Mental health.

Words that I didn’t quite know would have such a powerful influence on my upbringing and part of the makeup that makes me the woman I am today. My mom was diagnosed as bipolar 15 years before her passing and in speaking to my family, it was very clear that it was something that she had struggled with from a very young age. There was only one difference; it didn’t have a name during her youngest years. Instead, mental health issues were connected to being crazy or being an outcast.

When I was a kid, my mom’s constant mood swings felt normal (I didn’t know any better). Ultimately, I knew that the version of the mom I knew, would come back, so I didn’t spend time stressing over it. That started to change as the years progressed. I saw less of the mom I knew and more of a version of something bigger than her. A woman that was known for her light and spark, “the life of the party” quickly became hopeless, resentful, and without any sense of direction. During my high school and college years, I distanced myself, hoping the problem would just magically go away – which of course it didn’t; it only got worse.

Throughout our years, we experienced ups and downs, and I struggled to comprehend how a mental diagnosis could be seen as a disease that had taken her over.

Fast-forward to the fall of 2020, September 11th to be exact. With no family history of cancer and a great healthy lifestyle, I became one of the many women who would get the one call you hope you never get in your lifetime: Ms. Vega, you have breast cancer. After being paralyzed for a few days, I had a dream team of doctors that swept in and told me what I would need to take, eat, attend, and undergo. While I did ask questions, it all felt very overwhelming, so I just allowed them to take the wheel as I got used to this new normal.

Let me start by saying that those who know me, can say that I am a happy, “bubbly” person. One that loves to connect people and create memorable friendships and experiences that can be remembered and cherished for a lifetime. Once the news settled in, I had a “get it done” mentality, knowing that the one thing I could impact was moving quickly and being decisive regardless of the endless caveats, any decision would bring.

I knew that chemotherapy for my triple-positive diagnosis would be part of my plan. While I had heard and watched on TV, what chemo patients looked like, I wanted to talk to real patients and hear from them about their experiences. I knew it would be incredibly hard, but I, in true fashion, wanted to quantify what that meant exactly. I, of course, was quickly proven wrong and learned the line that would annoy me the most during treatment, “everyone reacts to treatments differently”. Now, what is this type A gal supposed to do with such ambiguity! I’ll tell you what, sit back and get comfortable with it.

I won’t go into details regarding my experience with chemo; it was brutal. I had 6 rounds every three weeks. I would have them on Wednesday, so I could work on Thursdays, and Fridays from home and be ready for the steroids to wear off and for the body and stomach pains to start taking over.

I started to understand my body and how it was reacting to the chemo and all the meds, but what I couldn’t understand or manage were the emotional dips that I would experience.

This is the moment when I began to truly understand the severity of mental health. In retrospect, there were many similarities between the way some of my loved ones reacted to my dips to the way I reacted with my mother: The power is in the mind, you need to have a positive attitude, the brain controls the body, and so much more.

At first, I tried to bring my good attitude forward. But I would notice (with the help of my dear friend Patti), that it was ALWAYS the Tuesday after treatment that I would immerse myself in such a black hole –

The oncology psychiatrist had a 5-month wait, which meant I didn’t get to see him until my last month with chemo –yup, you read right. 

I was very much against anti-depressants. I had seen how much it had controlled my mom’s life, only to end up in a place where her mental instability took over regardless. But because everybody reacts to treatments differently, I had to try my chances – looking back, it was one of the best choices I ever made. The doctor confirmed that it was the steroids that were causing my emotional dips, and that it was a chemical imbalance that I couldn’t control alone. I needed reinforcements. 

And so, with much reluctance, I made a similarly tough decision as my mother did. I started on a very low dose of antidepressants. Things changed for the better after that.  I began to see this medicine as part of my treatment as well. Yes, I required the steroids to protect my body from the downside of chemo, BUT I also needed a little help to counter the negative side effects that it also brought.

Am I any less courageous for taking antidepressants?

Absolutely not. I feel like my courage was amplified by admitting to myself what I required and putting my mental health first above all. If your mind isn’t in the right place, no good will follow – especially when you are fighting against one of the biggest battles in your life, in my case, it was breast cancer.

I tell this story because depression and mental instability are still such taboo topics, and medicine has only scratched the surface of how deep this can go into people’s lives. The more we can normalize this topic, the more we will be able to save reluctant folks like me who initially hadn’t considered mental health as part of their wellness journey.

This is my story of how I fought two battles, one with breast cancer and another one with mental health, only to find love and acceptance for my mom’s journey on the other side.