There can be life after breast cancer. Prerequisite is early detection.

M – My Mother; D – Daughter (me); S - Son (my brother); F - My Father

Dec 2001

M: Something feels different in my left breast. I feel a rock deep inside.

D feels it. Pauses. Nods the head in acknowledgment.

M: Maybe it's cancer?

D: Come on! Let me check the other side.

D feels the other side but it's different. However, dismisses the thought. Brain Fog or Denial. Whatever you call it.

D: Both sides feel the same. Maybe that's the way it is composed for u. Stop thinking too much.

M feels relieved with those words of assurance from D.

In the quiet chambers of doubt, reassurance can feel like a lifeline, leading us to embrace the truth we wish to see, rather than the fears whispering in the shadows.

Feb 2002

A couple of months passes by. M experiences severe fatigue. F persuades her & takes her to doctor.

The doctor examines and orders a mammogram. The result of mammogram says fibroid like structure found. To rule out malignancy, FNAC suggested. (FNAC is Fine Needle Aspiration Cytology’ is a quick simple test designed to determine if the lump is cancerous). 

The doctor looks at mammogram & admonishes the need to do FNAC attributing to the recent menopause & concludes that lump is a fibroid. Family is happy to accept this.  However, F is worried and insists on seeking a second opinion. M ignores this suggestion and places her complete trust in the doctor's diagnosis.

The comfort of familiarity is a balm for the mind. Hey, second opinion matters! Maybe it won’t change a thing, or it may change the world. Please get it! 

May 2002

Fatigue worsens, and the lump seems to have grown larger. A shadow of doubt creeps in, replacing the initial hope. M returns to the same doctor, who now advises an FNAC while confidently believing it to be a fibroid. The doctor’s confident words feel hollow as the results confirm malignancy. The doctor swiftly drafts a referral letter to an oncologist, with beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Within two weeks, surgery takes place, and the pathology report explicitly reveals stage 3 with possible spread. 

Now, D & S are brought to the picture disclosing the news of surgery & results. The news hit them like a ton of bricks. Numbness, disbelief, fear. S had to leave for his post-graduation in US, D had to get back to college to give semester exams. M assures both her children that she will come out stronger. At least D, with all her naivety believes it fully & goes back to college. S hangs around for chemo sessions and few cycles of radiation, before heading to the US. 

In the delicate interplay of hope and fear, even the swiftest of answers can bear weights unseen, leaving hearts heavier than anticipated.

 Aug 2002

M demonstrates positive signs of recovery, prompting S to depart for the U.S.

D is now at home on vacation following her semester exams. Meanwhile, M visits the hospital alone every evening after work for radiation treatment, with no one accompanying her.

 M: Now that you are home, could you come to the hospital in the evening while I undergo radiation? I’m getting tired, and I feel unsteady on my feet. I’m worried that I might fall.

D promptly agrees and goes every evening, waiting at the bus stop for M and walking with her to the hospital. She waits outside the radiation room and returns home afterward. A week goes by, and it’s time to meet the radiation oncologist.

M informs the doctor: ‘At times in the office, I experience sudden, intense headaches that last for a few seconds. During these episodes, I can’t focus, my vision blurs, and I sweat.’

The doctor asks additional questions regarding the nature, frequency, and duration of the pain, then promptly orders an MRI. An appointment at the MRI center is scheduled in a week. Before the appointment, M faints at home and is taken to the emergency room. The MRI is expedited, and the results reveal metastasis in the brain, with nine tumors distributed across 6 out of 8 lobes of the brain.

From September 2002 to December 2002, M navigates the trials of pain & palliative care until her final breath, while the rest of the family grapples with shadows of stress and trauma. They put effort to transform anguish into compassion, a faint line of hope amidst the threads of pain & loss.

Today:

I often reflect on December 2001, lamenting my misfortune for not fully understanding the gravity of the situation & pushing for immediate medical intervention. Sometimes, there is also regret for not having insisted that the doctor order an FNAC or convinced my mom to go for second opinion, like my dad suggested. It was a 2nd & 3rd chance thrown at us to grab & act. Perhaps, my mother would still be with us today? We were all simply 'UNINFORMED.'

Fast forward to 2024, and I feel truly happy for the awareness that exists now. Advances in research, technology, and treatment have come a long way. I encourage everyone reading this to stay informed.

Your body speaks; listen closely. Schedule your annual checkup. You know your body—if something feels off, seek medical attention. Remember, prevention is always better than cure. I must add that sometimes it's beyond our control, but an early diagnosis can lead to an effective treatment.

Take care of yourself and your loved ones! You owe it to yourself! #BreastCancerAwarenessMonth