I was 12 years old when my grandma died of lymphoma cancer. I remember what great a woman she was. In the years preceding her death I remember how she had gone from the strong woman she had once been physically and mentally to a woman who was in and out of the hospital and clinics for chemo and follow ups. I remember all the pills she took. I remember how the doctors had tried different treatments, how the family had converged to agree upon what path to take after one treatment after the other failed. I remember my grandma telling us we were not to cry once she was no more. I remember her hair falling off. I remember the way she keep the food down an emesis basin always by her bed because of how often she threw up.
I remember it all like it was yesterday because its what lead me into the healthcare field. I had a burning passion to learn more about what was wrong with her, how I could help, how to say the right things (therapeutically), what to do and when to do it. I remember wanting to make my grandma feel ok, wanting to take it all away. Vowing oncology would be my specialty. Taking an interest in it during my rotations. I remember how my heart has broken with every oncology patient who has been under my care.
Yesterday I found a lump on my right breast it was the last thing I expected. Why me? why not me? I've not been the same since. I worry. I zone out. I'm here and not here. Tears keep flooding my eyes. Do I want to know? should I be worried this much? will it really end up been the monster or just a false alarm?
Emotions are boiling in me. Spilling out of me. I cannot put into words my worry. I cannot sleep. I cannot tell my family because they will worry too much and what if it turns out to be nothing. But what if it turns out to be something?
I'm taking this opportunity to encourage all of your my dear readers to perform your monthly SBE (Self Breast Exam)
