Mel's Redefined Life

On January 13, 2017, I went in for a routine breast exam. I turned 37 in December and had no worries - I'm too young for cancer. Right...? The doctor found a lump in my left breast pretty easily and sent me for mammograms. Most women don't even get their first mammogram until the age of 40... I had two different types of mammograms on January 18, along with ultrasounds. On the exact same day, I also had needle core biopsies on masses in both breasts. On January 20, I got the call. It was cancer. Time became a blur in an instant. I had appointments with surgeons and oncologists and radiologists, physical therapists, social counselors... you name it. When I met with the breast oncology surgeon to plan my mastectomy, he drew the photo below. I had to keep it! After breast feeding two babies, the "girls" were not quite as perky as they used to be. He drew me this drawing to explain why I couldn't keep my nipples. He used his fingers and said "your ...

Cancer first became a word when I was 6 years old... the same age as my oldest son is now. My mother was 36 years old when she had a mass removed from her breast. It was 1986 and breast imaging was definitely not what it is today. I didn't even know about the first cancer until I read old letters between my mom and her mom, long after she passed. My mom was a single mom most of my childhood. She remarried when I was 13 years old, but my stepfather was active duty Marine Corps - a long, proud legacy in my family - however, it meant my stepfather was gone a lot, deploying all over the world. When I was 19 years old (1999), cancer reared its ugly head again. My mom was 49 and it was back in her breasts. I had moved out by this time and I moved back home to be close to her.  In November of 2002, I was 22 years old and my mom was 52 years old. She was diagnosed as terminal - the cancer had metastasized and was in her liver. "Metastasized"  ... there's a word I have l...