ChickSpeak

As October surrounds us with a sea of pink in the aisles of grocery stores, on the thirty second commercials on television, and in the glossy advertisements of magazines, one cannot help to be reminded that October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. 

All that pink forms a rather large, vociferous Voice that begs women to consider the importance of self-breast exams, which will, in return, go on deaf ears belonging to women who will, undoubtedly, continue on with their lives; particularly us ladies that find ourselves in the escapades of college life, because (frankly) college is too busy to concern ourselves with an unrealistic worry such as cancer.  Cancer, we tell ourselves sweetly, is for old people…or sick people…or people who do not take care of themselves…

WE are none of those things, surely.  We are the newest breed of do-it-all, be-it-all women, and we simply do not have time on our busy agenda to have cancer, much less consider it.  Time to blink an eye at the thought of breast cancer (or any cancer for that matter) would be wasted time for most of us—we are young, healthy, and vital, despite being tired occasionally or bothered sporadically by a runny nose or an aching head. 

Or at least that is what I thought.  A Dean’s List student, a volunteer in the pediatric oncology department at the local hospital, and a high-energy babysitter, I thought any exhaustion on my part was due to my busy schedule. Horseback riding, I assured myself, was causing pain throughout my body.  Fevers, I assumed, were due to persistent bug. 

Certainly, I complained of these symptoms to my doctors and parents, presuming that they would know if anything was seriously wrong, but they guaranteed that I was being overly sensitive, perhaps a hypochondriac.  “There is nothing wrong with you,” they insisted and, so, I took a backseat to others convictions and let myself believe that I was alright. 

That is until May 3rd, 2007, five days before my twenty-first birthday, when one brilliant doctor refused to believe I was imagining my symptoms diagnosed me with stage-two primary liver cancer, despite the fact that I never drunk a drop of alcohol and had lived a relatively healthy life.  Suddenly my entire existence was completely interrupted-no longer was I a rising senior about to embark on my final year in college, but I was a cancer patient dealing with the issues created from having sixty percent of my liver, six lymph nodes, and a piece of my diaphragm removed. 

After healing from surgery, I began radiation and chemotherapy, and after that?  Well, another surgery to fix yet another life threatening condition that resulted in the removal of the right side of my colon.  Sure, the fears and doubts and just the pure physical pain that was involved were not exactly the highlight of my summer, but meeting fantastic people (from doctors to nurses to other patients and their family members) with hearts big enough to wrap around the anxiety that paralyzed me helped make the difficult process easier. 

Family members and friends who were dedicated to not only my physical, but emotional and mental, wellbeing eased my pain and shock too.  I had (or have, rather) an unbelievable social network working to help support me through something that I never had anticipated. 

Back at school, I now stare at the young women who run by the bus in the college town where I live and, noticing their caution in wearing comfortable shoes, bright clothes, and dependable headbands, I ponder whether they take the same caution with their own health.  I hope that they will listen to the big pink Voice that crowds us this month with an uncomfortable reality…that we, too, are capable of having cancer. 

Each morning, I trace with my fingers the scars that cover my stomach and I smile to think that I was fortunate enough to have such a road map carved out there-it tells of a difficult journey that I never could have imagined, but that I managed to survive.  This journey is not one that I would wish on anyone, but I also hope that naivety will not hinder women our age from assuming that it is a journey that they will not also have to traverse. 

Take the time to talk to your doctor-make sure that they are thorough and that you get second opinions if you think your doctor may be wrong (I was misdiagnosed more than eight times during this fiasco).  Listen to your body and learn to recognize when it is telling you something is wrong.  Make no assumptions about anything…if you are tired, or feverish, or sore, find out why. 

Basically, all I ask is that you please stand up for your own health.