So you have a little cancer. It had likely been there for a year. It was early stage and I was grateful for that but I have learned that there’s no such thing as having a “little cancer.” There’s treatable cancer, operable cancer, curable, and there’s the type of cancer that comes in swiftly, without warning and robs the world of some of the best people I have ever known.
It’s been nearly two years since that early November day in 2024 — braving rain and mud to cast my vote, as the world tilted on its axis. Nearly two years since I sat in a broom-closet sized room as my provider handed me a folder full of neatly arranged pamphlets and diagrams, along with recommendations for breast surgeons. She had even made me an appointment with one of them for the very next day.
I remember feeling sick, she was so kind and lovely. I liked her. I wanted to cry, but I didn’t. I sat there not hearing many of the words she was speaking, scared shitless and grateful I didn’t have to call my husband because he was there, sharing what was left of the oxygen in that tiny room.
I honestly still don’t remember much about that day, exempt that as I exited the room, I made eye contact with one of the nursing staff, she knew me well, as I have been getting regular mammograms for years, she offered to ride down in the elevator with me while my husband made his way to our car ahead of me, we needed help loading wheelchair my in the car, and the elevator at the imaging center is unique in that, it holds only two people at a time. I remember, just as the doors closed in front of us, in the safety of the tiny metal box, I grabbed ahold of her and sobbed deep into the fabric of her violet-blue scrubs.
Time has marched on, and regardless of the journey, one thing I learned about cancer is that it changed me. Not just physically, although I will always have my dot tattoos as my reminder of afternoons spent with the magic microwave. Machine #2 and I will be forever bonded, sort of like a lab partner you got stuck with but didn’t want.
October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, the time of year when everything we buy is branded, bottled, and draped in pink. And although I support those campaigns and appreciate the message behind them, breast cancer awareness is far more than a marketing strategy. To all of you out there fighting this fight, I see you. I’m with you. To anyone too afraid to get that mammogram, let my story empower you to take the lead on your health journey and embrace the smoosh.
I’ll never again have my blood pressure taken or blood drawn from my left arm, and my breasts, well, they are more like lumpy mashed potatoes now than ever before. But that’s okay and that’s not really the type of change I’m talking about anyway.
It was a mental shift, a new heightened awareness. Breast cancer, coupled with the onset of perimenopause for me, was the stone that caused a ripple and ignited my desire for more. More time, more adventure, more intention, more joy.