Everywhere I looked, there were flowers. Huge arrangements on every surface. Immediately, I knew that something was terribly wrong. My mother walked into the room, and her face was filled with pain. I asked, "Where's Katie?" My baby sister had been enjoying a reckless youth at that time, and I just knew she was missing, hurt, gone. My mom said, "She's out, she's fine, it's not her. It's me. I have breast cancer."
These are the four words we most dread hearing from our mothers, our daughters, our sisters and friends. I can't even describe how it felt to hear them from my mother. I just couldn't breathe. I felt so many things: panic, dread, fear, anger, loss, helplessness. I remember wanting to run out of the house and just go do something. Fix it fast, rip it out, something. As it was, things were already in motion. My mother had already started her eight rounds of chemo, which would be followed by her mastectomy surgery, radiation, and bone marrow transplant. Writing the treatments in a list like that, it may not look like much, but it was a full year of pure hell and hard work and sickness and doubt. I still can't believe it, but my mother was so, so lucky. She made it. Fifteen years now. That's fifteen years of weddings, careers, grandchildren, friends, family, life. I will never stop being grateful that my mother is here to be a central part of my children's lives, to celebrate every holiday, and yes, even drive me crazy. That's her job, and I'm damn glad she's here to do it.
It's October, and I can't imagine that there's anyone who doesn't know that it's breast cancer awareness month. But, if you're like my mother was, maybe you think you're not at risk. Her gynecologist never even performed a breast exam on her, until she came in with a lump large enough that she found it herself, accidentally. Let me say that again: Her doctor never gave her a breast exam. Lord, I hope there aren't any quacks like that around anymore, but if there are, may I suggest you report that asshole to the AMA and whoever else will listen. That doctor was an idiot, yes, but my mother should have recognized that and left immediately (sorry mom, but I know you agree). She just thought she was safe and didn't need the exam anyway. It's a frustratingly common misconception.
You know those risk factors? Age, family history, genetics, race, menstrual history, smoking, obesity, breastfeeding and pregnancy history, etc.? More than 70% of women with breast cancer have no risk factors apart from being a woman growing older each year. That's it. One in eight of us will get breast cancer. I don't care if you run marathons and don't have a single family member who has breast cancer- if you're a woman, you're at risk, period.
Every woman who graduated from high school with me is 40 now (and then some). Ladies, go get your mammogram. I had my first at 35 because of my mother's diagnosis, and it's maybe two minutes of mild discomfort. If you've had kids, you've been through a lot worse. Actually, if you've had kids and nursed them, you can probably tuck your boobs into your pants, and you won't even blink at a mammogram. Go do it, make your friends and sisters and cousins do it. Care for yourselves as well as you care for your children and families. Try to value yourself as much as your daughter does- you are everything to her. Because hearing those four terrible words from your mother is a piece of cake compared with saying them to your child.
