My breast cancer journey actually started when I was in utero—seriously. My mom was diagnosed when she was roughly four months along with me, and I was delivered via C-section three months early so my mom could start treatment. This was back in 1976 when a premature baby weighing 4.5 pounds didn’t exactly have the best prognosis, so it was somewhat of a miracle that my mom and I both survived.
My mom never had a recurrence, but her breast cancer was a constant in her life until she discovered she was BRCA gene-positive (I’m negative) and underwent a prophylactic mastectomy for the breast that had not been removed 35 years earlier. (Things have changed over the past few decades and most mastectomies performed today involve both breasts for the sake of post-surgical symmetry, minimizing the risk of future breast cancers, and most importantly, peace of mind for women who are at high risk.)
I saw how anxious she would get even before she scheduled her annual screening. I saw how impossible it was for her to shop for bras and bathing suits. I saw her drawer filled with prostheses. I saw how self-conscious she was about the hollow appearance of her armpit since she had some many lymph nodes removed during her mastectomy. (She NEVER wore sleeves shorter than just above her elbow.) I remember coming home from camp one summer and my mom was wearing a post-surgical bra because she had another reconstruction on her affected side and a breast lift on the other. I remember several failed attempts to reconstruct her nipple. I vividly remember being 5 and putting one balloon under my shirt and saying, “Look, Mommy… I’m like you.” (This makes me cry every time I think about it to this day.)
Then I saw how distressed my mom got when it was time for me to start getting annual screenings at 25. At this point I was living in NYC, and my mom was still using the same New York-based medical team, so she would come up for her appointments and we started making an event of it. Essentially we’d get our mammos, get the “all clear,” and go get drunk at the Plaza or the Pierre. When I moved back to Florida we didn’t go for screenings together anymore, but she still wouldn’t sleep a wink between the day I told her I scheduled my mammogram and the day I went to my breast surgeon for the results.
Fast-forward to July 2020 when I went for my annual MRI—which was at the height of the summer COVID surge and when I was at the height of my pandemic anxiety. The radiologist spotted a suspicious mass that my breast surgeon wanted to revisit in January. I went for the follow-up on January 26 and the summer mass was fortunately gone, but there was a new 7mm mass in my right breast. This time, my breast surgeon immediately ordered a biopsy.
The first step was attempting an ultrasound-assisted biopsy a week later, but the radiologist wasn’t able to pinpoint the mass with enough accuracy. I had to wait another week for an MRI-assisted biopsy at the hospital. Then I had to wait another week for the appointment with my breast surgeon for the results.
On February 25, my breast surgeon confirmed I have invasive ductal carcinoma (the most common type of breast cancer). It’s 100% estrogen- and progesterone-receptor positive. There are a lot of other numbers and metrics, including those that measure its aggressiveness (mine is very low). On paper, I have the best type of breast cancer possible. In fact, it was caught so early that a mammogram wouldn’t have even picked it up. I am eternally grateful to my breast surgeon who insisted on such vigilant screening all of these years.
I was offered two options: A lumpectomy with radiation, or a double mastectomy with reconstruction. (For the record, a double mastectomy is rarely medically necessary, and a majority of high-risk women opt for this significantly more intensive approach simply for peace of mind.) There was no decision for me to make. A mastectomy was my only option because I can’t go through the stress and anxiety of mammos, MRIs and doctor’s appointments every six months for the rest of my life.
The next week-and-a-half was a blur… I met with two plastic surgeons (hated the first, loved the second and committed to him on the spot). I had a multi-modality clinic (MMC) appointment where I met with a radiation oncologist, medical oncologist, health psychologist and registered dietician. I met with my breast surgeon again so she could confirm that a mastectomy was indeed my “final answer,” her surgical coordinator called the plastic surgeon’s office and we scheduled surgery for April 13. It would have been sooner if I didn’t have to get my second COVID vaccine on March 30.
And just like that, after a month of running around for ultrasounds, MRIs and doctors’ appointments, all I had to do was wait. I’ll have to go for pre-op bloodwork the week before, but in the meantime I’m keeping myself busy by making sure my clients are covered for the few weeks I anticipate being “OOO” and of course ensuring things keep humming along on the home front. (This has been one of the most stressful parts for me.) Of course I am also stocking up on the gear and supplies I’ll need for my recovery—but I’ll save that for another post. (A big shout out to TheBrobe for sending me a big-old package of post-surgical essentials I wouldn’t have ever known I needed!) I’m also lucky to have a dear friend who’s a few months ahead of me on this journey. Without her, I wouldn’t have even known where to start.
Of course I’ve kept my family and close friends in the loop since the beginning. I knew I’d share the news on social media at some point but I struggled to find the right words. Once I found them, I “came out” on Facebook earlier this week. I have been blown away by the tremendous outpouring of support and well-wishes, especially from friends and acquaintances I haven’t connected with in years, or even decades.
No one ever wants to get breast cancer, but I have to admit that part of me is relieved. Once I go through the motions, I’ll never have to lose sleep over scheduling a screening or waiting for radiology results. But most importantly, I AM GOING TO BE FINE.
I know you come here for beauty tips and product recommendations but raising awareness about breast cancer has always been a mission of mine. If I can promote open conversation or convince just one of you to get screened or talk to your doctor about your level of risk, my job here is done.
