I recently got a letter saying I was due for a mammogram. I was a bit puzzled since my mammogrammable parts have been somewhat diminished since my last appointment of that nature. But I am nothing if not an obedient patient so I trudged into the Breast Imaging Center and started to fill out one of those ever-present, eternally long forms that doctors and their staff members spend hours concocting so that they can garner already submitted, duplicated information to deposit into their files of already gathered data.
After finishing the form, I picked up a women’s magazine to help me while away the time. I am always amazed that women’s publications never run out of things to say each month. I mean, how many ways can there be to write about losing five pounds, applying mascara correctly, keeping your man, and making perfect Eggs Benedict?
I mean, really.
I was at last delivered from the magazine collection when a perky attendant called my name and led me to a row of dressing rooms where she handed me my very own key and told me that I would be in Dressing Room E.
I removed the specified items of clothing, donned the fetching paper gown which opened in the front (where else?) and joined the other waiting women who were flipping through yet more magazines. I decided to give myself a break from the women’s magazines and picked up a Newsweek instead, only to find that they were interviewing a fabulously beautiful and wealthy actress who was dressed in such a way as to make it quite plain that she has never had a bilateral mastectomy.
As I tossed the magazine down to furtively study the women waiting with me, I found my attention drawn to the underlying feeling of tension in the room. I noticed gum chewed too fast. A foot twitching to a nervous internal beat. Anxious shifts of a body. Frequent flipping of magazine pages that weren’t really being read.
And it occurred to me. These women were in the same place I was two years ago. They were waiting in a state of dread. Some of them may have just discovered a lump and were there for a diagnostic mammogram. Others may have had a history of breast cancer in the family and needed a mammogram every six months like I used to. They were just waiting and wondering if this was the moment the other shoe would drop.
I know from long experience that there are very few women who sit in a mammogram waiting room perfectly calm and at peace. Most of the women there have not had a cancer diagnosis and the very word cancer looms large over their lives. It takes root inside their imaginations. It fills their thoughts until they feel like their heads might explode.
You know what I really wanted to do?
I wanted to stand up and get their attention. I wanted to announce, “No matter what today’s mammogram reveals, you will be okay. If it shows a suspicious mass and you are sent for a biopsy or an MRI and the result is positive? You will be okay. Yes, it will be one of the worst days of your life and yes, you will cry long and hard. But you will get through it with more grit and grace than you ever knew you had. And one day you will be where I am today, two years past diagnosis. Today, cancer is just a footnote in my life; it’s not anywhere near being my whole story. I’ve been through it. I’ve lost my breasts. I’ve gotten new ones. I’m comfortable with that. I’m happy with where I am and believe it or not, I rarely even think about the cancer or the mastectomy or the surgeries anymore. I made it through. And you will, too!”
But my imaginary speech remained in my head as the technician called my name and ushered me into the room with the mammogram equipment. As I greeted her I added, “I’m really curious as to why I even need to have a mammogram since I’ve had a bilateral mastectomy.”
She stared at me in amazement. “You didn’t have a single mastectomy?”
I said, “Nope.”
She said, “Is your doctor aware that you had a double mastectomy?”
I replied, “Well, he’s the one who did the surgery!”
She “hmmm-ed” over that one for a long moment and then ushered me back out to the waiting room so she could make a quick call and see what’s going on. Three minutes later, she told me I was free to go. (Turns out the insurance company had automatically—and mistakenly– made the appointment for me.)
I went back into Dressing Room E, took off my fabulous fashionable gown, and put my shirt back on. As I did, I glanced briefly at my mastectomy scars and reminded myself that there is no buxom blonde in any magazine who can hold a candle to the beauty of cancer caught early and dealt with decisively.
I took one last glance at the line up of ladies still waiting their turn, still nervously giving a little start every time a door was opened and a name was called. And as I left, I found myself feeling a little like a senior stateswoman, a Cancer War veteran, a walking testimony to the fact that a cancer diagnosis isn’t the end of anything. Instead, I’ve discovered that cancer is a doorway to a beginning, it’s a doorway to a unique adventure that brought out the best of who I am and introduced me to the person I never would have become without it.
Despite the visions of perfection I’d seen in the magazines I’d been reading, I was reminded once again that real women don’t come airbrushed, perfectly packaged and presented on glossy pages. Real women have scars of many different varieties. And real women have discovered that there is beauty in those scars because while scars signify suffering, they also signify recovery.
Scars signify that healing has happened. Scars signify that life goes on.
I am grateful to be a real woman. I am grateful for the scars.
(Postscript: While I’m thankful that overall breast cancer survival rates continue to increase, there may be a woman reading these words who has received a breast cancer diagnosis with a grim outcome. Cheery, inspiring words are not really what you want to hear because they do nothing but add to the load of grief and fear you are already carrying. For you, my breast cancer sister, I have no words. I only have tears and compassion and long distance hugs. My heart is with you. May grace pave the path you walk.)
Scars…I like to call them “beauty marks” for me and “warrior tatoos” for my sweet son, but no matter what you call them, they have a story to tell, dont they?
I was trying to read back to two years ago to get the specifics of your cancer, I’m a bit nosey like that!, because I’m always interested in size (mine was 4 cm), stage (2), hormone receptors(higly, highly estrogen positive, HER2 negative), etc. (Breast cancer has so many varieties, I also like to say that I have breast cancer cousins…and breast cancer sisters!). But since I cant seem to find the history tab (what can I say…I’m tired!), I’ll just be nosey and ask!
Are your visits to the oncologist because of a medicine that you’re still taking? I hope you dont mind me asking, but I just had to change from arimidex to tamoxifen because of the horrible side effects, and it would be nice to share stories with a sister!
Beverly,
I certainly understand your interest in knowing the background of someone else’s breast cancer since you’re on the same journey yourself and no, I sure don’t mind you asking!
I don’t have all that much interesting to tell; it was very early stage, no chemo, no radiation, no Tamoxifen. The double mastectomy was the only treatment. I chose to go double because I’ve been having scares and biopsies and false alarms for fifteen years and was just ready to get it all over with, even though the cancer was only on one side.
My most recent trip to the oncologist was just a general followup visit; I will need to go back every year for follow up. I also need to do monthly checks especially of the skin along my scar because (this was news to me) even though I’ve had a mastectomy, I can still get breast cancer again since there is no way way to get all the breast tissue during a mastectomy.
Blessings to you on your journey.
You are amazing!!!!!
Ann, and you are so thoughtful to be always such an encouragement to our family!
Becky, thank you for this post…lessons to help me know what defines me. Also, the colonoscopy will be a breeze. Ask your doc if you can take the pills rather than the liquid…helps a lot with the whole prep thing…I have to have one every 3 years at this point and started in my 40s. You’ll just sleep right through it and wake up rather refreshed!
Guerrina, Sigh. The doctor already sent me home with the prescription for the liquid. I think my biggest problem with the whole deal is that they want me to drink part of my liquid at 11 pm. I said, “Well, I’m usually asleep by 9!” They helpfully said I could set an alarm and get up at 11 to take it. Wasn’t that so nice of them? 🙂
Glad to hear you’re keeping up with yours; I’m assuming you have some sort of past history that requires them that frequently. The doctor said I’m at higher risk because of my breast cancer so I guess it’s a good thing I’m getting going on it–even though I’m only 6 weeks past turning 50!
Fine piece of writing by a very fine person. So proud of you!
Deb
Deb, Sarah and I were just talking again yesterday about you and mom’s visit after my mastectomy and what a great nurse you were to me, even to the point of cheerily emptying the lovely drains. You dealt with my throwing up and my crying and my pain-hazed ramblings. You and mom cooked for us and cleaned for us and showed us what a loving family is all about. Thanks again, so very much! Love you!
I am grateful too that your surgery and recovery are a success, as I so enjoy reading your blog.
However, a lot of times, the Inspiring survivor speech does not go over well. These women are not just frightened about going through the real pain, weakness, helplessness that major surgery does to them, but also the time and scars that result. Also, deep down in their is the real fear that they do not survive the surgery and treatment and die a slow death that puts their family through the wringer. They do not want to get on that ride, and these days they know too many women who have.
I lost two dear neighbors on this journey. Their cancer did not disappear after their mastectomies and they and their families endured several years of constant cancer treatments, hospital stays, sadness, and yes, some joy too, but they lost their mothers/daughters way too soon,spending those last years in the world of medical treatments, hospitals, drugs and then planning for the funeral. That is the true fear of cancer.
Cath, thanks so much for your comment and for your excellent point, graciously stated. Since the survival rate of breast cancer has increased so much over the past couple of decades, most women who are diagnosed are told they can have their treatment and then plan on living a long life.
But as you stated, there is a small percentage of women who will be given the news that they have a much shorter time to live. And yes, inspiring survival speeches will do nothing to alleviate their grief and fear and the immensely overwhelming regret of leaving behind people they love way too soon.
As pastors, Steve and I try to always be aware of our words as we go into different situations with people having surgeries and facing health challenges. Part of that is due to the fact that when Sarah was in cancer treatment, different people said things to us (in an effort to be cheery and positive) that actually ended up making us feel worse. When people are facing their darkest hour, the last thing they need is a canned speech about how cheery and victorious they should feel.
So again, thank you for your comment and for making sure we never forget the other side of the breast cancer story.
Cath, I also wanted to add that their comment inspired me to go back into the post and add a post script. Thanks again!
I am a bit sensitive about this, Becky, because I went to a luncheon/rally that was just so insensitive. The woman I was with had everything go wrong with her treatment and her disease was a bully of one that just wasn’t going to be harnessed even. That cases like hers were not addressed and just waved off as he minority just hit me as so cruel. It was tough enough that she had to hear so many people tell her the uplifting stories about this and that person who also had breast cancer, but at least they were not in the cancer world. She did not live very long, and it was a very rough stretch for to make that finish line, as it was for their family. Those wonderful success stories just did not apply to her, nor did all of those spiritual successes that prayers achieved for others. For her it was a matter of doing the best she could and finding joys in the many things in her life even in such a storm, and such joys there were, and prayers for her and her loved ones to find such joys and solace around them and in themselves in those difficult times.
So I’m sorry if I sounded a bit sharp, Becky. You know I love your stuff.
Cath,
Well, I just want to thank you once again for opening my eyes to the other side of this issue and helping me to think about these sweet ladies who are having to deal with the worst of the worst kinds of diagnoses. I truly do appreciate your sensitivity.
This is such a beautiful post and it touched me very much. Hmm something I wonder but I have been to shy too ask. But what does your new breasts look like? Well maybe it is just because I am so young myself and I since I never had any who has been in those shoes like too, it is hard for me to imagine. Well I am sure your breasts look like other breast but the thing I am wondering if – if some stranger met you, would the person be able to tell that this is not your first pair, but your second? And the scars are the big or small? Sorry if too personal questions, and you don’t need to answer.
I don’t comment often, simply because mostly I just want to say I enjoy reading the posts, sometimes I feel like I learn something, sometimes they make me reflect. Greetings to rest of the clan and I am happy to be a part of this community. It is weird to think of I was 16 when I found the blog, now I am almost 22!
Trine, it’s always nice to hear from you whenever you sign in. Having a reader from Denmark is so much fun!
I’m glad you felt comfortable to ask your questions; since you don’t have anyone in your life who has gone through the breast cancer experience, I can certainly understand that you would have some questions.
Look for an email from me in the next day or two and we can talk about this some more; I will be happy to answer some of your questions.
Thanks again for commenting today!
Hi Becky, Admittingly I haven’t been reading much from your blog lately. That needs to change. I need to remember to check it out more often. Especially after reading something like this. “Beautifully” said.
Lynne, so nice to hear from you! I’m glad you stop by Smithellaneous occasionally and especially glad that you enjoyed this last post. Thanks for letting me know!
So happy to read your Post-Mam story!! So uplifting!!! and Perky!! Thanks for sharing. I remember that 2 yr ago report. How faithful is our God in the storms of this life. Safe in His boat! All is well! It is well with my soul!!
Love u all!!
va
Hi Virginia, It’s always great to see your name pop up here.
(For most of my readers who probably don’t know, Virginia attended the same church as we did during Sarah’s cancer treatment and since she is a nurse, she volunteered to come over a couple times a week to change the dressing on Sarah’s central line. It was a traumatic experience for all involved because Sarah’s skin was so sensitive that taking off the dressing required a lot of time and patient efforts accompanied by Sarah screeching at the top of her lungs. Virginia is a Very Special Woman in our book!)
Awesome! When I first began my journey into recovery from pain-killer addiction, I never thought I would be one of those “grateful addicts” but I am! The lessons learned in addiction AND in recovery make me grateful for the person I am today…for that person would never exist without those trials. the trails of losing a child and grieving inappropriately led me to a place of good and healing grieving and a place of wholeness from emptiness! The sun is always brighter after a storm no matter what kind it is. God has been gracious to me and my family through all of our trials. Thanks for sharing your stories, they help me deal with mine.
Lisa, Thanks for sharing YOUR story. What an inspiration you are to me!
Simply? I’m so very proud of you!
With Sincere Love and Respect, Sheri
Sheri, thank you,my friend.
After all this time, you would think I could no longer be amazed at your faith, your eloquence, and your just-slightly-snarky humor in the face of difficulty. Thanks for reminding me again how blessed I am to know you folks.
Gordon
Gordon, truthfully, the blessing is all ours. (And may I just say how delighted I am that a man actually reads this blog!)
THIS IS SO TRUE…i have been there, well almost, had a lumpectomy….but i can fully relate to your story….and may i add…I have spoken up in waiting rooms while women anxiously wait for their mammograms…I have shared my story, put the thing in perspective and i have said the same words…”.what ever the test results…you will be ok. cancer does not define you, it only is a speed bump in life. it actually makes you stop and smell the roses. ” and in most cases the faces lit up and smiles appeared and hopefully for a few women the wait was more bare-able….
Cindy, thanks for sharing your story with us–and also those ladies in the waiting room!
Becky, as always, you write so beautifully and eloquently. I manage a plastic surgery practice in Texas where breast reconstruction after mastecomy is (both fortunately and unfortunately) done routinely. (Fortunately – for women who receive the diagnosis, medicine is so advanced these days, and reconstructive options are excellent. Unfortuantely -I wish no woman ever had to hear the words “it’s cancer”.)
How I wish newly diagnosed cancer patients could have the benefit of your wisdom and glimpse into the future. Life after cancer CAN be rich and full and wonderful and rewarding. But the very mention of the “C” word introduces a new level and kind of fear for most patients. The grace with which you have faced your journey is inspiring, not only from the medical perspective, but more importantly, from a spiritual one. Resting in the Lord, trusting His goodness, and believing His plan for your life is GOOD are critical keys in any woman’s recovery.
Thank you for this post. With your permission, I’m going to print it and share it with our patients. Hopefully your words will hit their mark in the fearful hearts of women beginning their own journeys and provide a measure of comfort and hope.
Blessings to you (and all the Smith clan),
Jenn
Jenn, I would be delighted and honored if you would share the post; I love the thought of being able to help women during their cancer journey. (Only request is that you include blog site address with the post.) Thanks for checking in!
I can relate so much about sitting and waiting. My mom’s sister died of breast cancer in 1994. She was only 43 years old. Ever since then, It has been sheer terror for me every time my mom has her mammogram. Once she got a “call back” — about 13 years ago. They made her wait one week before she could come back in and during that time we were both beside ourselves. I was only 18 at the time — I was thankful that I was adult but it was still very scary. They re-scanned her and then we waited together in the back waiting room. They called her back to “give her the details” and I don’t think I took a breath while waiting for her to come back. It turned out that the last scans were very blurry and they simply needed to get some better ones. Everything was normal on the second scan.
To this day, that was such a trauma to me that I still am in panic mode during that time each year – even though it’s been normal ever since. But last year I was sitting in the waiting room and started chatting to a very sweet woman who was probably in her early 60’s. She started saying how these visits are no fun but they are important. And I said something about my mother is getting examined and it’s always a scary time for us both. And then she went on to say that “Don’t be afraid, this is how they found my cancer 8 years ago – and I got it taken care of right away and have been healthy ever since. Don’t let anyone tell you it is a death sentence, because now days it certainly is not — especially if you keep up with the early screenings.” I can’t tell you how much better I felt from our short conversation. It’s like God sent an angel to calm me down.
Rachel, That is really awful that they made you wait for a week to re-do an exam that wasn’t even suspicious, just blurry! I’m so sorry that happened to you and your mom. I’m thankful though, that you ran into that lady in the waiting room later on who gave you such good advice. I know that really encouraged you.
Thanks for sharing your story.
I love this! It really could be published in one of those magazines you were reading.
Jill, thanks for your encouragement. I think it would be a lot more inspirational than what I was reading!
Absolutely! It would not be the normal things that run but a stand out piece! You should submit it somewhere.
What a wonderful post and perfect timing as it is time for me to make my mammogram appointment. I turn into a nervous nutcase over that appointment, as my mother had breast cancer, is a survivor, but I just dread that I may hear the same news someday. I always think I am alone in my thinking the way I do and the worry and just hearing I am not alone I feel so much better! Thanks for helping me today and I am going to go pick up the phone and make that appointment!
Thank you!
Kathy, congratulations on picking up the phone and making that appointment. And since your mom is a breast cancer survivor, it’s all the more important for you to follow through and get it done. Good for you!
Well said, Bravo!
Thank you, Sir Smith (AKA Honey)
Becky, this is such a beautiful post!
Please, please find a magazine that will publish it!
Chris, thanks for those words. I did submit it to the BlogHer folks for syndication across their network; that’s a start! Blessings to you today!
As always, you move me, Becky. THIS is how one finds “the peace that passes all understanding”. Prayer and petition, WITH THANKSGIVING. Beautifully written, and it should be framed and hung in the offices of breast cancer doctors everywhere!
Pam, thank you. You have such a gift of encouragement.
I still have to get those mammograms one day. I am getting “mapped” now to get ready for radiation in a week or so. I can honestly say that having breast cancer does not mean the end of your life. It does mean you have to go thru a lot of tests, and waiting, and anger and fear and yes, lots of pain…well at least for those of us that have had surgery. I do know God has blessed us so much thru this trial. My husband lost his job three weeks after my diagnosis and that was harder to deal with than the surgeries I had. No insurance!! Yikes!!! I don’t wish that on anyone but thank God that there are resources for people with cancer and no insurance and thank Him for my wonderful family and friends that make sure we are taken care of. God will make this trial a blessing and it brings me to my knees in thankfulness.
Kaye, I can’t imagine what a difficult journey it’s been for you,being diagnosed and losing your husband’s job and insurance all at the same time. My hat is off to you for keeping your chin up and going forward through some tough times. Hugs to you.
Love this post my friend. And I LOVE you…and am SO thankful…..that through your scars…you have a tangible reminder of God’s faithfulness…..goodness….mercy and LOVE.
Blessings upon your sweet day.
Kim~
Kim, thank you. It’s true what you said–scars are a tangible reminder of God’s faithfulness.
What a wonderful testimony! You are truly a wonderful woman! One I continue to look up to! Love You!
Thanks for your encouragement, Jannie. Love you too!
What wonderful insight! So sorry you had to go through all the mammogram prep. At least it wasn’t an unnecessary colonoscopy. That prep is no fun.
Liz, I”ll be doing the colonoscopy prep next Monday. An “almost mammogram” and a colonoscopy in one week. I sure know how to have a good time!
You have such an awesome tesitmony! God is bigger than all things! Love ya, girl!
Karen, Nice to hear from my pastor’s wife neighbor down the island! 🙂 Your encouraging words mean so much.