my Breast Cancer blog2004, age 34 — this is my story |
A story I wrote in February 2010 is now live on BetterMedicine.com, a health information site that launched in April 2011. A screen shot of the page is pictured below. Click on the image, and you’ll land at the whole story.
Click on image for full story
I’m Erica, and my breast cancer looks like a 30-year-old wife and mother who could not have been more rocked than when I was diagnosed. It looks like a momma who now appreciates every single day with my kids and husband more than ever before. It looks like the desire to run marathons, and see that desire fulfilled with pride. My breast cancer looks like a restoring of my faith. And it looks like a strength I never knew I had.
Erica was the #2 survivor to cross the finish line in the 2010 Komen Race for The Cure 5K in St. Louis.
Erica is a blogger, too — check out her entire breast cancer story, and her thoughts on faith, family, and fitness. Then, show us what your breast cancer looks like. Please e-mail your shots to jackidonaldson@gmail.com. No blurry ones, and please include a little blurb, too.
Breast cancer looks like a lot of things, and a while back, I asked readers to submit photos that captured the essence of the disease. I got pics of hair loss, bald heads, scars, a wedding, purple flowers, sailboats, and I published them in a series called What Breast Cancer Looks Like.
Danny, 7 years old
I think the little project turned out pretty well, and, at least for me, it was way inspiring. That’s why I want more — more images that tell stories of hope, strength, struggle, sickness, recovery, health, and more. You know why? Because I think most of us newly-diagnosed girls want to see right away what other survivors and their journeys look like. It’s how we prepare for our own travels with breast cancer.
And so, I invite you to sort through what you’ve got on your phones, computers, iPads, etc., and send me something that tells your story — or the story of someone close to you. Maybe it’s new curls sprouting from your head, your friend sitting in an infusion chair, a crowd of warriors in pink. You make the call, then shoot something great over to me! I promise to publish asap.
Please e-mail your shots to jackidonaldson@gmail.com. No blurry ones, and please include a little blurb, too.
www.cancervacation.com
First, let me say that Julia’s website is not for the faint of heart. She admits it, with this statement on her blog: “CancerVacation.com features written material, illustrated artwork, digital artwork, and medically-themed photography that may contain nudity, blood, or other things that one might classify as ‘ooky’. If you are under the age of 18, if it is illegal for you to view this type of material, or if it was not your intention to visit this site, then please leave by clicking here.” (Julia heads you back to the Google search page when you click on her site.)
OK, you’ve been warned.
www.cancervacation.com
Now, even though the images you’ll see at CancerVacation might be a little raw, they are completely and entirely breast cancer real. They show surgery (Julia had a mastectomy, plus hysterectomy), hair loss, weight gain (yes, because being sick and bald isn’t quite enough!) and just about everything else central to the fight for life. There’s even some fun stuff, like paper dolls.
Basically, if you want an authentic look at breast cancer, Julia has the goods.
“When I first found out I had cancer I immediately went online to find out anything I could,” she writes on her blog. “The results were very disappointing. Nearly all of the photographs, especially, were deficient in multiple ways… usually the best you could find was a grainy, anonymous sort of ‘before’ and ‘after’ set. There is a very understandable reason for this; a lot of women don’t want to be photographed in any state of undress and especially not during a time when they’re vulnerable and scared. Most women don’t think, “Wow, I have cancer – I need to take some pictures of this!” Most people who have just been diagnosed with cancer are shocked and worried and have other things on their mind other than documenting the whole thing for other people.
So here was my opportunity to fix that. Sure, there weren’t easily accessible photos of what would happen to me during my mastectomy (and the following procedures)… but there will be for the next woman, right? This is something that (I think) I can fix.”
Every scar tells a story. Here’s Angi’s:
Angi Navarro
I got my first port in April 2005. I was told I should probably get a port prior to chemo (for breast cancer), so I found a general surgeon who could perform the surgery ASAP. I only had to do four rounds of chemo, but I didn’t want to take any chances with ruining my veins. As it is, I only have one arm which can be used since I had lymph nodes removed on the other side. After I completed my chemotherapy, I went ahead and set a date to have it removed, since it was pretty much useless as far as using it instead of an IV for surgery and such. My general surgeon didn’t find it necessary to take me back into the OR to remove my port. Instead she did it right in her office, claiming it wouldn’t hurt. At the time I had it removed, only three months had passed. So when she took a scalpel and sliced through the original incision, she was cutting through a healing wound — and it hurt. The site never healed correctly after that. Scar tissue formed on top of scar tissue. But still, it wasn’t all bad.
In 2008, when my cancer returned, it was thought that I would have to endure chemo again. So when the breast surgeon went in to remove bits of my chest wall, she placed a port so I wouldn’t need another surgical procedure. It wound up unnecessary, as I underwent radiation instead. The port sat unused until April of this year. I was undergoing breast reconstruction surgery, so my plastic surgeon removed it. Not long after, as it was healing, I noticed some areas that hurt when I touched it. Upon closer inspection, I found that I had very small bits of nylon surgical sutures poking out of the scar. I couldn’t pull them out or cut them any closer to the skin. These stitches sticking out, along with scar tissue on top of scar tissue, made for a pretty uncomfortable area. When I found out that I would be having revisions made to one of my breast implants, I asked my surgeon if he could make it a little less sightly. He agreed to revise the scar for me as part of my procedure on Monday. I’m looking forward to being able to wear my seat belt and bra straps comfortably again.
There’s a lot more to Angi’s cancer story than this. You can read all about it on Cancer is NOT a Death Sentence.
If you’ve got a story you’d like to share, please leave a comment, and I’ll be in touch.
Susan, a mother of four and breast cancer survivor for two years and three months, says, “My college daughter, Kait, created this intaglio ink print (etched on a metal plate) during my treatment in 2007. She never titled it, but to me it is what breast cancer looks like. This print is of our special vacation place, Lakeside, Ohio on Lake Erie. I feel it represents hope, love, comfort and sadness. The picture of myself and my sister (volunteering at the Race for the Cure) ”looks like breast cancer,” because we, as patients, get through the treatment with support from those special people around us.
Want to show me what you think breast cancer looks like? Please send me a photo that captures the essence of breast cancer, and I will display it here. Email to jackidonaldson@gmail.com, make sure your shot is at least 450 pixels wide and tell me something about the photo. No blurry pics, please.
The first time they accessed my port for chemo. My chest is pretty flat because they haven’t filled my expanders with saline yet.
My sister cutting my hair. This was soooooo hard. My boys were watching. Very emotional time for me.
The finished shave. It felt really weird.
A big hug from 3 of my boys. They were very supportive, even though it was very traumatic for them, having to watch my head being shaved.
Post chemo. You can see that I’ve lost most of my eyebrows and lashes. My face is a little puffy from the steroids they put me on during chemo. This was a good day – I was waiting at the airport for my son to get off the plane – he was returning after 2 years on an LDS mission in Japan.
Want to show me what you think breast cancer looks like? Please send me a photo that captures the essence of breast cancer, and I will display it here. Email to jackidonaldson@gmail.com, make sure your shot is at least 450 pixels wide and tell me something about the photo. No blurry pics, please.
Iris says, “Much more than cancer, are friends with whom you can rely on during the most difficult stages of treatment, they do look as a beautiful field of lavender. I had the privilege of being supported by my friends, who planned for my an amazing visit to flower fields of lavender in Quebec after my last session of chemotherapy.”
Want to show me what you think breast cancer looks like? Please send me a photo that captures the essence of breast cancer, and I will display it here. Email to jackidonaldson@gmail.com, make sure your shot is at least 450 pixels wide and tell me something about the photo. No blurry pics, please.
Madalena says, “For me it looks like a need for extraordinary strength.” This is an enormous sculpture in Lisbon, near the river, in front of a railway and boat station: Cais do Sodré.
Want to show me what you think breast cancer looks like? Please send me a photo that captures the essence of breast cancer, and I will display it here. Email to jackidonaldson@gmail.com, make sure your shot is at least 450 pixels wide and tell me something about the photo. No blurry pics, please.
Sherri Jo says, “Until I had breast cancer, I never fully realized what wonderful family and friends I have and how much I am loved. The outpouring of love and support I received was truly amazing. Every few days there was a card in my mailbox, flowers at my door, or something wonderful to cheer me on. People found such unique and creative ways to show their support for me and it made such a difference in my ability to cope with all the stress. One of my most favorite memories came from friends at my sailing club. On a particular race day when they knew I would be present, all of the sailors flew a pink ribbon on the back of their boat in my honor! What a site – to see 30 plus sailboats flying pink – just for me! I felt loved and celebrated and certain that I would survive the fight against breast cancer. Never underestimate what a simple show of support can do to lift a person’s spirits.
My husband instigated the whole event so he got a few extra starts in his halo. I am a lucky woman to have such wonderful people in my life.”
Want to show me what you think breast cancer looks like? Please send me a photo that captures the essence of breast cancer, and I will display it here. Email to jackidonaldson@gmail.com, make sure your shot is at least 450 pixels wide and tell me something about the photo. No blurry pics, please.
Lisa says, “My mom is on her second fight with breast cancer. She was diagnosed this last time near Mother’s Day and I was getting married in September. Last June she had a bilateral mastectomy, then 18 weeks of chemo, and then 30 treatments of radiation. During her first appointment with the oncologist she told her doctors to do what they needed to do, but she was going to my wedding (in Vegas) in September. I offered to change the wedding and she didn’t want me to do that. It was right in the middle of her chemo and she said it was a goal she set in her mind to get to that point. She went and got her chemo treatment that morning before we jumped in the car to go. She had all her instructions and whatnot in case she needed to go to a hospital out of town. Nothing was going to stop her … through out everything she kept the most positive attitude. She is amazing.
My day was so wonderful and special. I married a fabulous guy, but also a lot of that was b/c my mom was able to be there. She is the rock in my family and I was so blessed that she was able to attend.”
Want to show me what you think breast cancer looks like? Please send me a photo that captures the essence of breast cancer, and I will display it here. Email to jackidonaldson@gmail.com, make sure your shot is at least 450 pixels wide and tell me something about the photo. No blurry pics, please.
Tracy says, “I decided to shave my head before my hair started falling out. I asked my family and some friends to come with me so that I wouldn’t lose my nerve. It was an extremely emotional day for everyone as you can see from the picture of my husband and children. But what I found out in the end is that I still looked like me when I looked in the mirror and once I accepted it, my family did the same. One of my favorite pictures of all time is the picture of my newly shorn head with the hands of my husband, my mother and my two children on it. I think it shows strength and acceptance and that has been the story of my breast cancer journey. Strength from family and friends, strength of my own and acceptance that these are the cards we were dealt. I have recounted the entire head-shaving day on my own blog and find that it is one of my favorite entries.”
To read more about Tracy and her inspiring journey, visit her blog here.
Want to show me what you think breast cancer looks like? Please send me a photo that captures the essence of breast cancer, and I will display it here. Email to jackidonaldson@gmail.com, make sure your shot is at least 450 pixels wide and tell me something about the photo. No blurry pics, please.
Breast cancer looks like a lot of things. It looks like scared faces, surgery scars, bald heads, ports, radiation tattoos, growing hair, the color pink, after-treatment celebrations and so much more.
What does breast cancer look like to you?
Please send me a photo that captures the essence of breast cancer, and I will display it here. Email to jackidonaldson@gmail.com, make sure your shot is at least 450 pixels wide and tell me something about the photo. No blurry pics, please.
Above photo: My journey through breast cancer, illustrated through images of hair, or lack thereof.