As every October rolls around, I feel a painful memory slowly nestle in my heart. Unbeknownst to most, the pink ribbons and awareness campaigns relentlessly remind me of my mom’s own battle with breast cancer.
However, as this October came to a close, I realized how little I truly knew about her story, so I sat down and interviewed her. Initially, I wanted to write this column from my perspective—witnessing my mom fight her cancer and the feelings I experienced—but after our conversation, I decided to give her story its chance to be told. My hope is that this perspective will increase discussion about this topic in order to strengthen awareness and build a larger community for those fighting the battle.
Before interviewing my mom, there were parts of her story that I already knew. She found her cancer lump in March of 2020, but she could not begin testing until May of 2020 due to the COVID-19 non-emergency visit restrictions at Edward Hospital. A week after her eventual testing, she was diagnosed with stage one breast cancer. Plans were soon drawn up for a double mastectomy surgery, reconstruction surgery, radiation therapy, and hormone therapy. Over the course of the past few years, she has gone through a surplus of treatments, and she will most likely have another reconstruction in the coming years.
Outside of the general information, however, there were a lot of things that I didn’t know. The first of those things was the rationale behind waiting to tell my sister and I about her cancer.
“I waited until we met with the doctor again, and then that’s when I told you and Kayley [my sister] because I wanted to make sure that I had more information on what it was going to look like—in terms of treatment and whatever the plan was going to be,” my mom said.
When she told us at the dinner table that night, I was confused about why she hadn’t told us immediately. In my mind, being her daughter meant that I should know right away, but I learned that there are often a lot of factors behind every decision in situations like these from this particular fact.
The second thing that I didn’t know was the severity of her isolation throughout her medical journey. Due to the COVID-19 Pandemic, she endured every single doctor’s appointment alone—even my dad was limited to phone calls on speaker.
“It got harder once they called and gave me the news that I had cancer, and then I had to start going to more appointments, and that was a little harder because I didn’t want to be by myself going to appointments, getting more and more information about what I had to do,” she said.
Even though she had to go alone, I often remember how much people supported us outside of the appointments. This community is a crucial aspect to a journey such as this one, and months like October—a time dedicated to the increasing awareness of breast cancer—are perfect for growing and cultivating that community and positive discussion.
Another surprising yet sad realization was the exigence of her fear. I assumed that she was just understandably afraid of her cancer and her treatments, but in reality, the fear resonated from a much deeper place.
Her friend was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2015. She went through treatment until we thought she was in remission, but her cancer was highly aggressive and quickly returned. It metastasized to her back, liver, lungs, and brain, and she had to fight it for three years with chemo and radiation therapy. In the end, the cancer took her life. The similarities between my mom and her friend—the fact that they both had two daughters around the same ages—was especially frightening for my mom.
“Every decision I made was based on not going down the same road she went down. I wanted to do everything I could to try to avoid that… I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to go through that, I didn’t want to leave you and Kayley and dad,” she said.
It was saddening to talk about this part of her struggle, especially since I knew her friend and her girls so well. My mom couldn’t help but cry as she thought of her friend. This part of the interview was a brutal reminder of how frightening the whole process was and the stress that drove this fear.
Nonetheless, the entirety of her cancer journey was not sad. Throughout the conversation, we reminisced on the endless meals dropped on our doorstep, offers for people to drive my sister and I wherever we needed, supplies delivered for my mom, and so much more. My mom specifically felt like, although she had to face her doctors alone, she was never lonely.
“I mean, people just did so much. Somebody was always stopping by to bring me coffee or say hi or just sit with me while I recovered. It was great,” she said.
At the end of the conversation, I asked her for three words to describe her journey with cancer. Her first word was scared, especially in light of the things we discussed about her friend. The second was hopeful, as her doctors were consistently positive and supportive through every step and decision she had to undergo. The last, despite all the hard and surprising things we talked about, was loved.
“It’s kind of cliche, but loved. Like, again, back to all of our friends and family and our entire community and the swim team and the neighborhood and everyone. Everyone. It makes you realize how many amazing people we have around us and in our life,” she said.
