“It doesn’t run in my family. I don’t have anything to worry about.”

That’s what I used to tell myself when I first discovered it — the lump in my right breast.

See, the thing is…my breasts – both of them – for as long as I can remember were always the bane of my existence. I was a full D-cup by the age of 11.

They’d walk into a room before I did, if you know what I mean.
They always managed to provide me with attention that I never wanted, especially at the age of 11.

Eventually, you just learn to live with it. They’re just apart of the fabric of what makes you…you. And you grow so used to them, you don’t even bother to look into what “dense breasts” are capable of.

“It’s just the way it is, I’ll never have perky boobs”.

They had become conversation starters over the years; from men and women alike.

“Are those real?”

Then, overnight, it happened. A switch turned on in my head – I started to finally love my breasts, as much problems as they gave me. I began to be protective of their existence. And then, quite literally, over night…everything changed.

January 2017, I looked at myself in the mirror and just knew that I had to get it together. After a break up, I had put on quite a bit of weight; I barely recognized myself. And so, I decided to work out again. I knew it was all for a bigger purpose. But, what? I had absolutely no idea how big of a purpose it really was. I thought it may have had to do with something in regards to my career – being an actress and all. I just knew it was all for something bigger than I could imagine. Women’s intuition, you know?

Shortly after my weight-loss journey began, I found it.

The lump on my right breast. When I pushed down on it, a light discharge would come out of the nipple. I scheduled an appointment with my general physician.

“There’s no blood in the discharge. Are you in pain?”

“No, I just wanted to be sure.”

“Looks like it’s just an infected duct. Keep an eye on it, but you’re fine.”

Whew. Just the news I wanted to hear.

Life for me was worry-free for the next few months. Until the blood showed up.

And it was then, in the pit of my stomach, that I just knew that it was more than I had bargained for. I just knew it.

My general physician referred me to the breast clinic. They refused to give me a mammogram. “You’re only 27. You really have nothing to worry about.”

So they opted for a half-hearted ultrasound instead and referred me to a general surgeon – who specialized in lumpectomies and mastectomies. You know…just in case. The general surgeon felt the lump and saw the blood in the discharge, “Let’s hope it’s nothing. But let’s get it out of there just in case it is.”

One month later, I was in surgery for my lumpectomy. My follow-up appointment was scheduled for 12 days after my surgery.

The rule of thumb in medicine is: No call, you’re good. You get a phone call, something is wrong.

Well…I got my phone call. Three days after surgery.

December 12, 2017. Dr Rupp looked at me and said “Pathology came back and it came back as cancer. We took cultures of the surrounding areas and it came back positive as well. The thing is – your breasts are so dense that we can’t get a good read of what’s going on in there. So, I recommend we take a very aggressive  — “

When she told me this, I didn’t even flinch. I didn’t cry. In fact, I cut her off –

“Double mastectomy. As fast as we can do it.”

I went home that night and looked at myself in the mirror. Looked at my breasts…and just felt so betrayed. Here they were again, the bane of my existence. Now, they will forever be conversation starters.

Because they tried to claim my existence.

I began the work, at this moment, of preserving my self-esteem and all the work I had to get to this moment.

When I was diagnosed, I weighed in at 139 – a whole 70 pounds lighter than I was 11 months before. And – it turns out – had I not in been in the ballpark of 140 pounds, I would have been considered “overweight” and not eligible for the double mastectomy.

I finally understood that the bigger purpose in all of this was to save my life.

I thought back on all of the good times I had during the year of self-discovery and held on to them as tight as I could. I spoke to God and told him to not bother bringing me a man that couldn’t handle my scars. He wouldn’t be worthy of me otherwise. I came to terms with the fact that I would be given a second chance at life and that was good enough for me.

I was blessed with an all-female team of doctors – my general surgeon, my plastic surgeon, my oncologist, my anesthesiologist – who walked with me through every step of the way, without sugarcoating anything.

I went to sleep at night and envisioned myself healed and happy.

On every piece of paper, I would write my personal motto

“I can do this. Even if I can’t, I have to.”

Side note: I’m getting that tattooed sometime this summer. I really tired of saying “two” when people ask me “Do you have any tattoos?” and then not being able to show them. haha 😉

I will always be on a quest to “get my sexy back”. I woke up from my double mastectomy with the fortune of still kind of looking like my old self. My Plastic Surgeon decided that I was good to go for immediate reconstruction. I wasn’t able to save my nipples. Thankfully, I was prepared for that. I went from a 34-DDD natural dense breast to a 34 C post-mastectomy with no feeling in the left and very heightened, sensitive nerves on the right.

My resting heart rate was so low the hour before the procedure that the surgical nurse checked me five times, “Sorry, it’s just…you’re very calm right now. Usually, right about now, patients are panicking.”
I smiled at her and said, “I just want this to be done.”

Because as soon as this was done, the real work would have to begin.

The spiritual and mental journey of it all.

I just refused to be kept down. One week after surgery, I got my hair done – determined to do it myself; using it as practice to maintain mobility in arms. Did my makeup every day. Went to the work out studio, even though I couldn’t do anything. I just wanted to be surrounded by the energy of what I love. I knew that would work it’s magic somehow and get me to heal faster. Putting energy toward where I wanted to be; how I envisioned myself the happiest.

I’m on Tamoxifen for the next nine years. So my body is going through changes – now more than ever because I’m one year into taking the medication daily.

It doesn’t hurt that God brought to me a man that kissed my scars and told me I was beautiful every day – without nipples, with just the little nubs and the tattooed areolas, all of it. Even though we’re not together any more, I’ll love him forever for that. In a way, he was an angel, meant and sent to me to ease my mind from a long check-list of things I was worried about in the aftermath of surviving breast cancer. He was a chemist for the FDA and knew the exact formula it took to even make Tamoxifen. An absolute God-send. I will be forever grateful to have been given his knowledge and words of wisdom. He’ll never really understand how grateful I am he was in my life, even if if only for a little while.

But there’s no way he’d ever have the privilege of seeing my scars before I had learned to love them myself.

Those scars meant that I lived. Those scars meant that I did whatever it took to save my life. Those scars meant that I took every means possible of ensuring I’d get to be with my family, my friends; that I would get the chance to be with the love of my life. Those scars meant that I’d finally understand why I never liked my breasts in the first place – because they were never for me.

And that they were just breasts. But I was always more than my breasts. I never gave them the power to overcome me. So, why the hell would I do that now? If they had to go, so that I could go forward in life – SO BE IT.

Us women are more than just our bodies. And while our bodies may be the only home we have, it’s our hearts and our spirits that propel us forward – not our aesthetic.

So I sit here now, one year and six months cancer-free. And I’m always working — on myself. Because this relationship I’ve got with the myself is the most important one I’ll ever have.