My Cancer Story: Part One
On April 13, I went for a breast biopsy to test a lump I’d found back in January. Thinking I’d get out of there unscathed with news of nothing more than a benign mass, I felt confident, like I was going through the motions to prove my overall excellent health triumphant.
“It’s probably just a scare,” I thought.
As I sat in the biopsy room with Dr. Lisa Bellin, the breast specialist, I picked up on a much different—sober—energy, I sat stunned and fuzzy, as she told me she was nearly certain it was cancer. In that moment, I cried the only tears I’d cry for several weeks to come.
Two days after that emotional biopsy, I received a call from a kind and direct Dr. Bellin conveying her proven hunch. Her voice was low and matter of fact, “it’s cancer.”
Damn.
In the coming weeks, I’d stay comfortably numb in an extra busy-bee-hopped-up-on coffee kind of way. Hell, I was fighting, fleeing, and freezing all at once. The shock of such news kicked it all up in a swirl of defenses.
You know those moments in life that usher in new realities? They catalyze an overhaul you may or may not have wanted or expected? It’s that threshold where the life you’ve known will undoubtedly never be the same.
This was that.
Thankfully, God orchestrated the most incredible medical and support team around me in a matter of days. I knew they wanted to move fast, but I didn’t know just how fast that would be. On Wednesday, May 26th, I underwent a double mastectomy with reconstruction at St. Thomas Hospital West in Nashville, TN.
Due to family history of breast cancer on both sides and the recent news of a genetic mutation I’d tested positive for, all parties involved suggested I go this route to decrease my already high chances of future breast cancer.
Hot tears streamed down my face as I left my sister, mom, and husband in the family waiting room the morning of surgery. I was finally thawing out as I made my way back to pre-op.
Thankfully, it was only about 2 hours from then until the anesthesiologist led me down the path to a gloriously unconscious place. I stayed there until 10am the next morning when I awoke to a jarring line of questioning I’d memorize over the next two days: What is your name? Date of birth? Pain level on a scale of 1-10?
Both surgeries lasted about 5 hours. For the most part, they were successful, praise God.
Fast forward to today: I’ve spent the last two weeks slowly recovering at home. It’s been one of the hardest things I’ve ever experienced in my life. Even with drugs. However, the love, prayers, meals, texts, email, stories, flowers, and overall healing energy felt from friends and family have been overwhelming in the best sense of the word.
It’s been a picture of just how palpably healing our human connection is.
For this I am grateful beyond words and you will never know how sustaining this has been for my weary and fearful heart, mind, and body—every step of the way.
I’ve grappled with whether or not to share this news on the blog and social media. My ego does’t want to come off contrived or attention-seeking, you know? And yet, as an Enneagram 4, it’s quite painful to sit in the space of my story’s silence. Like Maya Angelou said, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” I’ve felt a ping of that for sure.
Also, I wish I’d known more about the delicate complexities of breast cancer going into it. Hopefully, I can be illuminating on some level for those who may be up against a similar beast. This is just the onset of this journey as I’m committed to continued research and sharing.
And so I start by sharing this new chapter of my story with you because it is how I stay in integrity and alignment with the woman I’m becoming. It’s a chrysalis for sure—and one that I’m finding unexpected joy and purpose in.
I hope and pray that as I continue to share bits of this health journey with you, it will unlock a safe space for you to be honest, ask questions, and hopefully learn alongside me as I continue to advocate for my health, and that of other women choosing to do the same.
My heart is full knowing that I’m not alone on this journey. Not only that, but I’m not in control. There is something bigger, greater, and supremely Loving steering the ship.