Growing up, I can remember when my mom told me her sister had breast cancer. It wasn’t a sit-down and let me explain it to you moment, but rather me as a kid with my sisters and younger female cousin messing around in her mom’s room and finding her prosthetic breasts. She did not have to undergo chemotherapy or radiation treatment, thankfully, so you couldn’t “see” the sickness.
Fast forward 20-odd years, and my aunt is a healthy grandmother. At the same time, I slowly try to piece my life back together after my own diagnosis.
I have been battling breast cancer since my diagnosis, May 18th, 2023 – my parents’ 39th wedding anniversary. (That is a whole ‘nother set of trauma we will save for another day.) To say I was shocked was an understatement; fear and panic immediately consumed me. Just two months prior, my long-time boyfriend proposed to me in a secluded cabin in Nisswa, Minn., and now I have breast cancer?! What the fuck, I thought.
“They” are entirely correct. When you get bad news, you go numb and can’t think of anything, literally nothing!
Finally, the nurse’s words cut through the fog and asked me if there was anyone here with me. ‘Yes,’ I replied desperately, ‘my dad!’
Now, I understand that all types of people work all kinds of jobs. While giving someone life-threatening/altering information, it can be challenging to hold that line between professional and personal, I would imagine. My poor doctor did not know how to handle my situation. No judgment here because I will never know what it is like to tell someone they have the “C word” and could possibly die from it. I mention this not to shame anyone but to set the tone of this situation.
So there I am, sitting in this weird-ass, poorly lit room, crying to myself while a ton of information is being hurled at me. (To this day, I could not tell you what they told me; not one thing made it past – we are 95 percent sure that you have breast cancer.)
As the nurse leaves the room to collect my dad from the waiting room, I sit in silence, aside from my sobbing, with my doctor and the ultrasound machine that found my cancer. The image of my left breast is on the screen, and that glaring 2cm+ lump is proudly displayed in my otherwise healthy body.
Finally, the door opens, and I see my dad. He knew immediately what was happening, and he broke down and hugged me so tight. The thing about my dad is that he shows his emotions, which I am grateful for. Sure, he puts on the tough face we all need to get through life, but the last eight years of our lives have been riddled with extreme trauma, and crying often was just sort of part of life for a while.
To this day, we have not talked about that day, and I don’t know if we really need to. Still, I will forever be grateful that he insisted on coming with me, that I shouldn’t go to an appointment of this nature alone, and he was right. There was a cancellation for a biopsy that morning, and they were able to get me in 10 minutes later. Typically, it’s a week or more wait to be seen, so we jumped on this thing pretty quickly. Here’s the thing with me: I am unlucky, truly. Life has not been easy for me; most of that can be boiled down to decisions I’ve made and others, luck. I guarantee I have cheated death many times over, but I am here because I am resilient. I’m like a cockroach; you can’t get rid of me, and the universe has tried, but I don’t believe it is my time yet, and if it is, the universe, you’ll have to do better than this.
As we left the hospital, we had already begun to make a plan. My sisters were aware of my situation already, thanks to Dad. My youngest sister, Katy, left work early to meet us in Fargo. My older sister, Kim, lent her support from afar, as she lives in western North Dakota. My dad dropped me off to tell my then-fiance that I had breast cancer, and my dad was heading to my work, Drekker Brewing Company, to give them the news and to relieve some of the burden.
My now husband, Lee, was asleep in bed when I got home; he works later in the evening, so this was not a surprise. As I crawled into bed, I was barely able to whimper, ‘It’s cancer,’ before breaking down into tears, again. He held me and hugged me for what seemed like forever, and we just reveled in what would be the new normal. Our world slowed to a complete halt that afternoon, and while the rest of the world went on, we were left to wonder, What’s next?
What came next was nothing short of disbelief. A part of my medical history includes ADHD, and that can sometimes manifest into self-doubt and self-hate. My mind is filled with things like I’m not good enough, I’m not smart enough, or no one likes me because I am annoying, hyper, and so on. So when the troops rallied, they came in droves. I could not believe how many people wanted to support me and Lee. As a couple of self-proclaimed misfits, we were touched by the overwhelming support and, quite frankly, how many people liked us, haha, but I digress.
That’s all for today; thank you for coming along with me as I rehash my cancer diagnosis and ongoing cancer treatment.
And we’ll pick back up next week with part 2 of Last Place in a One-Woman Race. (Fans of The Last Podcast On The Left know.) Also, it’ll probably be sooner than next week, but my fun exit wouldn’t work otherwise.
-KB
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