There wasn't a history of breast cancer in my family. I hadn't even felt it important enough to have yearly mamograms, after reaching the age of forty. And I gave up doing self exams long ago, due to the difficulty. Already having lumpy breast tissue, how was I supposed to tell a "normal" lump from a "bad" lump? My gyn kept emphasizing the importance of self exams, and started urging me to have a baseline mamogram done. I would agree with him, and then forget about it. I just did not feel I needed to worry about it, and I had heard that maybe the exposure to the x-rays might be bad. And so, between the ages of 40 and 43 I listened to my doctor asking me to take care of getting that first mamogram done, to use as a reference point for any future changes in my breast tissues as I aged.

Life has it's way of keeping us preoccupied and busy with so many things. The year that followed had brought the end to a seven year relationship, for me. Then I had some down time, and the excitment of a new relationship and plans for a new life ahead. It was during becoming engaged, making wedding plans, and moving, that the date for my routine yearly checkup with the gyn intruded on my schedule. Almost resenting the interruption in my life, I went to the clinic to get poked and prodded. I sat in the waiting room, wondering how late the doctor would be running today. I watched the other patients, some young and pregnant, others with babies, and even older ladies, all waiting patiently. Finally, my name was called and I followed the nurse to the scale to be weighed and then down the hall to my doctor's office.

Time passed slowly as I disrobed, put on the exam gown, and settled in to leaf aimlessly through the pages of an outdated magazine which had been provided for my entertaiment. The room was too cold, as usual, and I was feeling as if gooseflesh was about to cover me. I heard my doctors voice outside the door as he spoke with the nurse, and then there came a polite knock on the door. "Come in" I answered. My doctor was a pleasant man, he entered smiling, and took my hand in his, briefly, then took his seat. His assisting nurse stood quietly by the door. We began with some pleasant conversation, some questions about my health since I'd last visited. Then we moved to the exam table. What followed was a routine gyn exam,then the nurse left with the PAP smear slides and he proceeded to give me a exam of the breast area.

I noticed that the doctor grew sort of quiet as he proceeded, as if he were in deep concentration. "Did you know you have a lump under your left armpit?" he asked. I told him that I was aware of it, but thought nothing of it's presence, since I was prone to having fatty tumors. I had had one removed years before which proved to be benign. He asked me to wait, then left for a few minutes. Returning again, he told me that he had called for a second doctor to examine me. I began to ask some questions. It seemed as if he were concerned as he mentioned there was also a lump in my left breast. "I want you to have a mamogram before you leave today" he stated. The second doctor arrived and did another palpatation of my breasts and surrounding area. She said very little, then stepped back out of the room, with a direct look at my doctor.

My doctor said a nurse would be in to take me for the mamogram in a few minutes, then he left me there. I sighed, thinking to myself, "well, I guess I am stuck with this mamogram test!" I had heard they could be painful. I supposed it was something I must do. So, when the nurse arrived, I followed her down the hallway toward the x-ray department. Holding my gown closed, as I followed her, I grew completely lost and wondered if I could find my way back from where I entered? In the mamography room, I waited with yet more outdated magazines and a lot of pamphlets about breast exams and mamograms. I had just reached for one when the technician joined me and explained what she was about to do to me. Her work was done in a few minutes.

I was left once again,while the x-rays were developed. So, I occupied myself with the reading material and wondered how much longer I would be forced to ignore the fact that I was really chilled now. I was wishing for the warm Summer sunshine outside. In a little while I was greeted again and told that no additional x-rays were needed. I was directed to yet another room where I was to speak with the radiologist. This was my first mamogram, so I didn't know if this were routine proceedure or not? As I waited, I saw that there were x-rays up on a lighted fixture on the wall. "Were those my x-rays?" I wondered. A man entered the room and told me his name and began to refer to my x-rays. "Do you see this white area right here" he pointed. "This is what has us concerned" he explained. "Have you ever recieved an injury to this area?" he asked me. "Well, I don't think so, but maybe I may have when I was younger?" I shrugged. "Well, this could be a calcium deposit, or perhaps some old scar tissue" he suggested to me. "But, we have to be sure of this. So we want to schedule you for a biopsy."

I was to go to the hospital three days later, for a biopsy of my breast and the lump in my armpit. Still not very alarmed about anything. I shared the news with my boyfriend and my parents. And awaited the return trip with more of a sense of inconvenience. I wondered what the "biopsy" proceedure would involve, and if I would feel like doing some errands when I was done. My boyfriend had planned to take the day off from work and take me to the hospital. My father also was going to be there, with his car, which was air conditioned and smoother riding, in case I needed to be pampered after the surgery. Both of them waited with me, as I chatted cheerfully, and pretended it was of little concern to me. But, I was a little perplexed about this whole ordeal.

I was registered and checked in to the hospital. Then taken to undress and prepare for my turn with the surgeon. In my white gown, and laying on a gourney, I chatted with my father and boyfriend. I was glad that they had something in common to chat about. Because my dad had worked and retired from the same employer as Larry. And this seemed to give them an easy topic to chat about in those initial months of our relationship. In the large room, divided by white curtains, others waited in their own cubicles, to be taken in for outpatient treatment. Eventually the orderly came to wheel me off, after good luck hugs and kisses from "my guys."

There was a group of people positioned around the operating room when I was brought in, and lifted onto the operating table. They were casually introduced to me by my surgeon, and each nodded or said hello. Then as I was draped and prepared for surgery, they gathered around me. One was connecting me to monitors, another inserting the lines to deliver IV fluids , and another undressing me and sterilizing the areas to be biopsied. We chatted in a pleasant manner. I would be awake during the proceedure, with a local anesthetic being used. A white draped barrier was put at shoulder level, so I could not watch them work. My left arm was outstretched on a branch extending out from the table. And soon I was listening to my medical team at work.

During the surgery I was flanked by my surgeon, behind the drape, and his assistant who was close by my side, watching my vital signs and keeping close watch on me. We continued to chat in between surgical commands and responses. My surgeon was forseeing his vacation plans, which were to begin the next day. Others teased him about the music he had playing in the background. He quiped with them about it. All in all they were a cheerful crew. And the surgery seemed to go quickly. I responded to their questions about myself, and shared with them that I was planning to be married that Fall. They all wished me well. Then I wished my surgeon a good vacation, and he left. I was cleaned up and brought back to the large room where my cubical awaited my return. I recieved questioning looks from Larry and my father, I smiled at them. We were told I was to rest and await my biopsy results.

Larry held my hand as we waited. I was feeling chilled, and a bit tired. So, we just sat and I'm sure we were all saying a prayer inside our hearts. When the surgeon came, he was preceeded by the nice fellow who had been my 'sidekick' during the surgery. I noticed his eyes first....they seemed to be filled with tears. I remember thinking, he must be tired? The surgeon shook hands with my father and Larry. Then he stood by my side and looked down at me. "I'm sorry," he said "you have cancer." As soon as the words were said, I saw the assistant turn and go away. I don't think I felt anything....as the doctor told me that I would be taken for more x-rays, then scheduled for additional surgery after a consultation between my doctors. As he walked away, Larry stood and bent to hug me....I saw my father's eye's as he looked on. I felt his strength being transmitted to me, silently reassuring me. Like a secret power he was willing into me.

I was whisked off to have my x-rays, then left alone to await the technician. I was alone, I had just learned I had cancer, and I was still cold...so cold. But in the few moments of privacy, faced with perhaps one of my biggest challenges, I started to feel a presence, waiting with me. It was just a feeling, I was not alone. I began to speak with God. I simply asked His help. I was at such a loss, I didn't know anything about the road that was ahead of me. And I knew, for a certainty, that He would be on that road with me.

My x-rays were taken. I was returned to the dressing room. I dressed myself, gingerly, careful not to move my surgery site very much. I felt a little faint as I walked back to where my loved ones waited for me. My father left after I told him I would be able to ride home in Larry's truck. I told him we would follow after I checked out and finished up any required paperwork. It felt so good to step back outside into the sunshine. To stand on a street corner, and breath some fresh air. As we left the parking area, Larry asked if I felt well enough to make one stop off on the way home. Still numb, in more ways than one, I said it would be okay. I thought, he was probably thinking about stopping for lunch.

When we approached the city hall, I wondered if something else was in the plans. It seems that Larry knew just what to do to tell me, without words, that he was staying by my side through what lay ahead. We were going to buy our marriage license he told me. I felt a bit exhilerated, despite my broken wing. And when we returned to my parents' house to see my mother. My father had already prepared her. We exchanged more hugs and reassurances, and broke the news of our purchase at city hall. I then rested on the sofa as we chatted about what lay ahead. My father said he would be there to drive me back and forth to any doctor's appointments. My mom said she would take care of my physical needs. Larry said little, but knowing I would not have to go through this alone, helped greatly. He told us that his sister had just recently recovered from breast cancer.

When I was alone that night, after the lights were turned off and my parents were in bed, I lay there awake. My mind was trying to form some opinion of what I had learned that day. If I had cancer, why didn't I feel sick, I wondered. I was not truelly grasping the reality of the fact that I had a potentially deadly desease inside of me. I had no annoying symtoms, How could I have this dreaded thing called breast cancer? It didn't make sense to me.

My surgery site was only moderately painful. I was bandaged so extensively that I didn't have a clue of how much disfiguration the surgeon had caused. I was curious to see what my body looked like, but afraid to know. I didn't really want to handle this all at once, so I decided to concern myself with only a few days at a time. Step by step. I would face what was under the bandages later, when they were to be removed. But I couldn't resist trying to lift off a corner of the large rectangle of tape and gauze that covered much of my left upper chest and armpit. It was securely fixed. There would be no sneak peak.

I found comfort in the knowledge that I had family and friends praying for me. Beneath my questioning mind, I had a feeling of God's presence with me. There was a peace of sorts about my future, whether I survived cancer or not. I had the spiritual support that I needed during this uncertain time. I comforted myself with the memories of a previous illness and surgery, that had had a favorable outcome. At that time I had many people praying for my recovery and everything had turned out very well. I knew those same people would stand by me once more.

As the night stretched on, with the whisper of silence filling my ears, I began to wonder when all of this sickness had begun to occur inside of my body? And I wanted to know if it might be the results of the accumualtion of stress from past dissappoinments and hurts. The painful divorce almost ten years ago. The emotional devastation that followed, and the fear of an uncertain future? I didn't have a family history of cancer, so where could this illness have come from? What would I have to do to become well again? Would I get well again?

In the early morning hours, before dawn, I recalled something strange that had happened to me a couple of weeks earlier. Had it set the stage for what was happening, I asked myself? At the time, I had passed it off, thinking it was just a fluke of my imagination. It was something I could not explain. It had happened on a night such as this,as I lay in bed, in the darkness, waiting for sleep to overcome me.

After turning off the television, I lay in bed for awhile, thinking. I reached toward the bedside lamp and switched it off. Pausing a moment in silent prayer, I then began to relax. The night had settled over me like a thick blanket, I was very tired. But, I had always been the type of person who must wait for my thoughts to come to rest, before I could find sleep. And as I let my mind wind itself to a stop, I felt my body grow heavy. Then, just as I was slipping into slumber, I heard a voice!

In an etherial tone, such as I have never heard before, depicting neither male or female qualities, came a simple message. The sound came from the right side of my bed, closeby me. So real was this voice that, it caused me to open my eyes and sit up with startled feeling. I quickly switched the light back on, looking around the room for a possible intruder. I felt the rush of adrenaline in my body. But I saw no one there. Istarted to reason with myself, I had turned the TV off. I am alone. So, was I dreaming? My mind was racing with questions so furiously that I almost let the content of the message get lost.

You may find what I am about to say too fantastic? I leave this to your own disgression to judge, as you will,but it is the truth. The three words that were spoken to me were, "You have cancer." The voice had no emotion, nor evidence of gender. There hadn't been a visual manifestation. In fact, there was no evidence of it ever having been there with me. Whatever had been beside me, was now gone.

When my heart started to return to it's normal rythm, and I was sure that I was indeed alone,I returned to my bed. Sleep now felt a long distance away. I lay there, reasoning with myself about what I had experienced. "This had to be my imagination? I must have been dreaming? But it was so real!" I shook my head, "this is totally off-the-wall, I don't have cancer!" Reaching for the remote control, I switched the TV back on,"forget it! Just, forget it." I closed my eyes, and pushed it all out of my mind.

Now, weeks later, it all came flowing back to me. A warm, tingly feeling washed over me with the sudden recollection. What, or who, had that nighttime voice been? How did it find me? How did it know about the cancer? All of these questions in my mind made me wonder if perhaps there was a spiritual connection involved in this happening. I didn't know who's voice I had heard, but it had spoken the truth to me. And, I hadn't recieved the tidings with any degree of welcome as they were delivered. The encounter was very brief.

I questioned whether I had acted wrongly in being fearful? Had there, perhaps, been more information for me about the outcome of my future? Was there a reassurance of some sort for me, that I had cheated myself from hearing by acting as I had? I finally fell of into slumber, my mind still full of questions.

The morning after the biopsy, I awoke feeling as if I hadn't slept at all. I started my day in a haze of numbness. I tried to induce a feeling of calm in myself, deciding to take the day one hour at a time. My parents were with me, with their steady supportive presence. Their love surrounded me. I knew they would allow me to be myself, and express my feelings in whatever way I needed to. If I wanted to cry, or get angry, talk, or be silent, they would be there for me. Their love was the one constant in my life, which I could always be sure of.

A few days later, I had an appointment for a consultation with the group of doctors who were to handle my case. They would tell me about my future medical treatment, and my prognosis. My parents and my sister accompanied me there, since family was urged to be present with me. As we arrived, the afternoon sun was high and warm. We entered the Women's Wellness Center together. We were greeted and led to a conference room. The nurse told us to be seated there, and offered us coffee from the cart by the window, as she handed out booklets about breast cancer.

I was asked to go with her, for another examination, where I would meet a new doctor, who was the head of the radiology center. Shortly after I entered the exam room, he arrived and gave me a brief looking over. It was then that the conversation began to grow alarming. "After your surgery, we will decide whether to start you right out on chemotherapy or give you radiation" he explained. I gritted my teeth as I started to get a sick feeling in my stomach. "Get dressed, and we'll rejoin your family in the conference room to discuss this." He left the room.

Surgery! I started to feel a hammering of frightful thoughts. Panic gripped me. "Whoa, girl!" I braced myself. "Get hold of yourself," I said as I had a strong urge to run. I felt like a wild animal who had just been trapped. But a nurse arrived to lead me back to the conference room, just then. As I rejoined my family and the medical people, they grew silent. I wondered if they had been talking about me? I sat at the end of the table, waiting for someone to begin. I recognised the female doctor who had come to re examine me during the gyn appointment, days earlier. The doctors introduced themselves once again, adding information about their medical specialties.

As the discussion began I started to recoil inwardly, once more. The facts they spoke attacked me with a cold reality. There would be two weeks to recover from the biopsy and then they would preform a mastectomy. My mind echoed the word, mastectomy, ominously. I only half-heard what was said after that point. A heavy fog seemed to put me a distance away from them as they continued. We will give you two months of radiation.....six months of chemotherapy....we have a lot of reading material here for you to take home and go through that will explain the proceedures.

As the doctors left the room, a woman stayed behind for a moment to offer her personal card. "Here is my phone number, I am the Wellness Center Counselor. If you need anything, call me, anytime." She left us with a pleasant smile, that was lost on me. I needed to get out of there, so I left the room, followed by my family. My parents went outside to bring their car around to the door. I began to blink back the tears in my eyes, as my sister tried to comfort me with cliche's. Suddenly, I exploded "I don't care! I don't care what they can do! I'll be a freak!" I cried. "Everything I've been through, and now this!" She grabbed me in a tight embrace. I felt as if I were a broken child, vulnerable and weak. Sis told me she could understand my feelings, but that I shouldn't act this way in front of my parents, although they were not showing it to me, they were already very concerned about me. So, as we walked outside to meet them, I stuffed everything I was feeling down inside of myself.

A couple of days later, with a head full of all the things I'd read about my possible treatments for the cancer I pushed it all away for a small period of time. The task at hand, today, was removing the large pressure bandages from my wounds. I went into the bathroom and stood awhile in front of the wall-length mirror. Taking off my blouse I took a deep breath, and waited a little longer. What would I find revealed once the bandages were off, I wondered. My mom tapped on the door, and asked to join me. I told her to come in. "Can I help?" she asked. I agreed, and we began to try to lift a corner of the dressing. Still securely attached to my skin, we worked carefully as we moved the tape away, inch by inch. It seemed to take forever. "Does it hurt?" mom asked. "It's okay" I replied. With a long side free now, a thick layer of gauze pads were revealed. We slipped them out from under the bandages and a lot of pressure was taken off the wounds. We worked together, tugging more tape loose, then resting a minute or two, until I was finally unbandaged in both chest and armpit areas.

The actual incisions were covered by yet more gazepads and tape. We paused. "I want to do this alone" I said, and she hugged me before she left. It was the moment of truth. I told myself, what did it matter how I looked, in a couple of weeks there would no longer be a breast to worry about. I felt angry inside. I would not force myself to be a good sport about this, I decided. I removed the bandage from my armpit first. There was a two or three inch incision there. Then using my anger to give me courage, I started peeling off the last bandage.I let out a breath. The c-shaped incision went halfway around the nipple area. It wasn't that awful looking. I could handle this. I called my mom to rejoin me, and we were both relieved this small hurdle was over.

My next doctor's appointment would be with my surgeon, to have the stitches removed from my incisions. When I arrived at the clinic, I was told the doctor who had done my surgery was still away on vacation, and that I would be seeing a substitute doctor. Still feeling pretty unsettled about the news of having a mastectomy, I sat in the exam room with an attitude of gloom heavy on me, and a depressed feeling. I felt as if I had lost control of my destiny. So, I sat and waited, and said a prayer, asking God to please get me out of this situation. I was really so overwhelmed, and really did not know if I could actually go through with the rest of what the doctors had planned for me.