Today, right now, my mom has started on her journey.
From her blog:
Many of you know that I am a breast cancer survivor. I have been breast cancer free- and without breasts per se for 2.5 years now! I had immediate reconstruction after a prophylactic bilateral mastectomy due to being a carrier of the BRCA gene- but the pathology found cancer that had been undetected in mammograms and even a breast MRI. So this year is the 3rd year I will walk in the 3Day 60 mile Susan G Komen walk for breast cancer.
Let me tell you this: my mom is one fucking tough broad. I went with my mother on the day that she went to the doctor to have that lump looked at. I drove her there and stood by her side, stoic and strong while she leaned into me and expelled heavy tears onto my shoulder. It was so scary.
My grandmother had both of her breasts removed. My aunt struggled with the chemo from her breast cancer treatment and ultimately died from the complications that the chemo had on her body. My sister and my brother both carry the BRCA1 gene, the breast cancer gene. And when my mom found that lump, she was resolved: she knew exactly what she was going to do.
She looked cancer in the face and, even though she was shaking and scared, gritted her teeth and said, “Fuck you, cancer. You can have my tits but you can’t have me.”
Her first walk, in 2008. You can sort of see that her hair is pink here.
She always said she’d do that… I remember even as a kid, cancer was a reality that we all just grew up knowing about. In my parent’s shower, for as long as I could remember, there was a little plastic plaque hanging from the shower head with detailed instructions on how to perform a breast self-exam. I was giving myself breast self-exams even when my tits were just little fluffy nipples before I even wore a bra.
The reality is, in this era — with all we know about cancer — it’s close to us… Everyone knows somebody or is related to somebody that has been struck by this disease. And until we find a cure, cancer will continue to creep up in our lives, our homes, our bodies.
During the walk last year.
So today, for the third year in a row, my mother walks. She dons her pink hat and her custom screen printed tshirts. She puts on her silly gorilla feet shoes and packs a ridiculously large fanny pack with water bottles and extra shoes and who the fuck knows what she’s actually got in there. The point is — she walks. She raises money and she walks.
She looks cancer in the face and says, “Fuck you, cancer. You got my tits, but you’re not getting me.”
No related posts.
Your mom is awesome. And so are you!!
(My mother and her older sister both had breast cancer, but beat it and lived to be 91 and 99 respectively. Their middle sister was not so lucky with bone cancer that eventually killed her in January 2000.)
Your Mom is amazing!! What a strong woman!