Yesterday
My mom was diagnosed with breast cancer at the age of 33. She found the lump herself, over 20 years ago. She had a mastectomy, some radiation, and then eventually reconstruction surgery. Glory to The Most High, she has never had a problem since then.
But because of that history, I have already begun to have mammograms, and yesterday was my yearly appointment. Actually, I go on their “high risk” clinic days so I have a mammogram and then 6 months later they do an ultrasound on me. Have you had a mammogram yet? Let me, tell ya, sister - they ain’t fun. My sis-in-law and I have actually decided that they might be worse than your yearly pap! No wonder they have not made me the spokeswoman for early detection awareness, huh! Yet, I do advise you - get one - every year. Please.
So when I check in, they have me review my “Patient Information and History” forms. I am struck with a question that completely took my breath away: Has anyone in your family been diagnosed with ovarian, breast, or pancreatic cancer since your last visit?
WHAT?? Pancreatic?? Why is that in there?
Due to my mom’s young age at diagnosis and other factors about my medical history, they have calculated my risk of having breast cancer sometime in my life at 20.8%. The average woman’s risk is somewhere around 3-6%. So what in the world, I am thinking half-dressed with a stupid drape over me, will this pancreatic thing to do that risk?
A sweet, young genetics nurse comes in to see me, and does explain that an association has been found to exist between breast cancer and pancreatic cancer - something I knew nothing about. However, she explains, because on my mom’s side there is breast cancer and on my dad’s side there is pancreatic, this does not change my risk factors. If both had been on one side of the family, then that would make a difference. And yet, I found myself in a complete state of non-stop tears with this young gal who I had never met.
But guess what? She had lost her brother suddenly a few years ago due to a brain aneurysm. And the other nurse who runs the high risk clinic who I have seen during all of my previous appointments comes in, and she had lost her brother in September. So they knew. They knew grief. They used some of the same words I have been using to describe my current state of life. In short, they said to me “Me too.”
And I am hear to tell ya, shared grief is not so heavy.
