
It was a day like today about 10 years ago when I received a phone call from my little sister letting me know the results of some tests she had taken at her doctor's office earlier in the week. You see, she had fallen about a month prior hurting her coccyx and it didn't seem to be healing.
After we exchanged our hello's she said that she had some bad news. I worked in a crowded room with about 10 other people and decided to transfer the call to the conference room for privacy. I ran over, locked the door behind me and took a deep breath before picking up, "So, how did it go?"
She replied, "Not good. I have breast cancer. It's stage 4."
I had no idea what 'stage 4' meant and I didn't ask because she had choked up and needed to get off the phone to compose herself. I immediately phoned my mother who, if memory serves, had accompanied her on her doctors visit, "No, it's not good." I could hear her holding back tears as she confirmed the worst, "She is going to die."
My mother has never been one for showing emotion so I knew this was bad. Maybe even bigger than bad.
I returned to my desk shell-shocked; my co-worker noticed and asked me what was wrong. I informed her, "My sister just called to tell me that she was just diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer. I don't even know what that means but by the sound of her voice I'm assuming that it's pretty bad. I just glad it's not stage 5."
My co-worker hugged me and whispered in my ear, "Honey, there is no stage 5. I'm so sorry."
I left the office feeling completely numb and found solace in wandering around the parking lot for about an hour just thinking. And crying. And hurting. And hating.
And wondering. How does a young woman of 31 get diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer?
Over the course of the next couple of weeks I would piece the puzzle together. About a year earlier my sister got her first sign - she felt a lump in her armpit. She saw a doctor who told her that it was just a clogged sweat gland or something. But it never went away and she never really dealt with it again.
I asked her, "Why didn't you get another opinion? Or a mammogram?"
She replied matter-of-factly, "I was way too young for my insurance to cover a mammogram so we didn't do one. Besides I wanted to believe him because I didn't want it to be anything else."
I insisted, "But you might've caught this at stage 3 or even stage 2."
She simply raised her eyebrows and said softly - no, remorsefully, "I know."
Her doctors advised her to 'get her affairs in order' and gave her six months to live. Well 'fuck that' she told stage 4 breast cancer as she took her own sweet time and gave us another four years. And she fought damn hard for those four years summoning a bravery I had never seen before. It was downright heroic.
And so unnecessary.
I write this as a plea to you women who are reading this: October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month - please ladies, go get your mammograms. Early detection saves lives.
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