I am rapidly approaching the age my mother was when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. She was forty-three then, and here I am now, nearly forty. Apparently she had been watching a television show about Ann Jillian, an actress who survived breast cancer. At the end of the program, there was a brief explanation about how to give a self-examination. My mother thought, “I’ve never done that,” and so she gave herself one. There was a lump she hadn’t noticed before. My mother had never had a mammogram.
Parallels
My life has paralleled my mother’s in some ways. She raised seven children in a noisy, chaotic, active household. I also have seven children in a home that’s just as energetic. I sit at my laptop and type while simultaneously managing the family chaos. She did the same from her typewriter. My mother was a court reporter (transcriber) for cases as notorious as the Hillside Strangler. She typed so fast that it sounded like running water. I am now a true-crime and forensics fanatic because of the mini-briefings she’d give me on each case.
My mother wasn’t famous. She didn’t boast of numerous degrees or awards. Her greatest accomplishment was being a wife and mother. She taught all seven of us kids to love God, music, theater, family, and to use grammar correctly. She taught us to love and be loved. Her essence was woven into every aspect of my life, and still is. She had a beautiful laugh, and she honestly cared about every stupid, menial thing that ever happened to me. She was always a phone call away, always deeply interested in whatever I had to say. She believed in me.
A Brave Soldier
My mother fought the cancer fight for seven years. World War II was a shorter battle. She endured radiation, chemotherapy, and a bone marrow transplant. She even had the ideal marrow donor in her identical twin sister. But nothing could snuff out the sinister cancer inside her. Back then we hadn’t known the odds, but once the cancer had spread from her breast and metastasized to another part of her body, she had a less-than-one percent chance of survival. She died on February 15, 1994, at the age of fifty. She was a brave and noble warrior. Her youngest child–my little brother–was only twelve years old.
So I find myself approaching her age at diagnosis. And a few weeks ago I sat in the mammography room, literally on her birthday. The lady calls my name and says, “Are you ready?” And I start to cry. She looks shocked. “I’m sorry,” I choke out the words, “Today is my mother’s birthday.” She looks a bit confused, but then eyes the chart. Suddenly she understands. History of breast cancer, mother, deceased. As I submit myself to the mammography procedure with those glass panels smashing me, I become my mother. I imagine what she must have felt more than a decade ago, getting the bad news. I envision the overpowering fear and depression as she stood in the examination room, with her large family oblivious at home. In that examination room, I somehow taste a small amount of her loneliness.
Requesting Permission for a Different Fate
The results of my mammogram show “no significant changes” from my last one. It’s an all-clear. And I think, what will happen if, at 43, I’m still cancer-free? At 44? 45? Mother, do I have permission to not follow in your footsteps in this particular aspect of my life? I’ve always wanted to emulate you, but not in this way. Why do I fear I’m doomed to your same fate? And why was it your fate, anyway?
Breast Cancer Strikes
Despite my mother’s diagnosis and death, and despite my heightened awareness, breast cancer, more than 80 percent of the time, is not hereditary. In most cases, it just strikes. Often women think, “I’m not worried. I don’t have it in my family.” Yet my mother didn’t either. And her identical twin and two other sisters are still alive and well.
The Importance of Early Detection
As breast cancer awareness month comes to an end, I hope that you women aged 35 and older who are reading this blog will schedule a mammogram, if you haven’t already. It’s important that you have a baseline image, while your breasts are healthy, in which to compare future mammograms. Breast cancer caught early is extremely curable. But you do have to catch it.
I miss my mother very much. Especially being a mother myself, I long for the ability to call her and say, “How on earth did you raise seven kids? This is really hard. Mom, I need your advice. Mom, I love you. Mom, are you coming for Christmas? Mom, guess what…?” It’s a tremendous loss, not having her in my life. And breast cancer was the thief that stole her away. We’ve got to conquer this ugly disease once and for all. And until we do, we women must diligently check ourselves. That means regular self-examinations, and regular mammograms. Our husbands and children, parents and siblings need us. We must do whatever it takes to remain vibrantly in their lives.
Related Articles:
Breast Cancer Awareness: How You Can Help Prevent Breast Cancer
Breast Cancer Awareness: Surgery and Fitness
Football Star’s Wife Thinks Pink
Mammograms: A Necessary Non-Evil
Breast Cancer Awareness: Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure