Again, thanks so very much for the positivity you are sending out to me in this journey and soul-bearing. You have no idea how much it helps to pull me through, especially on the rough days, of which I have had more than I care to admit. I know, I usually like to show off my bad-assery in public, but there are times when this is just fucking hard.

Several people have asked how this cancer was discovered in the first place, so I’m gonna be forthright here and now. If you think this is TMI, then just don’t read further. You won’t hurt my feelings. Not one bit.

I was, by nature, an original member of the “Itty-Bitty-Titty Club”. Long and lean with a 34AA bra size, even the Playtex “Nearly A” bra was too generous. I was self-conscious throughout high school and college, watching other girls bounce around in their bikini’s and tight shirts. But it wasn’t until after Jeff and I got married in the early 90’s that I decided to get breast implants. For myself. (Thankfully, Jeff is a leg man.) Nothing big. A nice, solid B cup would be nice. I was mortified when I came out of anesthesia to find I couldn’t even see past these big-ass monoliths. What the fuck was I thinking? I’m a freak! I wanted Smokey Mountain  foothills, I got the Grand Tetons!

I voiced my horror to the the plastic surgeon, who smugly reassured me that all his patients wished they had gone bigger, and besides, they would go down as the swelling abated. A year later I returned for a reduction, and the good doctor reassured me that he would give me what I wanted, a B. It was not to be. Still a very full C, I tolerated the replacements for 20 years.

During that time I had my annual mammograms. It was a bit harder to get a good reading, and I endured what I was sure would bust these suckers once and for all.  Let me note here— VERY IMPORTANT! I have dense breasts. Add to that implants, and mammograms are anything but conclusive. And no one ever explained to me that breast implants should be replaced after about 10 years. By then they were hard as rocks and had encapsulated, and I finally said enough is enough so I had a them removed . (That was almost 6 years ago.)

Problem was, when the (different, female) plastic surgeon removed them, the right muscle and nipple were quite deformed. She explained there was a lot of scar tissue in me, and maybe the muscle got caught up in some of it. According to her, the only way to correct the deformity was to get new implants.

Well, Hell to the NO! I wanted nothing artificial back in this chest!

So I left well-enough alone and sailed off into the sunset. I did, however, still get my yearly mammograms. And the radiologists and doctors always questioned that breast (well, they didn’t actually talk to it). And I explained what had been told to me, and nothing suspicious ever showed up. It was once suggested that I get a biopsy, this was right before we moved to Mexico. Arriving in Mexico, I visited another doctor,  but after looking at my films, comparing them to his new mammogram,  and reading the previous Dr’s notes, he said it was scar tissue and micro-calcifications and just to continue to get my regular screenings.

So I did, but I also did have a biopsy the following year, that came back clear.

Fast forward to now.

I am fortunate to be in Puerto Vallarta where there is a local resource for tourists (and some locals) with a nurse that sets up clinics and appointments for just about any medical issue you can imagine. It was at the Breast Clinic on the last day of October that I had my annual mammogram. The surgical Oncologist sent me immediately for an ultrasound, then within 30 minutes explained his concerns in detail. He ordered a tissue biopsy (ouch!) to be done on the following Sunday morning. I waited  a week for the results. That was one fucking loooonnnng week!

When the results came back positive, I was devastated. Thankfully I have a therapist here that responded immediately to my news and we made an appointment to process all the shit going through my brain. Jeff was there, and we discussed what I needed from him during this time, as well. (Very important to involve your primary caregiver in everything.)

And now, all of a sudden, one month later, I have endured my first round of Chemotherapy and am learning to deal with living a completely different life.

So now that you know a lot more detail about my experiences, I am going to offer up some suggestive guidance. And I encourage you to share this with your sisters, your friends, your tribe. It may save a life.

If you are ever told you have dense breasts–or if you don’t know for sure— ASK…get an ultrasound every couple of years in addition to that yearly mammogram  It can detect a lot more. (That’s how Robin Roberts found hers. She just went for one with no recommendation.)

If a doctor suggests a biopsy, don’t be afraid. Get it!

If something doesn’t feel right to you, but is dismissed, speak up. Get a second opinion. Many times, a new set of eyes can see things differently.

If you don’t already have breast implants but are considering them, think long and hard. I know I’m gonna get spanked on this one, but the majority of women that I know who have them are dealing with a myriad of underlying issues as a direct result of having foreign matter inside their body. I’m not suggesting that breast implants cause cancer, and if you have no issues, then thank your lucky stars and enjoy them, you are fortunate.

Several years after getting implants, I developed not only arthritis in my shoulders that required surgery, but an autoimmune disease called Sjogrens Syndrome. Again, I have no proof, but feel suspicious that they are related. A suspicion. That is all. When I suggested this to various medical professionals in the US, I was poo-poo’d. Sure. Because our hearth care system is owned by Big Pharma and Big Pharma makes a shit ton on implants as well as related medical issues possibly related to them. OOOHHHH!!!!! I am REALLY gonna get spanked on that. 

Rant Over.

I hope I have shared enough information to at lease get you thinking, and to encourage you, my sisters, in being proactive about your breast healthcare. It could save your life. It could save you from having to endure a whole lot of years of basically being poisoned back to health. The irony of this is that, in the name of vanity, I am going to lose my beasts completely.

But you know what? I’m OK with that. Because if I was given this dis-ease for a reason, maybe I can use it to help others, in one way or another.

Until next time,

No Pasa Nada