The C Word

Cancer. It’s such a scary word.

One evening after a long day at work I felt uncomfortable/itchy in my bra. Not thinking much of it, because the underwire struggle is REAL, I went to adjust myself and that’s when I felt it. I stopped dead in my tracks. The room, which was abuzz with Pandora playing awesome 80’s hair bands, thunderous rolling snores coming from my dog tucked neatly under her blanket atop her fit-for-a-princess doggie bed, and my spouse feverishly typing on the computer, suddenly went silent. Standing there, holding my right boob, everything seemed to stop except for my rapidly increasing heart rate.

So here’s a truth bomb, I am a worrier. Like a BIG worrier. Some may even go as far as classifying me as the “H” word – hypochondriac. I mean who isn’t these days when you can google literally anything and self-diagnose with WebMD?! Anyway, this was different. I just knew it. What I felt in my right boob was so not normal I just knew it wasn’t supposed to be there. So, what does one do in this situation? They make their spouse touch it! After some brief groping, which felt more like probing, my suspicions were confirmed. The pebble in my boob was not normal and I needed to see my doctor.

I was diagnosed with invasive ductal carcinoma (IDC) breast cancer. It was March 17, 2014. I was 29 years old and devastated.

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