My Breasts, My Cure -- Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

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Breast Cancer Profile

         My Mom never had to force me to eat my vegetables because I have always loved vegetables . . . more than she does, actually. And fruits? Aah, even more so. For many years, I have limited my consumption of red meat to the minimum, and ate mostly chicken and fish. I also exercised regularly, and proud to say that the athleticism that started in my youth is still with me today. I don't drink, I don't smoke; always avoided second hand smoke, and I've never had any serious illness in my life.

         So, I thought I was indestructible.

         So, I thought I did not fit the breast cancer personality.

         I was wrong. I know now that every woman is at risk for getting breast cancer.

         Asian American women were once considered less susceptible to breast cancer than any other ethnic group in the U.S. Today, while Asian American women are still considered to have the lowest incidence and mortality rate in the nation, the rate is steadily increasing.

         I met Susan Lee through the American Cancer Society who connects women with breast cancer for support. She doesn't fit the cancer personality. She is a third generation Asian immigrant from China. As far as she knows there is no history of breast cancer in her family. Last year, she was diagnosed with Stage IV breast cancer. It was the size of a small orange that has metastasized to her lymph nodes in the axilla or armpit as well as in her liver.

         She is 30 years old and still a bride who could not wait to start a family--a big one. "I come from a ten-sibling family," she says, "and my married brothers and sisters are already following this big-family tradition."

         What angers Susan is that several months before the diagnosis, her doctor had ignored her request for a biopsy after an ultrasound showed a solid mass in her left breast. The pathology report indicated a non-cancerous cyst. Her doctor contended that she was too young for breast cancer, not to mention that being of Asian origin, she was virtually risk free for breast cancer. She found another doctor who listened to her.

         "I could have been treated much earlier," she says. "But I realize that six months would not have made any difference. The doctors say that my cancer has probably been there for at least ten years before the lump was detected by mammography."

         After six months of powerful chemotherapy and five weeks of daily radiation treatment, Susan is recovering well. Every strand of her hair has grown back and her energy is also slowly returning to normal.

         "But the cancer has shattered my dream of building a family," she laments. She is not in the best mood today. She hardly touches her food. We had such a great time when we first met that I was excited when she invited me for lunch. She had a two-for-one coupon at Benihana that she used. Funny thing, she doesn't strike me as a coupon-saver. She hails from a well-do-to family, and is married to an executive of a large corporation in Colorado. "I have stopped menstruating from taking the anti-estrogen pill," Susan continues. "I fear that someday they might have to remove my ovaries as well. And I might never get pregnant."

         I feel for her. This is just one of the frightening consequences of breast cancer treatment on premenopausal women. I have abandoned my desire to have children years ago after my divorce, and my current lifestyle is no longer conducive to parenting. Chemo-induced menopause is not a concern for me, except for the other side effects of the anti-estrogen Tamoxifen. Many women complain about vaginal discharge and dryness, which could cause severe discomfort when engaged in intercourse. I hope that won't be true in my case.

         Susan's lips begin to quiver. She lays down her fork, and looks away to hide the tears, only to start sobbing. "Oh, God, why me?"

         Fear, confusion and panic are emotional but understandable reaction to a diagnosis and treatment of cancer. And many women immediately ask this question to someone up above. Though I do not deny that I have been slapped with a life threatening, or, at the least, a life-altering illness, I knew right away that there would not be an answer to the why me question. I can philosophize that God wants me to reallocate some of my humanitarian energy towards helping other women help themselves by educating them of breast cancer. Yes, that's nice, and I believe it to be true. But instead of analyzing why I got the cancer, I automatically turned my proactive spirit switch on and established a plan for my optimal cure.

         "I'm so sorry," she says between sobs. "I'm supposed to be an inspiration to you, but I can't help it."

         "Don't worry about me," I say. "Go ahead, cry your heart out. It's good for you."

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Next item: "My Breasts, My Cure-- Chapter Eight"