One out of every eight women have breast cancer. I am that one. The story starts at a cellular level. Somewhere along my life’s timeline, a single lobular cell in my right breast decided to go rogue. I imagine that cell, along with its faulty DNA, stealthily going about its mission over time to multiply with the sole purpose of obliterating my healthy cells. My lobular cells no longer function as originally intended. Instead, it used my own body’s resources and grew into a cancerous mass, warping the tissue deep within my breast. Why? I don’t know.
Shortly after New Year’s Day, I got the biopsy confirmation diagnosis of what I had already known. “Jaide, you have cancer. Invasive lobular carcinoma.” I was gutted. I got the news 25 minutes into my work lunch break and somehow found a way to pack that news and all the emotions involved “away” and plow through the last four hours of work.
Silently, during the preceding 3 weeks, I anguished over the foreign 4cm lump and thickening in my right breast. I had never felt anything like that in my body before. How could I have missed it? How did I not notice the retracting, dimpling and asymmetry that was now so obvious to me and to others? When did the change happen? My primary Doctor saw it at first glance during my urgent appointment three days after I discovered it. A week after that, at my diagnostic mammogram, the radiologist tech knew exactly where to put the marker before even touching me. “Oh honey, how long has that been there?” Their concerned faces validated what I suspected, something was very wrong.
Those weeks of last minute Doctor appointments, mammograms, ultrasounds and eventually a needle core biopsy, were so lonely. The “not knowing” preyed on my fears. My fears birthed more worry and anxiety. I tried to remain positive because statistically, 85% of masses are benign, right? I teetered between hyping myself up for the worst and trying to dismiss it all as “probably nothing.” There was a lot of waiting. Waiting for more orders, insurance authorizations, appointment openings (during the Holidays) and waiting on word from the Radiologist and Pathologist. Each step towards the next appointment brought me closer but not to the answer that would justify all of my fears. While my husband and kids slept peacefully, my nights were filled with medical researching. I wanted to know as much as I could. I needed to map out all the scenarios.
The waiting sucked. I threw myself into work and all the holiday celebrations. Christmas, my daughter’s 10th Birthday, New Year’s eve and the first few days of 2020 came and went. It was all I could do to not go insane. Car drives alone after dropping off the kids to school or on my way to work at night were the toughest. I’d break down in tears, praying in disbelief that all this was actually happening. Those grief filled moments were not because of what could happen to me but what cancer and the treatment meant for my family. Their life, at least for the upcoming months would be about my cancer. Or did it have to? Could I be mom and work through chemotherapy? Could I schedule radiation treatments in between my school drop offs/pick-ups and my weekend night shifts?! I desperately wanted a firm diagnosis and a plan so that I could plan.
While waiting for the final biopsy results, I confided in those closest to me. Once the results were in, I leaned into others as well. What I thought would be imposing burdensome news for them became a blessing to me. Those family, friends and coworkers have shown me so much compassion, encouragement and love. Whether it’s been through prayers or reaching out via encouraging texts, emails, or a phone call, I feel supported. I feel lifted. I no longer feel alone. I’m not even scared. I have this overwhelming peace that is unexplainable. Actually, when I think about it, it is explainable. I am loved. Along with my faith, that love gives me the endurance, courage and hope needed as I battle cancer.
So here I am with breast cancer. My fears, worries and anxiety all validated with an official diagnosis. Coincidently, the diagnosis came right before a big family reunion trip to Hawaii. My parent’s celebrated their 50th Wedding anniversary and we surprised them with a vow renewal. Being surrounded by my family was exactly what I needed. I slept well every night. I laughed. I played. I celebrated. It was wonderful.
This inside glimpse of my personal journey is for others who are going through this very same thing. This is also for the family and friends supporting their loved one through her breast cancer. Though our cancer journeys may be different, you can know with confidence that you are not alone. We’ll walk through this together.