Last month, I entered an essay contest in the hopes of winning two Valetta camisoles from Amoena. I was supposed to write how I’ve changed my life since my breast cancer diagnosis and treatment, with the title “This is the New Me.” Since I was diagnosed so young, I don’t feel like I’ve worked to change my life, but changes certainly have happened. I decided to go for it. However, two other worthy essays were chosen. I’m looking forward to reading them in the Amoena Lifelines blog! Here is my non-winning essay.

This Is the New Me

I barely even knew who I was when I was sat alone in my car, tears rolling down my cheeks after my first mammogram. After I was rushed to a surgeon’s office to discuss having a lumpectomy. I hardly even knew myself.

I thought I knew. I had a successful career; had just received a Master’s degree and had a new boyfriend. I thought I knew who I was.

As I entered the OR, I still had hope that this was all a terrible mistake. As I was wheeled out, I knew that nothing would be the same. Nothing was the same.

Before my diagnosis, these were the kind of decisions I had to make: Which apartment should I rent? What car should I buy? Should we go to Red Lobster or Baker’s Square for dinner? Apple pie or French silk? Now, I was faced with life impacting decisions. Life changing decisions. Lumpectomy or mastectomy? Radiation and chemo, or just chemo? To take tamoxifen or deny it? These were all decisions I had to make on my own. No one could suggest that the soup of the day was excellent when the soup du jour was a red liquid that coursed through my veins to seek out and kill fast multiplying cells.

I was 27 when I was calling insurance companies to arrange for treatment, researching all the medical options open to me and shopping for a wig. My pregnant friend was complaining about morning sickness; I was nauseous and couldn’t eat because I was a cancer patient. As I write about my experience, I can hardly believe I rose to the occasion.

But arise I did. Having breast cancer made me a little bolder, a little more confident.

I made decisions based on keeping my body healthy and strong. I opted for a mastectomy and chemo to avoid radiation, since I still wanted to have children. I joined a step aerobics class and every time I kicked or punched, I was driving those cancer cells out of me. I ate broccoli and avoided soy. I wrote notes to remind me to take my Tamoxifen twice a day.

My confidence grew in other areas of my life as well. If I faced a difficult or nerve wracking experience, I told myself, “I fought cancer. I can do this.” When my brother was in a motorcycle accident and was hospitalized for six months, I was able to work with his employers and insurance company, drawing on my own experiences.

The dream to have children remained. My doctors thought there was no reason why I shouldn’t have children. But I wondered about my fertility. Would children even be possible? Oh, yes, let’s not forget I still needed someone to father my children. The boyfriend hadn’t lasted.

Dating was the one area in my life where I was not confident at all. Telling a man that I had lost a breast to cancer was not the least bit sexy, and little too much information for a first date. Before one date, I made myself practically sick with worry. How was I going to bring up this sensitive topic? “Oh, by the way, I’m a cancer survivor…” All that worry was for nothing; that guy stood me up.

Then along came a man who was gentle and kind and a trombone player to boot. He liked me for me, and when the time came, I was nervous but able to tell him my secret.

Sixteen years after those tears on the steering wheel, THIS IS ME: I am a wife and a mother to two precious girls. I am a healthy, confident, WHOLE woman who is missing nothing out of life. I write a blog telling about my breast cancer experiences. I write about becoming a mother after breast cancer to give hope to other young women diagnosed with breast cancer.

Just recently, I came across the blog of a 26 year old woman. I saw myself in her; she is worried sick about what breast cancer treatments have done to her fertility. I wrote her a long comment, telling her my story to give her hope for her unknown future.

She replied, “Your comment literally warms my heart. I LOVE hearing about people like you. Thank you so much for sharing your story and for giving me a little more hope. Seriously LOVE this!”

This is the new me; mother, survivor, encourager. I know the New Me quite well, and I like her.

Just by looking at me, you wouldn’t know it. You wouldn’t know that this average, chubby woman with mousey brown hair and glasses can walk a marathon and a half in two days. You wouldn’t know that I Fed Ex-ed a couple test tubes of my blood to a research lab. Would you guess that I have probably had more mammograms than you have? That once upon a time I was bald? Or that I wear a prosthesis, otherwise known as a “breast form” in polite circles? It’s ironic that lately the ad in my sidebar randomly shows a lingerie product that I could never wear. My bras have pockets in them.

The majority of women who get breast cancer have none of the known clinical risk factors. This means we don’t know what causes breast cancer or how to prevent it.

You might walk by me at the grocery store today, not knowing that I spent an hour online last night and only managed to write six sentences. After all these years, writing about breast cancer is still difficult. You saw me at the restaurant yesterday, but didn’t notice me staring at the cocktail placard that said “Think Pink! October 18, support breast cancer awareness!” Like a coward, I didn’t demand to know where the money for those pink cocktails is going to go. I didn’t object by informing our waitress that women diagnosed with breast cancer aren’t supposed to drink alcohol. I just stared at the pretty pictures of the three pink drinks. Did I tell you I bought the toilet paper with the pink ribbons on the package? I didn’t buy it for the ribbons, but because we needed toilet paper. Yet that package of toilet paper with its silly pink ribbons on it reminded me yet again that yes, I had breast cancer.

The Health of Women (HOW) Study is a first-of-its-kind international online study for women and men with and without a history of breast cancer. HOW is all about you and what you can do to end breast cancer. HOW is also about the researchers who can use this data to have a better understanding of ways we can prevent breast cancer.

This October, there’s something you can do that is more than buying something with a pink ribbon on it. It doesn’t require a donation for a walk. It doesn’t require much time. But yet doing this little thing may help find a way to stop breast cancer. I signed up for the Health of Women (HOW) Study. You can, too!

We will collect information about your health, your job, your diet, and your family history, among other topics that can help us get a better understanding of breast cancer and its potential causes.

This is a partnership and we need you for the long haul.
Sign up for the Health of Women (HOW) Study this October.