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In honor of Mother's Day and Race for the Cure, I post this article that appears in our company newsletter. Here at Hubbard Boradcasting, the health care analysts found that 40 percent of the women in our plan are not up-to-date with their mammograms. Forty per cent! They asked me to write my story, as a way to encourage women to make that appointment. I thought this might be a way to motivate others as well.
Thanks for listening--
Kevyn
Can I tell you the raw truth?
Every day, I miss my breast.
A surgeon was the last person to ever touch it. She touched it with a scalpel. Carved away the tumor and the tissue surrounding it. She handed me off to a plastic surgeon, who removed my latissmus muscle from my back, tunneled it through to my chest and repurposed it to hold an implant it place. These two surgeons worked for almost five hours to rebuild my body.
When I say I wish I still had my breast, what I mean is, I wish I had never had breast cancer.
Every day, I miss my breast.
A surgeon was the last person to ever touch it. She touched it with a scalpel. Carved away the tumor and the tissue surrounding it. She handed me off to a plastic surgeon, who removed my latissmus muscle from my back, tunneled it through to my chest and repurposed it to hold an implant it place. These two surgeons worked for almost five hours to rebuild my body.
When I say I wish I still had my breast, what I mean is, I wish I had never had breast cancer.
In fact, I wouldn't want my breast as it was the last time I saw it. It was full of cancer. It had to go so I could live.
I was diagnosed with breast cancer following a regular screening mammogram. The day before I had that appointment, I had walked in the annual Race for the Cure. Surrounded by people connected to breast cancer, walking side-by-side with survivors in their pink shirts. I felt awfully bad for them. Clueless I was about to become one of them.
Since then, I lost my hair during the course of chemotherapy. I had the Sunburn From Hell following 30 radiation sessions. And I had two more reconstruction surgeries.
Considering all this, my breasts look and feel pretty good.
I was diagnosed with breast cancer following a regular screening mammogram. The day before I had that appointment, I had walked in the annual Race for the Cure. Surrounded by people connected to breast cancer, walking side-by-side with survivors in their pink shirts. I felt awfully bad for them. Clueless I was about to become one of them.
Since then, I lost my hair during the course of chemotherapy. I had the Sunburn From Hell following 30 radiation sessions. And I had two more reconstruction surgeries.
Considering all this, my breasts look and feel pretty good.
Imagine if Raggedy Ann had grown up and filled out--that's my stitched-together look. If my breasts were once my twins, now they are as similar as a doll and a live baby.
I'm not complaining. Quite the reverse. I'm the lucky one and I know it. My breast cancer was caught early enough to be cured.
I'm not complaining. Quite the reverse. I'm the lucky one and I know it. My breast cancer was caught early enough to be cured.
But enough about me and my breasts. Let's talk about you and yours.
What could I give you for one of your breasts? Honest to Pete, if I showed up with an unlimited checkbook and offered to buy your breast from you, where should the bidding begin?
If they are, in fact, priceless, I wonder why so many women don't treat them with much regard?
The American Cancer Society recommends that women begin getting annual screening mammograms at age 40. Yet statistics compiled by the U.S. Centers for Disease Control tell us that the number of women getting regular screening mammograms has dropped steadily every year since 2003. With our current economic woes, some women's health advocates anticipate the number will drop even lower.
What could I give you for one of your breasts? Honest to Pete, if I showed up with an unlimited checkbook and offered to buy your breast from you, where should the bidding begin?
If they are, in fact, priceless, I wonder why so many women don't treat them with much regard?
The American Cancer Society recommends that women begin getting annual screening mammograms at age 40. Yet statistics compiled by the U.S. Centers for Disease Control tell us that the number of women getting regular screening mammograms has dropped steadily every year since 2003. With our current economic woes, some women's health advocates anticipate the number will drop even lower.
Do you find that as upsetting as I do?
I was up to date with my mammograms, and a good thing. What if I would have taken a year off? Those busy cancer cells wouldn't have taken a year off--they would have kept dividing. Perhaps they would have traveled to my brain, bones, lungs or liver and gotten busy there.
If I had taken a year off, maybe I would not be nagging you right now. Because maybe I wouldn't be here at all.
Since being diagnosed with breast cancer, I have become the go-to girl for women newly diagnosed with the disease. This happens to a lot of us survivors. A co-worker, a neighbor, a friend's sister gets the bad news and I get the call. Because I host a radio show, sometimes it's an e mail from a listener. These are women who don't want to walk this road any more than I did, and they seek advice, guidance, support from a traveler who has been where they are now forced to go. They want to hear from someone who got through it to know that they will, too.
Always, they were diagnosed following a mammogram.
I'm not proud to admit this, but sometimes I'm jealous of the caller. A number of people who I've talked to since my own diagnosis were able to have lumpectomies, not a mastectomy like I needed. In three cases that I personally know about, the women were diagnosed at an early enough stage that they did not need chemotherapy or radiation. They kept most of their breast--and their hair, too!
All because of an early catch.
What's your excuse for not scheduling your mammogram? If you're too busy for this test, just think how months of medical appointments will play havoc with your to-do list. If you think a mammogram is uncomfortable, just wait til you're reaching for the morphine after your breast is amputated. If you think you're too healthy to get breast cancer, I'd like you to know that I hadn't had a cold in 20 years when I was diagnosed. Maybe you think you're immune because no one in your family has ever had breast cancer. Well, the American Cancer Society tells us less than 10 percent of breast cancer is genetic.
The fact is, the vast majority of women diagnosed with breast cancer have no identifiable risk factors. Meaning, the disease occurs largely by chance.
Since we don't know who will get it, the only way to survive it is to catch it early, when it is curable.
If you're not getting regular mammograms, you're relying on luck. And that just isn't very smart, now, is it?
I had my mastectomy the same week that my daughter, a hard working honor student, graduated from high school. I missed her triumphant march for her diploma. This day, which should have been filled with pure joy and pride, came at a time of great fear and sorrow for my family.
Telling my children that I had cancer was gut-wrenching. Telling my parents, who love me so much, was so painful that I have no memory of it. Truly, I have blocked that conversation.
I tell you these things because I would never want anyone to experience this ghastly drama. Sadly, we know that some of you will be faced with this. By taking care of yourself, you increase your chances of surviving.
Until there is a cure, there is only early detection.
I was up to date with my mammograms, and a good thing. What if I would have taken a year off? Those busy cancer cells wouldn't have taken a year off--they would have kept dividing. Perhaps they would have traveled to my brain, bones, lungs or liver and gotten busy there.
If I had taken a year off, maybe I would not be nagging you right now. Because maybe I wouldn't be here at all.
Since being diagnosed with breast cancer, I have become the go-to girl for women newly diagnosed with the disease. This happens to a lot of us survivors. A co-worker, a neighbor, a friend's sister gets the bad news and I get the call. Because I host a radio show, sometimes it's an e mail from a listener. These are women who don't want to walk this road any more than I did, and they seek advice, guidance, support from a traveler who has been where they are now forced to go. They want to hear from someone who got through it to know that they will, too.
Always, they were diagnosed following a mammogram.
I'm not proud to admit this, but sometimes I'm jealous of the caller. A number of people who I've talked to since my own diagnosis were able to have lumpectomies, not a mastectomy like I needed. In three cases that I personally know about, the women were diagnosed at an early enough stage that they did not need chemotherapy or radiation. They kept most of their breast--and their hair, too!
All because of an early catch.
What's your excuse for not scheduling your mammogram? If you're too busy for this test, just think how months of medical appointments will play havoc with your to-do list. If you think a mammogram is uncomfortable, just wait til you're reaching for the morphine after your breast is amputated. If you think you're too healthy to get breast cancer, I'd like you to know that I hadn't had a cold in 20 years when I was diagnosed. Maybe you think you're immune because no one in your family has ever had breast cancer. Well, the American Cancer Society tells us less than 10 percent of breast cancer is genetic.
The fact is, the vast majority of women diagnosed with breast cancer have no identifiable risk factors. Meaning, the disease occurs largely by chance.
Since we don't know who will get it, the only way to survive it is to catch it early, when it is curable.
If you're not getting regular mammograms, you're relying on luck. And that just isn't very smart, now, is it?
I had my mastectomy the same week that my daughter, a hard working honor student, graduated from high school. I missed her triumphant march for her diploma. This day, which should have been filled with pure joy and pride, came at a time of great fear and sorrow for my family.
Telling my children that I had cancer was gut-wrenching. Telling my parents, who love me so much, was so painful that I have no memory of it. Truly, I have blocked that conversation.
I tell you these things because I would never want anyone to experience this ghastly drama. Sadly, we know that some of you will be faced with this. By taking care of yourself, you increase your chances of surviving.
Until there is a cure, there is only early detection.
Cancer strengthened my faith and has given me a renewed belief in the afterlife. I know that in heaven, I will have my body back, intact and whole.
But I don't think about that too often. And I'm in no hurry for that reunification.
Because I take good care of myself, I look forward to many years in the here and now.
And I can live with who and what I am.
But I don't think about that too often. And I'm in no hurry for that reunification.
Because I take good care of myself, I look forward to many years in the here and now.
And I can live with who and what I am.
