The first Time Around

My Mother had breast cancer when I was twelve. Twelve is old enough to understand the possible implications of this terrifying disease but not emotionally old enough to process it. My mother survived, thank God, and is still doing well. It had always occurred to me that I needed to be aware and watch out for breast cancer in my future but it never occurred to me that I would have to face breast cancer at 27. Six weeks after I stopped breast feeding my then ten month old daughter I was lying in bed and felt a hard lump in my left breast. I looked at my husband and said, “What the hell is this?” both of us immediately knew it was breast cancer but of course this is not what we told each other. “Maybe it is just a clogged milk duct but we better have it checked out,” was my husband’s reply. We went on a camping trip that weekend that had been planned for months. It was a wonderful trip but literally every five minutes I found myself feeling the lump in my breast imagining the possibility of what it was. That Monday we went to see my doctor; she scheduled an ultrasound for the next day. At the ultrasound the tech assured me it was probably just a cyst. But when the radiologist came in he said he wasn’t sure what it was. “It doesn’t scream cancer, cancer is often obvious like a 6’5” transvestite walking down main street.” He decided to do a mammogram and then changed his tone. “Megan, I hate to say it but this looks like cancer.”  We did a biopsy the next day; my 27^th birthday. Yah, Happy birthday to me. The results came back, it was cancer.