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In 2002, I was diagnosed with locally advanced breast cancer. I was 31 years old. I had no family history and was in the prime of my life. I had been married for 8 short months, had a new career and a new home. First day of the rest of my life, right? When I felt the lump in my breast, I knew it was not normal. It was not like the others that would come and go, or just seemed to be a part of my anatomy. This was different. It was hard and almost sharp. It seemed to jut out. I watched it for a few weeks and it did not go away. Although I wasn’t alarmed, I went to the doctor. He was not alarmed either, because of my age, but said they don’t take chances with lumps in the breast and told me to see a surgeon and have a mammogram. Thank God for this doctor! That is rarely the way that scenario plays out, as I have come to learn from other young survivors whose doctors turned them away. I had the mammogram, and although we knew the lumps were there, they saw nothing. I was sent for an ultrasound and, what do ya know, TWINS! I had 2 lumps, one underneath the other and they were not regular cysts. The radiologist asked when I was going to see the surgeon. One week. She suggested I move that appointment up as soon as possible. Six months later I had my last round of chemotherapy treatment. Shortly after I had a bilateral mastectomy and reconstruction. And I began to pick up the pieces of my life. I had hit a huge wall depression, confusion, anger and fear. I wasn’t expecting that. I had been so active during treatment. I immersed myself in the disease and treatment options. I had built a new social circle that consisted of doctors and nurses and schedulers and pharmacists. That had all come to an end and I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was also now dealing with my battle wounds, including the devastating side effect of chemotherapy that left me infertile. I had become very active in the cancer community, volunteering and speaking with other newly diagnosed women. I decided that continuing that would help me heal, and it has. I competed in a triathlon 3 short months after my last surgery, making my physical self feel somewhat whole again. I also realized that being with other survivors - reveling in our scars, our laughter, and our tears - can be the greatest healer of all. In October 2004, I joined up with 23 amazing women as the van driver of the first ever Amazon Heart Changing Gears ride in California. It was a time on my life that I will always cherish. The memory only made more rosy by the fact that I was 4 months pregnant. After almost 2 years of chemo-induced infertility, I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy named Gage. He is now a year old and a bundle of giggles, blue eyes and curly blond hair. I look forward to making more memories with the Amazon Heart Odyssey in Montana. Meeting more incredible survivors. Participating in another incredible event put on by Megan and Meredith. I also can’t wait for the opportunity to learn about the amazing culture of the Blackfeet Indians and to leave behind something for those children.
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