To me, writing is like breathing.  It’s a huge part of who I am, and, in many ways, it defines me. After being diagnosed with breast cancer in late 2006, I feel like being a survivor defines me as well.  My story is getting more common everyday: an otherwise healthy woman going about her busy life, only to be stopped in her tracks when she’s told, “You have cancer.”  I was 42 when my doctor called to give me that news, and I wasn’t prepared. (Can you ever be prepared for that?)  It was scary, having a lumpectomy and six and a half weeks of radiation therapy with two book deadlines on my plate, a new house, and my wedding looming!  I felt fortunate to have friends who’d walked the path before me, and they provided incredible support and made me laugh when I needed to most. At the time, the only other woman in my family who’d been diagnosed before me was my maternal grandmother.  She had a mastectomy in her 60s and lived another twenty years.  But only eleven months after me, my aunt found out she had breast cancer and, more recently, my mother.  Mom saw my surgeon and went through a lumpectomy after a teeny-tiny lump was detected on her annual digital mammogram. Now we’re a family of survivors, and everyone is doing well and staying strong. 

 

For me, the most important part of surviving is speaking out and being a living, breathing example that awareness and regular screenings can make a world of difference.  I walk in the Komen Race for the Cure in St. Louis every year (here’s a pic of me from this year’s race in my hot pink “Survivor” T-shirt!), and it astounds me the number of survivors out there. 

Hooray for staying in the pink!