Kelly's Story

My first diagnosis, intraductal carcinoma, came 8 years ago. After years of cysts, biopsies, and scars, I had decided I was through with mammagrams. I fell down (or was pushed by a higher power) and while I was getting my wrist ex-rayed, the technician said, "let's do the mammagram, too." So, two lumpectomies, radiation, and a lost summer later, I was thinking I was home free. In the following 8 years I was very busy, working, taking care of my parents, and living life to it's fullest. My mother was diagnosed with stomach cancer in 2004, and in 2006 lost her battle; my dad followed her 6 weeks later. Needless to say, I missed my mammagrams in 2006 and 2007, and made a resolution to get a complete physical in January of 2008. In December of 2007, I was throwing my first ball at a bowling party, and went down hard - right into the gutter. I landed on my left breast, as well as other body parts, and was pretty bruised.

Later that month, I noticed that there was still a lump there, but thought it was just the bruise - since I have a history of big, black and blue ones. So, it really came as no surprise when, during the clinical exam accompanying the mammagram, that suspicion was raised about the approximately 3 centimeter lump on the lower left quadrant.

After the subsequent ultra-sounds and biopsies, and the diagnosis of lobular, estrogen receptive carcinoma, I made the decision to have a double mastectomy. I had come pretty close to that decision 8 years previously, but when the margins had come back good on the second lumpectomy, breathed a sigh of relief and put that decision back in the hopper. Now I was faced with the decision that I felt better prepared to make.

I have lost a great-aunt, an aunt, and others to this disease, and my own mother had a history of lumps and biopsies that forced her to make a decision years ago to have prophylactic mastectomies and implants; so we don't know if she would have had breast cancer - but it is highly likely. I went ahead with the bi-lateral mastectomy on March 10, and am now in the midst of chemo-therapy. I am bald, rotund, black and blue, and immersed in "pink". As I finish up chemo, and begin taking 5 years worth of Arimidex, I thank my lucky stars for falls that made me aware that something was going on.

My prognosis is good, and I still say it's not breast cancer that will kill me. My daughters are already getting their regular mammagrams, and face the very likely possibility of going through similar experiences some time in their lives. We all participated together in the Komen Race for the Cure in Boise, ID right after my first chemo; and once again, there was a lump in my throat when I saw how many pink hats were in that great assembly. There's just too much breast cancer, but, thank heaven, there are so many out there battling it for themselves and for others - and I'm one of them. I truly do "think pink" with every fiber of my being - or what's left of them.