SOMEHOW, I ALWAYS KNEW. Deep in my gut, since I was a little girl and learned of my grandmother’s diagnosis, I knew that one day I’d be part of the “Breast Cancer Sorority,” a group of individuals who never pledged to join, yet once you’re in…you have a bond of mutual respect, care, love and concern for one another like no other. And guess what? I was right.
After a long, hot, but fun-loving summer with my five children—four girls and one tough, little dude—practically growing gills from our daily swimming routine and splashing in the sprinklers or slip n’ slide in the backyard, my childhood prediction began to manifest itself. While nursing my youngest and soaking up those moments of snuggling and looking into her big blue eyes through her dark brown curly locks, it hit me. There was no doubt in mind…I noticed a lump. I needed a mammogram for anyone to confirm it for me; yet, mammograms are not performed on nursing mothers. It took a good month and a half to fully wean my little chunk-a-munk of a baby, so meanwhile, I researched a bit.
Without really telling anyone, I “interviewed” survivor friends. I asked how they were doing, if they needed anything…and ultimately, if they were happy with their doctors and who they were, (I was genuine in my concern for them; yet, I also needed details.) I’d jot it down on my own secret little list to stick in my purse for that thought of “What if (and when) that day would come?” After going to my O.B., then onto The St. Tammany Women’s Pavilion for my first mammogram and ultrasound, back again for biopsies, and finally the results, my list emerged from my purse (much to the shock of my husband, the radiologist, and nurse present). Like I said, I always knew and was in “go-mode.”
The next few weeks were a whirlwind, going back and forth from the St. Charles Center for Restorative Breast Surgery (hoping to be able to “Get ‘er done!” with surgery and move on) and back to the Northshore to Mary Bird Perkins Cancer Center of STPH. I was told I needed about six months of chemotherapy before one of my batch of surgeries with probable intense radiation to follow, as most do when they have Stage 3 Triple Positive Invasive Ductal Carcinoma— aka: Breast Cancer in milk ducts that has spread to lymph nodes. I quickly learned to not only take up my cross, but also share it with perfect strangers who were ready to take my life on in their hands and save me. God knew; however, that if I was going to take this head on, I needed extra graces…and a whole lot of laughter to get me through. I’m completely sure that my love of a perfect balance of faith and comedy was precisely why he sent me such a warm, personable, genius and hilarious team of characters/doctors my way. There wasn’t a moment that I didn’t have total confidence and trust in each one of them. In fact, I felt so sure that God was looking out for me through all of the support from our medical team, family, friends, and community that in my prayers, my mantra came from Bob Marley: “Don’t worry about a thing, ‘Cuz every little thing is gonna be alright!” Also translated in Philippians 4:6–7: “Cast your cares upon the Lord and He’ll give you a peace and grace beyond understanding.”
I went into this ordeal as a proud wife and mother, and nothing was taking that away from me. I needed all of the help, peace, and grace that I could get to show my diagnosis who’s boss! Boy was my request answered in abundance! I’m stronger now because of this little “detour” in my life. In fact, my entire family has grown. Take that, Cancer!
Cancer gave its best shot at taking away my motherhood, my family and my life. It met me in the ring and hit me with all that it could. Many times, if there was a one percent chance of having a side effect to a treatment, Cancer took that angle and knocked me to my knees. Nevertheless, I got back up, never down for the full three counts! I toss all credit to the support from others, grace from faith and prayers from community (some whom I’ve never even met), desire to never lose my spot as “Mommy” to five amazing children, strength from the unconditional love of my husband and family, and my quirky sense of humor (my family’s genetic code) in what were the most challenging and gut wrenching times of my life. Crazy costumes, afro wigs, random sketch comedy clips and late night dance parties with my kiddos all make for great tools for laughter in the midst of chaos and keeping a grateful and hopeful heart! Writing became another real “tool” of survival as I began blogging my journey in hopes of helping others (cancer patients or not) to share in my experience and possibly help in attacking their own obstacles (See every-little-thingblog.com).
Many look at me and say that “I” am a survivor; however, I challenge that term. I alone am not a survivor. I alone did not fight the heavy weight champion called “Cancer.” My family, my friends, my community, my fellow upcoming class and coordinating team of 2015 You Night models/cancer fighters and friends, and my heaven-sent doctors and nurses kept me from hitting the floor in the ring. We are all survivors. I pray I never forget their sacrifices. They never gave up on me. For that, I hope to spend the rest of this gift of life paying it forward. I’m forever grateful.
Marley was right, “Every little thing, is gonna be alright.”
