful family, friends, my husband’s amazing caring school (Jupiter Farms) and the kindness of friends and strangers — from our church, St. Jude, and from my son’s workplace, Publix. Even my son’s school friends have rallied, telling him, “we’re praying for your Mom” — including his friend Johnny, who makes the most amazing bread!
I have two more months of weekly treatments. There are good days, bad days, happy and sad days; but through it all I know I have no control over any of it; I have learned to slow down and trust God, He will help me through it, and I feel free to start planning a new life.
I want to go fly fishing in Wyoming when this is over — it just sounds like fun to me! No stress — catch and release!
My amazing surgeons — Dr. John Corbitt in Atlantis and Dr. Luis A. Vinas in West Palm Beach — worked together to perform a skin-sparing, nipple-sparing surgery. All breast tissue and tumors were removed from the inside, and I have a small 1-inch tiny scar under each nipple. Four months after surgery, I am a 36C, and no one would ever know (from the outside) that I had a double mastectomy. Before surgery, I was 34B and never gave breast size or appearance a thought. My doctors gave me beauty and confidence when my world was falling apart.
I’m still waiting to see how my hair comes back in. Red? Blond? Curly? Straight?
There are two lessons in my story: One, ladies, get your mammograms. I didn’t have a mammogram for six years because there was no history of breast cancer on either side of my family. If my story can persuade one woman to get checked and not have to go through this, my life is well-lived.
Two, don’t look in the rear-view mirror — keep your eyes on the road ahead!
After this summer I am so thankful for all those who have gone above and beyond to help me and my family — total pure kindness — I can’t wait to pay it forward!
And I can’t wait to face the future without fear. I will speak up and speak out — knowing, above all, that my happiness, my beauty and my confidence belong to me.
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