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I was eighteen when I first discovered my mother had breast cancer. She told my brothers, sister, and me the night before she underwent her first mastectomy-- a word I had never heard, but learned that night it was the procedure to remove my mother's right breast to prevent the spreading of cancerous cells. I remember my mother describing the surgery as "routine"--implying that there was nothing to worry about. She was always so concerned about us, what with her spending so much time outside of the house working. My father had left two years earlier. She was a pioneer for women--one of the first woman obstetrician/ gynecologists in L.A.'s South Bay. In her 30-year practice, she brought over 5,000 lives into the world--and detected in women of all ages the disease of breast cancer, a disease that would ironically find her at the age of 56. My mother was beautiful. She was brilliant and had this great smile. She had two addictions: Diet Coke and the Home Shopping Network. She was very active in her church, and loved to say the word "shit" (it was quite funny coming from a little bald lady). By the time my youngest brother finished high school she could recite all the lyrics from AC/DC's Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap. This was a beautiful person. This was my mother. After her mastectomy, she endured chemotherapy--a treatment where they literally pump you full of poison to stop the cancer. The problem with chemo is that it kills more than cancer cells--it kills most people's spirits. But not my mom. She went through cycles of chemo with as much grace as anyone could, and persevered all the things that go with it: vomiting, diarrhea, weakness, migraines, loss of her hair. And she beat the cancer. And then a few years later, there was a second mastectomy. She got through the pain, both emotional and physical, losing weight almost daily, putting her faith in God and medicine. When they told me the cancer had spread through her chest, I cried for the first time in front of my family. It was unacceptable to me. Why is this happening? How can she have breast cancer? Doctors aren't supposed to get sick. She doesn't deserve this. My mother died a year ago last January. Not a day goes by when I don't think of her. I wish all those affected by this disease the strength, courage, and grace she had. I'm so proud of you, Mom. You're still the best-looking bald woman on the block. --Michael Lucas Michael Lucas is a Senior Editor at TransWorld Snowboarding magazine and can be reached at [email protected]. Breast Cancer is a disease that largely affects women--although men have been known to have it. It affects women of all ages, but women are not the only victims. Behind every woman with breast cancer there is a son, daughter, husband, friend, boyfriend, father, or mother. This disease affects us all. For information on breast cancer, contact The Breast Cancer Fund, 282 Second Street 2nd floor, San Francisco, CA 94105. Phone: 1-800-487-0492. |
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