The Irony of Going Pink this October

My grandmother had breast cancer before I was born.  She is still alive today - about to tackle her 97th birthday.

I didn’t hold her hand when she was diagnosed.  I didn’t remind her she was beautiful when she lost her hair, or her breast.  I wasn’t there to talk to her about surviving.

What I do know is she lived through a mastectomy and treatment. And she was embarrassed about her scars.

That is as close as I have ever been to a personal experience with breast cancer.

She did it all without me.  No question, she is a survivor.

So, when my sweet, wonderful friend Rachel of A Southern Fairy Tale asked me to write a guest post for her Blogging for Boobs Campaign (to raise money and awareness for Breast Cancer) this month, I didn’t hesitate.  I am proud of my grandmother.  I’m proud she survived and thrived.  She has taught me a lot about strength and character.

So it was with nothing short of bitter irony that I confess my own experience.  I was writing the post for Rachel one Thursday night.  I paused in my writings to tuck my little guy into bed.  He always asks me (or his Daddy) to ‘lay down for jus’ one minnit’.  Who can say ‘no’ to that?

But as I folded myself into his twin bed, I bumped my chest (yes - even the smallest chested woman can get in their own way sometimes) and it HURT.  Not a little, but a lot.

I touched my hand to the pain.  A small lump nearly bit my fingers.  I snatched my hand away as though I had been burned, but instantly went back again - my fingers probing to the left, to the right.  Was I sure I felt something?  Yes. Maybe it wouldn’t be there if I let go and tried again. Wrong.  My right hand went back to my left breast again and again.  It never changed.

I furrowed my brow, thought, “didn’t I hear something about ‘if it hurts, it is just a cyst’ so no big deal?”  I was sure I had but figured the Internet would be a good source.

So I went to Google and typed:

Does Breast Cancer Hurt?

The very first response said something like, “I had heard that painful lumps in the breast were always non-cancerous, so I ignored it.  But I wish I hadn’t.  I had cancer and who knows if things would have been different if I had gone to the Doctor right away.”

I try not to be dramatic about stuff like this, but figured that was simply a sign to get it checked out.

I went to the Doctor that week.

The appointment happened just like I imagined it would, at first.  I brought my kids. (I had no choice)  They were crazy.  My Doctor was fantastic and managed to conceal everything from their curious eyes.

She felt to the right. Nothing.

She felt to the left.  She moved all over.  And finally said, “now where are you feeling the lump?” And I instantly thought, “see, of course I imagined it - it is just like trying to get your car to make that noise in front of the mechanic.”

So, I said, “Right around here, I figured you wouldn’t be able to find it.”

And she said…..

“Well, I actually feel three.”

Well, now, I wasn’t expecting that.

She told me to schedule a mammogram (I’m set for this Wednesday - I hear it is A LOT of fun!) But she did also say she was sure I would be fine.  The lumps are ’small and moveable’.

I trust her. But she did say to get tested.  Soon.

I can’t figure out if I am worried or not.  I keep telling myself not to because - how would that help?

But it is still a strange feeling. An unknown feeling.

And ironic.

The Pink Prayer Book

A newly released book captures the thoughts, prayers, hopes and love of breast cancer survivors as well as the family - the mothers, daughters, sisters, granddaughters, brothers, husbands and friends who have surrounded those battling through this disease.

I was honored to contribute to this book in honor of my grandmother, a 96 year old woman who fought breast cancer - and won- more than 40 years ago.

Learn more about the Pink Prayer Book here.