By my fourth walk through, I felt like I had what I needed. I took my basket to the cashier and began taking out each item, obviously keeping to a central color scheme.

“You’re in a pink mood today,” the cashier said, taking over the task of emptying my basket.

I explained why I had so much pink, and what I was planning to do. The beads, wire and findings were for a bracelet I was making for Rachel from A Southern Fairytale , and her Blogging For Boobs Breast Cancer giveaways.

As she scanned each string of beads, the cashier told me she needed to have her first mammogram. A woman about my own age, she said an appointment last year had to be canceled when her father went into the hospital with heart problems.

I encouraged her to get the test done. Just that morning I said, my own doctor had called to remind me it was time for my annual mammogram.

We chatted some more. She shared that she had lost her grandmother, an uncle and a close friend from church, all within a few days and all to cancer.

I told her that mammograms weren’t as bad as some people would tell her.  She smiled, looked at me, then at her own ample tatas ‘You look like me, I’d believe you more over some of those others.’

I gave her the name of the clinic where I have my mammos done. She told me that the local hospital offered free testing for ‘financially disadvantaged’ patients. ‘Then there’s no reason to not get the test,’ I tell her.

As I took my bag of beads, I thanked her and encouraged her again to not forget to have a mammogram. Walking out of the store I wondered how only a few years ago, two women, two respectable women, talking about *breasts* in public would have been verboten. That telling a complete stranger she needed to have a mammogram would have been completely unheard of.

When my mother was my age, even the word *cancer* wasn’t spoken in public. It was a hidden disease.

I am amazed by not only how far we’ve come in the treatment of cancer, but also in how we respond to it. We talk about it, we share stories, we support and comfort each other. We encourage and push when it’s needed. It no longer has to be a solitary disease.

Pink cloisonné and silver filigree beads, pink cat’s eyes, and rose wire and clasp.

Thank You, Tara.  For sharing the knowledge, encouraging someone else and offering this beautiful handmade bracelet.

You can find Tara at If Mom Says OK

The giveaway for this bracelet will be open from Thursday, October 22, 2009 to Friday, October 23, 2009 at 11:59 CST

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I’m only 26.

I’ve always felt foolish doing monthly exams of my boobs (sorry, I can’t call these breasts. That makes them sound far more substantial than they are).   When I first really got into the habit, I was 23, and statistics and family history were on my side. I had no reason to suspect that anything would be wrong with my boobs.  But, I did the exam anyway.

And one month, I found a small lump.

I ignored it, like all rational people would.   I ignored it until my boob started leaking fluid.   Not milk (trust me, these boobs have never sustained anyone), just liquid. Sometimes just a little, sometimes a lot.  In my head I knew that it wasn’t okay, but I was paralyzed by fear.

It wasn’t until several months later when my then fiancé, now husband learned about the lump that I made a doctor’s appointment.  And even then, it wasn’t so much a voluntary action.

My gynecologist sent me for bilateral ultrasounds (mammograms aren’t useful on people my age) and sent me to a breast specialist.  The ultrasounds were negative, and we breathed a HUGE sigh of relief.  My itty bitty titties were fine.

But they weren’t.

Because the breast specialist did her own ultrasounds and immediately found the problem. The lump. She didn’t know what it was, but it didn’t look like a traditional benign cyst and she said she couldn’t leave it alone in good conscience.

So we did a sterotactic biopsy, which revealed nothing of consequence (fibrocystic changes), and we relaxed a little and moved onto a 3, 6 and 12 month ultrasound follow up schedule.  The 3 and 6 month appointments were gorgeously uneventful, the scar tissue wasn’t even bad, and everything looked great.  We breathed another sigh of relief.

The 12 month ultrasound did not look great.

That ultrasound showed that the lump returned, and by returned, I mean returned and built a freaking colony.  It was twice as big as it had been before the biopsy, and worse, it was growing very quickly- two things that you never want when you’re looking at (the inside of) boobs.

A needle biopsy would not do this time.  And so this time we did a quadrantectomy.

At age 24 I had a quarter of my right breast removed.

And then I laid at home on the couch for a week, recovering and anxiously awaiting the pathology report. Because even though my doctor had the results of the biopsy on Friday, they don’t give results over the phone and my appointment wasn’t until Tuesday.

I know it’s cliché to tell you that that week was the longest of my life, but it was. When Tuesday finally came I was beside myself with worry.

After what seemed like a lifetime, the doctor came in and read the pathology report.   No cancer.  We (foolishly) breathed another infamous sigh of relief.

But, just after the disclosure that I didn’t have cancer came news I wasn’t prepared for.  What I did have was something called atypical ductal hyperplasia.  Hyperplasias are cells that are growing abnormally quickly (most cancer cells are this) and not only were my cells growing too quickly, but they were growing abnormally as well.

What is scarier is that on that day in 2008 when I found out I didn’t have cancer, I also found out that my lifetime risk of breast cancer went from totally baseline (no family history or risk factors), to 4-6 times the risk of the average woman.

On that day, we got a prescription for bilateral ultrasounds every six months “until we find something.”  Not until I turn an age, but until we find cancer.

Because my breast surgeon is confident that we will someday.  She believes that based on my age and how quickly my breasts screwed themselves up (so, perhaps I’m paraphrasing a bit there) that there will be cancer.  That my boobs, these insignificant A-cup mole hills, will one day be malignant.

Thinking about this scares the crap out of me.  But, I am not alone and I am not weak.

I can’t stop cancer, I don’t have that power.  I can’t change my chances.  I can’t impact what happens.

But because I was vigilant, because I performed that totally inconvenient 30 second long breast self-exam, I am prepared.  I can catch it early.   I can acknowledge my risk and know the signs to watch out for.

I’m only 26 and I am at high risk for breast cancer.

And I know I’m not alone.

Take those 30 sends and feel your breasts.  Those 30 seconds might save your life.  They might have saved mine.

Katie writes at OverflowingBrain

Honor Katie and Others like her by donating to the Fight For the Cure at Susan G Komen.org

I bank with Bank of America and have pretty much my entire adult life.

I have always been very pleased with their customer service and rates and blah blah blah..

Why should you care?

Because today, I clicked on the Susan G Komen page and saw this:

• For each new Susan G. Komen for the Cure branded credit card account opened and used, Komen receives a minimum of $3, and a minimum of 20 cents for every $100 you make in purchases with the card. Komen also receives $1 for each annual renewal of the card
• For each new checking account and/or debit card opened, Komen will receive $2 and an additional $1 on each annual anniversary of the account opening. Komen will also receive 10 cents for every $100 you
  make in purchases with the Susan G. Komen for the Cure® branded debit card.

It honestly made me proud and you better believe that I clicked a link.

Want to find out more? Here’s the link.

image from the Susan G Komen partners page

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