My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer, then I found a lump

In this life, there are so many clubs we join without wanting or desiring them. We are involuntarily thrown into this club based on tragedy or trauma. In a time of uncertainty, it can feel like the walls are closing in and everyone you know is being assigned their club’s all-access pass.

I’ve watched my mother join two clubs she didn’t sign up for in just two short years. First, my stepfather died, leaving her a widow. Before she could collect the pieces of her now shattered life, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. I felt helpless. I hurt with each membership she received.

My high school classmate joined my mom in the breast cancer club just as reluctantly as anyone else forced to participate. Eight weeks ago, I also found a lump. My mind raced faster than my heart could keep up. I was petrified to move my brain to do the next logical step. Instead, I focused my anxiety on healthy things, like self-diagnosing and mentally going over my life insurance policy.

I repeatedly rolled tape on my worst-case scenario because it seemed less scary than going to the doctor and getting answers. Eventually, the tape I played in my mind no longer allowed me to control when it played. It played in its own at will until I finally took the steps to make it stop. I did it scared. Just like I do so many things in my life, but this one was the biggest fear to date.

It felt like I would vomit when I called the doctor. It felt like hot tears would involuntarily spring from my eyes as I waited for the breast exam. It felt like I would pass out as the mammogram hummed and turned, squeezing tissue I didn’t know existed between two plates. It felt like my heart was beating hard enough to be seen through my ribcage as they did the ultrasound.

None of those things happened. I didn’t vomit. I didn’t cry. I didn’t pass out. My heart was not visible without assistance from technology. But what if I did cry?What if I did vomit? What if I did pass out? It wouldn’t matter because I still would’ve done the hard thing that I was avoiding.

Being afraid is sometimes worse than the actual process we must go through to get answers. Sometimes being afraid will keep us frozen in the unknown as things potentially progress. That day, I was spared entry into a club no one wants to join, but I put myself through eight weeks of mental torture for a process that collectively took an hour and a half.

Each year after that first sigh of relief brought immense stress. My yearly mammograms turned into yearly callbacks for more imaging. Every year, I went into that doctor's office terrified, waiting for the shoe to drop. It never did. But four of my friends weren't so lucky, and one didn't live to see her gorgeous red hair grow back.

Still, seeing my risk climb with every mammogram, and knowing my family history, I opted to do something others deemed radical. With my voice shaking from fear of being dismissed, I told my doctor that I wanted a double mastectomy and reconstruction. While she was skeptical, I had done my research, and the referral was given.

Five years after finding a lump, I woke up from surgery feeling like a weight had been lifted from my chest. I was terrified to have the surgery, but more terrified to think of leaving my children behind if breast cancer called my number. I haven't looked back.

Call on your circle and do the hard thing you’re putting off. Make that appointment. Answer that phone call. Apply for that school. Schedule that mammogram. Do it scared if you must, but do it.