I was twenty four years old when I found out I had cancer. Twenty four.
I went to the doctor for my annual checkup and he did my normal breast exam. The lump I'd had since I was 14 hadn't changed at all. It was a fibroid...typical among small breasted women. No harm...no foul.
My doctor asked me about life, my brothers, etc. and then paused and looked sharply at my left breast. I looked too and saw a clearish bloody drop on the nipple.
Him: How long have you had a discharge?
Me: I've never seen a discharge.
I was scheduled for a biopsy the next morning. It's nothing...you're too young, it's probably nothing. I slept well that night.
The biopsy was inpatient surgery. I drove myself to the hospital cuz this was during a very dark period in my life and I'd driven everyone away with my hate-the-world/the-world-owes me attitude. I lied to the doctor and told them my brother was in the lobby waiting. That he didn't like hospitals after my parents death. They bought it. I drove myself home. They'd let me know in two days if it was something to worry about. Two days came and went. I worried about nothing.
Day four, there was a message from him on my machine. Please call.
My boyfriend at the time went with me cuz I was scared. It had taken four days because they wanted to send it to a specialist and the verdict was reached there.
Dr. Laura Cassidy.
She was the specialist. I google her from time to time to see what she's up to because I will never forget the care she showed me while telling me I had cancer.
When you hear bad news you don't really remember what was said unless it's something simple. What you remember is how you FELT and I felt like I'd fallen in outer space...lifeless, plummeting in a vortex of heat and darkness. A hand gripping my throat allowing nothing. No inhale, no exhale. Gasping heat. I've felt this way twice in my life.
"You have cancer. A very rare form of cancer called secretory carcinoma. I'm sorry."
Because of the depth of this invasion of my body...a mastectomy was ordered. Oh...and a reconstruction, of course.
Do you ever think of your breasts? I mean REALLY think of them? Up until then...I never did but suddenly they became symbols of ALL THINGS WOMAN. What would I be without that which made me inarguably woman?
I've always been a tortured soul.
As a child I would internalize everything because we weren't really allowed to show true emotion. It was always a show, an act, put a face on whatever you're feeling cuz we're not those kind of people. Only those without pride put their business in the street. We're PRIVATE people. Think the masks of Mardi Gras. Tortured souls.
Four people knew what I was dealing with. I didn't put my business in the street. I hid it and smiled right up to the counting backwards from 20 on the operating table.
When I woke I was in pain. I'd dreamed of my mother and then my father showed up in my dream and her screams woke me. Pain. The MOST physical pain I'd ever been in. My breast. Gone...but you couldn't tell because of all the bandages. Morphine became my friend. Quickly.
In the weeks following I healed enough to get my aureole tattooed onto my new breast. I still didn't know what it looked like because I couldn't bring myself to look at it. It would be years before I could. I wouldn't let them take pictures because I didn't want to end up in that damn book that was in the examination room showing before and after pics. The thought of women looking at my pics sickened me. My business out in the street.
Today I'm 37 and there is a lot different about me from the 24 year old me. My right breast is my natural breast and my left breast is a reconstructed one. It still sits where it sat when I was 24 and my right breast sits where it should for a 37 year old woman. LOL.
Today I've learned the power of opening up and I have the luxury of having unconditional love next to me always. I would NEVER have to drive myself to a hospital ever again. I never have to hide my feelings. I never have to pretend. I can be happy or sad or pissed off if that's what I feel like. And yes...it's so damn liberating.
My business is in the street. Once again, proof that my parents had it wrong.
Hi. I'm Monica Mingo and I'm a cancer survivor. Yes...I have a fake boob but it's cool...cuz I have a GREAT azz. ROFL!
Stoopit Imaginary Person: Thanks for clearing that up cuz I was wondering if my eyes were lopsided. Turns out it's just you! Great!
