Moms Don’t Get Sick

November 14th will forever be the day we found out I had cancer. It’s one of those memories that plays on repeat in my mind. If I close my eyes, I can bring myself back to that night when I was supposed to sleep with all this new information about what was happening inside my body. I was supposed to lay my head down on my pillow knowing that my lump was not nothing, like I had been told before, but was trying to kill me. I was sent home to continue my life till the next appointment with cancer spreading in my chest like wild fire. I desperately wanted to remove my breast right then and there. I would wait five long months till I got the call that my surgery had been scheduled…I was finally removing the cancer.

I have never thought of my double mastectomy as losing my breast. I had loved ones concerned that it would be a huge adjustment or a hit to my womanhood. But to me, my breasts were just a small causality to removing this nasty disease that had completely, for lack of a better word, fucked up my life. I have had several panic attacks just knowing that the cancer was simply living its best life and I, myself, could not remove it. I had begged my husband to add “at home mastectomy” to his resume and was denied every time. I wanted them gone.

When I had my last round of intense chemotherapy, I was overjoyed to know the next step was to remove the beast. I even had a “Tata to my Tatas” party. I invited all my close friends to a local restaurant where we said “so long suckers”. We were appropriately dressed in our pinks with pink ribboned balloons and boob shaped sugar cookies. I found myself in a room filled with people who were going to love me with or without breasts, they just wanted me to stay alive. My boobs had fed three children. I got to hold each baby close to me and share something so special with them. They did exactly what they were meant to do. I went from seeing them as giving food and life to my children to trying to take mine. I hated taking off my shirt, washing them in the shower, or seeing them in the mirror. I hated sleeping on my side and feeling my tumor dig into my ribs. I was conscious of them constantly, to a point where I thought I might go insane.

As I held on tightly with what was left of my sanity, I drove the hour long car ride with my husband to the hospital. I took in the last few hours with a tumor quietly spreading cancer throughout my body. I walked into that surgery in celebration, which caught most of the people I interacted with off guard. Here I was, a 28 year old woman who was thrilled to have her breast removed and be completely flat. The fear of surgery would set in a bit when Sam looked at me and asked if I wanted to be buried or cremated…when he saw the look on my face he quickly added there’s never a good time to ask that question. I hadn’t considered not making it off the operation table but nothing like my matter of fact husband to remind me of the small but possible outcome.

The last thing I remember before surgery was being wheeled into the operation room and seeing the giant lights hanging from the ceiling. A mask was lowered onto my face which began the best nap of my life. With inflammatory breast cancer, my cancer is also spreading through a rash in my skin meaning my double mastectomy was not just my breast, but a large portion of my skin. I woke up to a scar from armpit to armpit and my skin was removed just before the point of needing a skin graft. My loving husband leaned in and whispered how much he loved me and how proud he was of me and I replied with more drugs now.

Two hours, a nap, and a large amount of pain medication later, I opened my eyes and I felt free. I literally and figuratively had such a weight lifted from my chest. It was gone. This tumor that had been living on my chest for over a year was finally gone. As I ran my hand across my chest, I noticed how wonderfully flat I was. I no longer had to look or feel a swollen, dimpled breast covered in a rash that screamed count your days. It was replaced with three surgical drains and a scar as long as my hair used to be. Most people would moan in horror at the monster they had become but I would take this Frankenstein’s monster body over what I had before any day. I looked over at Sam who was sleeping next to me in an awkward hospital chair and couldn’t help but get teary eyed. We had been through so much in such a short time but we were finally one step closer to the end of this.

My surgeon came to visit me the next day with the opening line “did you get the license plate of the mac truck that hit you??”. At that moment, it was a terrible joke because I did in fact feel like I had been mauled by a bear or hit by an 18 wheeler. But it was no bear or truck, it was the man standing in front of me with the silly smile who I wanted to curse at for the pain. I ignored my natural instinct of giving him the finger due to the fact that this man was working hard to save my life. He would go on to explain he had taken as much skin as he could to hopefully get clear margins. He had removed 15 lymph nodes from my right armpit and a handful from my left. I was left with three surgical drains and heavy duty stitches to make a grown man queasy. I was now sporting a very sexy surgical bra to keep my insides from becoming outsides and a slight hunchback from the skin on my chest being so tight. With all that said, it was the best I had felt in five long months.

Now began the waiting, I was sent home with my care instructions and the “we will call you in a day or two” with the pathology report. My breasts were gone but was the cancer? I prayed harder than I had in months that I would receive the call that I was a miracle patient and was cancer free. I would be written about in books gushing about my journey. She was beautiful, healed like a goddess and had an ass that didn’t quit. Unfortunately that’s not how the phone call went exactly. My amazing surgeon had managed to get clear margins of skin on my chest but though my breast had shown signs that the chemo was working on the outside my insides were still covered in cancer. I had removed large amounts of lymph nodes but the disease had spread further than we got to. Now, it wasn’t the cancer free call I had hoped for but my oncologist said to me “98 percent of your cancer is gone and all that’s left is to mop up the rest”. I could mop. I will mop till the cows come home if it means we are on our way to remission.

I was two boobs, 21 lymph nodes, and 98 percent of cancer down. I was as cut up as I had ever been in my life but I felt stronger than ever. This cancer can take my boobs but I refuse for it to take who I am. I learned from my hair that losing something that plays a large part in your external identity, does not take away who you are as a person. I may look like a giant baby now but I am still me even if I have to squint a bit to see her.