back to the beginning
I'm 12 days out from my surgery, and not much changed today. So, I'm going to continue with the story that got me to where I am right now.
In September 1988, my Mom died. Though she had a left breast mastectomy, the cancer spread quickly and was in her lymph nodes.
My oldest brother is my half-brother (in semantics only). After our Mom died, he went to live with his father. In less than a year, my Dad, J, and I lost two of the important people in our lives. My family was fractured.
I don't remember a lot about my Mom. Many of my "memories" are the result of family stories and home movies that feel like memories.
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At this point, I'm going to fast forward quite a bit because the story of the years between losing my Mom and the beginning of my relationship with cancer is not the purpose of this blog.
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As I grew up, I was constantly given warnings.
"You have to be careful. Your Mom may have had cancer when she was pregnant with you"
"You can't take any medications with estrogen, because your Mom's cancer was estrogen-fed"
"You have a 50% higher chance of developing cancer"
"You are so much like your Mom, you need make sure you're on top of your health"
As a teenage girl, I was under the impression that I would end up with cancer. There was never the question of if or when. I knew it was certain.
Because of this preconception, every little pain or bump would send me into an emotional tailspin. The first instance that I remember is, I found a small lump in my left armpit. I would have been upset by this normally, but the fact that it was in the location that my Mom had found her cancer made me a complete wreck. I didn't know who to talk to. I was terrified and didn't have a female figure in my daily life that I could reach out to. At this point in my life, it was just my Dad and I. I believe I was in high school and I think J was in college, not that I would've talked to him about an issue like that anyway. I called my Aunt, my Mom's sister, in northern Ohio. I sobbed and panicked and told her all about what I had found. She talked to me calmly and quelled my fears. She told me that she would talk to my Dad for me.
My Dad acted quickly and got me an appointment to have the lump checked out. Within a day or two, I had my first (of many) ultrasounds. I don't remember a lot about the appointment other than I had a doctor that was Russian (maybe?) and I was terrified.
The bump was a swollen lymph node. Nothing to be concerned about, but also my first experience with one of the procedures that would control my life and elicit body-sweats and panic attacks for the next twenty years.