Kirsten is my kid and has asked me to write a little something for Breast Cancer Awareness month (October). So here goes:

I’ve always been a stickler for getting an annual physical and mammo but when I became a foster mom to a 14 month old, I kinda put myself on the back burner.

Flash forward 2 1/2 years.

We moved with our little guy in tow. He was getting some speech therapy and I was just being mommy. One day, I got a little ache near the areola of my left boobie while I was showering. I ignored it. Two weeks later, same ache while in the shower. I felt myself up all over and found nothing. Pressing on the area, it seemed a bit sore, like a bruise but I saw nothing and was sure I’d remember getting bumped in the boobie. I decided to call the doctor. “Can you come in at 10:30?” asked the receptionist. It was 9:00am and after agreeing and being scared out of my wits with the urgency of this appointment (I figured I’d have to wait weeks), I fell on my knees, prayed and cried. I couldn’t be sick. I had this child to raise. I begged God to not let me die.

I felt some relief when the doctor didn’t feel anything but suggested I get that mammogram. And so, two weeks later I got the mammo. The tip off is when the tech tells you afterward to keep the johnny on because she wants to make sure the pictures came out ok. I already knew it was the left one. One more picture (of the left) and then I could get dressed but was told not to leave. Ten minutes later, another tech and the doctor that reads the films brought me in to discuss their findings. There were some calcifications and maybe they’re benign. They had already scheduled an appointment with the surgeon in the offices upstairs for the following week.

So I see the surgeon. He wants me to go for a biopsy. His receptionist knew that he’d want me go and in less than a week I was at the hospital getting this new, state of the art, stereotactic biopsy. Two hours I was lying on this table with a hole in it for my boob. The doctor was from my home state and was even born in the same hospital. Not a Swede, but he loved to go skiing there. This was the best bedside manners, ever!

By the end of the week I would have the results.

On Friday, around 5:30, the surgeon called…finally. “I’m sorry”, he said. “You have something called DCIS or ductal carcinoma in situ”. My only concern was what was going to happen now. He explained he could do a lumpectomy but I’d have a terribly misshapen boobie. I wanted a guarantee so I, rather assertively told him to just take the thing off. I was so far past having my boobies as decorative and I did use them as God intended. I’d also gained a little weight due to menopause and the saddest part was that I was actually starting to enjoy my somewhat robust boobies.

I was told about being able to get a replacement so I made an appointment with a plastic surgeon who specializes in reconstructive boobie surgery.

Finally, two months after my diagnosis I was going for surgery. At almost the same time, we had our little boy tested only to learn he was now diagnosed with Autism, somewhere in the middle of the spectrum as well as being non-verbal.

I got my surgery and my new boobie in one shot. My non-invasive DCIS had just become invasive but “within parameters”, meaning the surgeon got it all. He also removed two lymph nodes, which were tested but had no cancer.

My prayers were answered. I should have known that when my now adopted son received his diagnosis of Autism. Apparently God had a really big job in mind for me (and the most loving and supportive hubby ever) to raise this little boy. God wasn’t ready for me yet.

Note from Kirsten: Thanks, Mommy, for writing this! I wanted to do something for breast cancer awareness and the best way to do that was to have my mom tell her story. She can usually be found blogging at Amma’s Rants, but doesn’t post often because she’s too busy gathering up unrolled piles of toilet paper.