From her perspective

In yesterday's post, I shared my story of my mom's diagnosis of breast cancer. But now, I'd like to share that same story but in her own words.

Last year, my mom and I were on the sweep team crew for the Seattle 3-Day for the Cure. It was hard and fun and beyond memorable. She was honored to be a part of the Survivors Circle during the Opening and Closing Ceremonies of the event. A few weeks before we went to Seattle, my mom sent the following email to our fellow sweep team members. It was the first time I had ever heard her perspective of her diagnosis.

My Story:

I am a survivor.

Four simple words…yet, four words that say so much.

I had just turned 41, at a time when routine mammograms were not done until age 45. I thought there was no history of breast cancer in my family. I thought the hardness deep in my breast was just dense muscle. I thought breast cancer happened to other people, not me. I was wrong. A handful of days after my birthday I went in for a quick check to get my prescriptions renewed. When the doc said, “Is there anything else I can help you with?” I paused and thought, “It’s time. Just say the words.” So I did.

He checked the density in my breast and said in a nervous voice, “Let’s go down the hall and get the mammogram”. In a flurry of activity over the next hour, what remains so vivid in my memory was when they snapped the x-ray on the screen. No one needed to tell me what my own eyes saw. It was unmistakable. A child of five could have identified what looked like a snowball that had hit the x-ray, now hanging from the illuminated screen. No denials. No smiling faces. Sadness in the Radiologist’s eyes; and the color that had drained from the face of the young doctor, just out of med school. I knew. We all knew. Yet astonishingly, I told them it would be okay. I told them not to worry. I knew I would survive. I knew it, as well as I knew my own name. I don’t know how, but I did. I could hear it echoing deep inside by body… I would survive, I would survive.

Late Stage III Breast Cancer was no match for me. I would get through the surgeries, all the chemo, and all the radiation. And I did. It was a long haul, and there were times that I grew to doubt that what I first believed would come true. But it did…and I am forever grateful. The tumor was the size of a large lemon, deep within my chest and had been growing for approximately 10 years. I was told that I had a good chance for five years, but not a great chance for ten. I’ve continued to prove them wrong. I just celebrated the 12th anniversary of the start of my battle against this insidious disease. I plan to celebrate many, many more years!

Over the years, I found out that all the women in my mother’s family had died from breast cancer, or metastasized breast cancer. They had all died before the age of sixty-five, with the exception of my grandmother, but she too, had died from the spread of her breast cancer. So just because you don’t think it’s in your bloodline, you may want to dig deeper. Breast cancer wasn’t talked about in past generations. Ask the deeper questions to the older women in your family. You might be surprised, like I was.

So thank you, fellow teammates! Thank you for supporting this cause. It is because of you that someday a cure will be found. You make a difference and you are helping to save lives.

~Connie

I walk for my mom, Connie Houston!

A while back, I had the opportunity to write the story of my connection to breast cancer. I shared that story with hundreds of potential and registered 3-Day for the Cure walkers in my Get Started meetings. Here is what I shared:

My entire life, everyone has told me how much I look like my mom - and it's true. Whether you see us in person - or especially when you compare photos of us where we are the same age - there is no denying it. I'm her spitting image.

Like many women, as I get older, I often find myself saying, "Wow! I am turning into my mother!" I sound like her. I make the same facial expressions and gestures.

Our lives really mirror one another's in so many ways. And for the most part, I find that to be really sweet and endearing. But honestly, sometimes it really frightens me to be so much like my mom. That's because 12 years ago my mom was diagnosed with Stage IIIB breast cancer.

At the time, I was away at school. I can still vividly remember the call when she broke the news to me. She was very matter-of-fact when she informed me of the diagnosis and that she was having a lumpectomy the next day. Then, in true "mom-fashion" she cheerfully added, "But honey, don't worry. Everything is going to be fine. You don't even need to come home."

Well, this is my mom, so of course, the next afternoon I drove home. I spent the time in the car just over-thinking every possible outcome. There were tears, prayers - basically a lot of fear and uncertainty.

When I arrived that evening after her surgery, I stood outside of the hospital room and remembered her telling me that it would all be fine. So I tried convincing myself that it wouldn't be that bad. I took a deep breath before entering the room. But as I walked in, it quickly became clear that things really weren't "fine." I smiled at her but I couldn't help but notice how pale and tired she looked. There were tubes, IVs, drains... and my mom there in the middle of all of that.

She tried to act like it was all no big deal. She talked with determination and confidence about facing the upcoming months. She was going to face an aggressive course of chemotherapy and radiation treatments. There were a myriad of side effects and possible complications.

But I knew her so well. Remember, we are so much alike. So despite her best efforts to seem tough, I could still sense her fear. And as I stood at her bedside, I was scared too.

I felt so.... incredibly.... helpless.

And in that moment, I realized that my future could hold the same diagnosis. With everything else we had in common - that could be me.

I am proud to tell you that my mom is now a twelve year survivor. And that a cancer diagnosis is not one of the many things we share.

I am here to help eradicate breast cancer. To help raise the dollars that will find the cure. And through my involvement in the 3-Day for the Cure, I have been empowered to make a difference. I am no longer that scared girl at my mom's bedside. Through my participation as a walker, crew member and as a member of the 3-Day for the Cure staff, I know that my contributions are making an impact on this disease.

I walk for my mom, Connie Houston!