This July, at the age of 47, while visiting my family for the first time in a year due to the pandemic, my sister – the radiologist – diagnosed me with a very early-stage breast cancer that was missed by another highly-skilled radiologist. The potential consequence of that easily-made error still makes me shudder. But more than anything, I hold a deep space of gratitude for my sibling and all the amazing health care providers that held and cared for me and still do.
The diagnosis wasn’t shocking to me but terrifying nonetheless. I had been mentally preparing for this day for at least the last 10 years when I had my first abnormal scan, one that my gifted younger sister also identified. Luckily, that one was benign. But when my Ivy League breast surgeon told me back then that, due to my high risk from both sides of my family, I qualified for prophylactic mastectomies, I wasn’t ready…. financially, emotionally, or mentally. Instead, I opted for the other choice she also suggested: aggressive screening.
A decade later, during a screening exam that I almost missed, a small shadow seen on my mammogram led to more imaging, biopsies of each breast, the diagnosis of Stage 1a breast cancer, and, ultimately, the removal of both my breasts. This was after many consultations and much processing around what I felt would be the wisest course of action for my personal health now and in the future. This is a decision that no woman I know has ever made lightly.
I am now considered cancer free and grasp just how fortunate I am. This cancer will not take my life. However, it certainly has taken a part of me that can never be recreated, no matter how good my surgeon may be – and he is the best, both in skill and compassion.
But this little dose of cancer gave me something in return. It gave me my life back; that ChaCha fabulousness I was letting slip away ever so slowly, which I hadn’t even noticed until cancer made me pause and reevaluate. I had fallen into the same trap I spend so much of my time teaching others to avoid. In my goal to serve and care for the seriously ill, and everyone else in my life, over the last few years I had slowly been leaving myself out of that equation. Although some would say my cause to help terminal patients at all costs was noble, I had really lost the most important lesson my dying patients had taught me…always live like you are dying, so that when you truly are, no regrets remain.
Once I started to make it over the cancer hump in my physical, mental, and emotional recovery, it really allowed me to step back and reconsider what living really meant to me. Most of all, it meant connection. Enjoying the time with those that I love. It meant accepting love from so many. It saddened me to realize somewhere deep inside I held some crazy belief that I didn’t deserve it.
But thankfully my partner Michael, and my daughter Mia, along with so many of my family and friends and even strangers reminded me daily that I did deserve all that love being showered upon me. My ongoing recovery would not have been the same without all the prayers, kind words, and good energy sent my way. Living for me also meant more fun time… to dress up, to create, to write, to dance, to cackle, to travel, and to move my body.
Movement led to walking since I still cannot run. Once I took a few steps outside, they began to turn into miles. By the time I walked my first 5K, I recognized another huge part of my life that I had accidentally let go of, racing for a cause. I had run marathons across continents to bring awareness to different cancers and lives lost, always wearing a fantastic costume, of course.
And so, I sought out a race to walk, not run, to first honor myself. Signing up as a survivor brought a watershed of tears. Designing my pink power suit brought more.
I also walk to acknowledge those mighty women in my family who have lit the way for me by their own unique journeys with breast cancer: my mother, a two-time survivor, my aunts Evelyn, Jan, and Patsy, and my cousin Debbie.
I walk to honor those with breast cancer that have touched my soul with their life and in their death: dear Amy and dearest Debbie.
And I walk in hopes that raising awareness and money for more research will prevent breast cancer from one day touching all of those that come after me, especially my daughter.
Here are a few ways you can show your support:
- Let this be a reminder to stay on top of your screening. If you are behind, please make an appointment. Early detection really matters. I am LIVING proof.
- Wear pink in October or any day. There are so many women and their loved ones facing the pain, fear, loss, and triumph that breast cancer brings. Pink reminds us we are not alone and that we are loved.
- LIVE YOUR LIFE to its most fabulous…whatever that means to you.
Support the fighters, admire the survivors, and honor the taken.
With so much love & freaking gratitude,
Charlotte
“Dr. ChaCha”
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Images: Depositphotos.com, Race2Cure
