The worst day of my life occurred on a humid afternoon in July. I entered a medical building while holding an iced coffee. This was not my first breast enlargement. The prior two, both medically removed, were found to be innocuous.
This time, though, was different. The doctor asked me if our family trip was enjoyable. Her greetings were immediately followed by a remark I will never forget. She told me, “I never enjoy breaking this news to women, but you have breast cancer.” The biopsy is objective.
Receiving my first and second diagnoses
In the summer of 2017, I was diagnosed with breast cancer in stage 0. We believed that my type of breast cancer, ductal carcinoma in situ, was localized. Following an MRI and a second mammogram, I had a mastectomy and implant placement during the same operation.
The pathology report following my surgery revealed I was actually in stage 1 of the disease. Due to the cancer’s insignificance, it went undiscovered. Two tumor boards, or groups of oncologists, ruled that I did not require additional treatment.
I once again believed I had beaten cancer, but I was incorrect. After three years, I was really ill due to my breast implants. As I prepared for my organ transplant, I felt a little tumor on the chest wall. We recommenced the process with an ultrasound, mammography, and biopsy. It was cancer once more.
Rachel Garringer.
Courtesy Jessica Garlinghouse
This time, the cancer required two successful surgeries to remove, but my doctors and I opted to pursue chemotherapy, radiation therapy, and immunotherapy. To reach stage 1 twice is fortunate. This time, I would not take any chances. I immediately entered into a year of arduous therapies.
Fighting cancer twice within a span of five years is utterly draining. People love to label me “inspirational” because I share my cancer journey on social media; I’m constantly told how courageous and strong I am, but I’m just as broken as the next person.
Now that I am cancer-free, I still deal with the trauma.
I am immensely grateful that, following surgery, I was pronounced NED (no sign of illness). However, even though I no longer have breast cancer, it still has me.
I have diligently worked to disarm my cancer trauma. I’ve been in therapy for years, even pausing cognitive-behavioral therapy to explore eye-movement desensitization and reprocessing. I prioritize daily exercise, a good diet, meditation, prayer, and sleep. I also find it therapeutic to encourage people via social media to self-examine their breasts and schedule mammograms.
Nevertheless, I cannot undo the history that led me to the present. The tiniest twinge or agony drives me into a panicked state. I’m wondering if my cancer has returned. I often wonder if I am doing enough to keep my condition at bay.
I frequently describe cancer as a monster, a jerk, a robber, and a liar. As a villain from a superhero film, its sole objective is destruction. Nothing will stop cancer. It doesn’t care how intelligent, kind, or busy I am. It is lurking and haunting.
Cancer survivors cannot just “get over” or “move on” from the disease. This is not how trauma functions. Many of us inhabit a place of tenuous optimism. We would love nothing more than to dance in a field of flowers with a rainbow in the sky, but that is not our reality.
I hold my breath as I await scan findings, have more blood drawn, or observe a doctor’s hands inspect my flat chest. Will I be all right, and for how long? Am I safe? Am I cured and well, or am I ill? Time will tell, but for the time being I will continue to battle for hope to surpass trauma.
Leave a Reply