Words & Coffee: Breast Cancer Warrior

I will be forever grateful to the doctors at Mayo because, although they frequently noted, “You’re too young; this is almost certainly not cancer” and “It would be very unusual for it to be cancer when you’re young and pregnant”, etc., they still took the time to send me from primary physician to ultrasound to biopsy when I found a lump during the 3^rd trimester of my pregnancy. They were thorough when they could have easily disregarded it as just another odd pregnancy symptom.  

Though 1 in 8 women will develop breast cancer, the risk of it developing in your thirties is just .4%* and its even more rare to be diagnosed during pregnancy.** I am used to being a bit of a unicorn in some ways, but usually it’s something more pleasant, like having all sons after having only sisters, or being both ginger and blue-eyed (interestingly, we make up just .17% of the population***). Being a rarity in the cancer world seemed somehow more frightening, especially at first. I didn’t know how to react when I first received the phone call from the doctor:

“The tumor tested positive for breast cancer.”

I think I was in shock. “Whoooo.” It was more the rush of air from my lungs than any audible word. 

“How are you doing?”

In my little Midwest Nice voice, I managed, “Good” because that’s what I always said.

I almost heard a smile in his voice. “I’m sure you’re not, but that’s okay. You may feel a lot of different things in the days to come, and all of that is normal. Do you want to ask any questions at this time, or would you rather I tell you a little more about what we’ve found?”

I let him tell me a bit more because my voice had disappeared. He cautioned that he didn’t want to overwhelm me and that there would be a nurse calling to set up an appointment with an oncologist soon. The oncologist would be able to answer my questions and get me started on a treatment path. When I hung up, all I could do was sink to the floor and call, “Eli, help!” As always, my husband came running over.

It was a terrifying paradox to imagine both life and death being created inside me at the same time. I couldn’t help but imagine the cancer as black sludge slinking through my tissue. Pictures that I’d seen of oil spills in the ocean crossed my mind. Here I was minding my own business, judging myself to be a fairly healthy person (and heck, I was growing a tiny human again; wasn’t my body supposed to be strong?), when a dangerous force that I couldn’t control slipped in. This lack of control was also frightening-- not that I’m a control freak, but the idea that I could make good lifestyle choices and still have something like this happen at age 32 threw me off. Although friends and doctors cautioned me against this line of thought, I still couldn’t help but wonder, “What did I do wrong?” I forced myself to a more positive line of thinking, taking each day one step at a time. This has been helpful, but cancer is an emotional rollercoaster, and some days are better than others. 

The oncologist insisted on induction and forbid me from breastfeeding-- two things that alone were tough to deal with and combined felt disheartening, but I knew it was for my own safety and the baby's. He also answered all of my questions, explained treatment options clearly, and confidently told me that I’d get through this. “You’re stubborn,” he said. “My stubborn patients do well.”

After Corey was born, there was a whirlwind week of testing to determine how far the cancer had spread. This was the most difficult time because I’d been warned of how aggressive the tumor was, and any time I dared to research online, I was greeted with the heartbreaking statistics that younger women most often were diagnosed with the worst and most advanced breast cancers and had the least promising prognoses. Did we catch it soon enough? Any slight headache or pain had me panicking. I took deep breaths and focused on my two kiddos and new baby. Family and friends were praying and sending me positive thoughts daily, all of which helped to keep me centered. Finally, we got probably the best news we could get in this situation: the cancer was localized to the left breast and hadn’t spread beyond one axillary lymph node.

Corey and me, strong together.

“It’s curable,” my oncologist said. “Yes, you will go through the treatment, and chemotherapy, surgery, radiation-- none of that will be easy, but you will finish it and go on with your life.”

It’s true. It won’t be an easy process. As I look ahead to months of aggressive chemotherapy to shrink an aggressive cancer, I can’t help but feel nervous and wish I wasn’t in these shoes. Still, I keep my mind tuned to what one of my nurses said after Corey’s delivery: 80% of how you feel is your mind set. In a way, this process may be like labor: each time, I relied on my own focus and breathing to reduce the pain, and, each time, I made it through just fine. I figure I can do other tough things, too. I will get through this, and I will hopefully be stronger for it.                                        

*Cafasso, Jacquelyn. “Everything you should know about breast cancer in your 20’s and 30’s.”

Healthline, 17 Sept. 2019, https://www.healthline.com/health/breast-cancer/breast-cancer-

20s-30s#prevalence-and-incidence

**Keyser, Erin, et. al. “Pregnancy-Associated Breast Cancer.” Reviews in Obstetrics and Gynecology,

            vol. 5, no. 2, 2012, https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3410508/.

***Smith, Sam Benson. “This is the rarest hair and eye color combination in humans.” Reader’s 

            Digest, https://www.rd.com/beauty/hair-eye-color-combination-rare/