The “C” word is hard to hear and even harder to say. Until you realize it’s part of your life it’s even hard to think about. You hear of people being healed and in remission and you also hear of those who don’t make it as long as we think they should have. Lives cut short because of the 6 letter “C” word.

The dreaded “C” word. Cancer. It stands alone as a word, as a phrase, or even as an entire chapter. It changes lives from the moment it is uttered. Changes for more than the person who was given the word, but for family, friends, coworkers and even those who only hear that the person was given the word. It is overwhleming for the person diagnosed but it is also numbing. It is very hard to find words of comfort if you have never been touched by the word.

Please choose your words carefully. Think how you would answer if you were asked a question. Be sensitive and don’t say things like: “Well, if you have to have it, that’s a good cancer to have.” “You’re so brave.” “If anyone can beat this, you can.” “Have you tried …?” “Remember, someone else has it worse.”

Say things like the following: “I don’t know what to say, but please know that I care.” “Please let me know how I can help.” “I’m sorry to hear you’re going through this.” “How are you doing?” And listen to what they are saying. Sometimes it helps to get thoughts out. Not in any particular order, but to just get it out.

My doctor actually said, “If you have to have cancer, this is a good one to have because we have so many options these days. So, don’t start off thinking the worst.” It felt like ice water being thrown over my head and being given a sock to dry off with. My husband, at the time, was more concerned with how long I’d be out of work than my diagnosis. Atypical Ductal Hyperplasia, with the cancer being found in the ducts of my left breast, was what I was told. Listening, but not hearing had me looking up the words after I got home. I had to have radiation and also went that alone. Every morning before work for weeks. I didn’t want pity or to give up, but there were times I needed to cry. To break down in someones arms and just cry. And he wasn’t there for me.

My biological mother died of breast cancer in 1968. They didn’t have the technology nor the medical ability that there is today for her to have had a chance. She had been diagnosed before age 32, I’m told. She was 34 years old when she passed. I have been told that she had a mastectomy, but there is no one to confirm if it was one or both and I do not have any other information concerning her cancer battle.

I had been having mammograms since the age of 30 because of her passing. I credit my gynocologist with finding it in 2014 when she removed my cervix. She wanted me to have an MRI mammogram and 6 months later have a regular mammogram. She made my appointment and the MRI showed the cancer. I was in shock and so many things ran through my head.

The surgeon said it might be overkill, but they could remove all the ductal tisssue as well as the internal breast tissue and replace it with fatty tissue. I was all for it because that would mean I would be worry free from another instance of breast cancer. My husband stated that we could wait and if it came back, we could think about it then. That left me worried and unsettled about the future. I knew as I got older, recovery would be harder. He would hear nothing of it. He just wanted to know how long I’d be out of work. I regret my decision every day that I wake up.

Two days before my final radiology appointment, I had a horrible gall bladder attack and needed emergency surgery. I did not have my last two doses and the oncologist said they were two of the highest dose sessions, but it should be ok. I took Tamoxifen for 5 years. It is supposed to hinder the growth of cancer cells. I am now 6 years cancer free! I still look over my shoulder thinking it’s chasing me, but I get my mammograms and am blessed thus far.