Verdict: Breast Cancer, But “Blessed”-Some Call “Lucky”

By: Marsetta Lee, President Elect

I can’t recall if I received a telephone call or a letter informing me that I needed to return for a second mammogram.

Having had a biopsy more than a decade earlier, I knew my breast density challenged the technology transparency features. 

It was early spring and I had two trips planned:  Florida to a family retreat and then to Jamaica, for an Association of Black Women Lawyers-NJ Training and Retreat.  I scheduled the appointment for the second mammogram to take place about 8 weeks later.

I reasoned that if the results were positive for a mass and a biopsy turned out to be necessary, then those two trips would be ruined because I would spend all my time worrying.  Procrastinating in dealing with bad news is my second cousin. (I am working on improving that flaw!)  

Fast forward three months later.

I did receive a positive result on the presence of lumps, had a biopsy from hell that required over ten attempts because of the density and movement of my breast, and after consulting with surgeons, the verdict was in.

Yes, I had breast cancer. 

But wait! My doctors added that I was very lucky, because it was the earliest stage for breast cancer.   One doctor kindly added that people did not die when the disease was detected at the early stage.

I had not told anyone what was going on during these early tests because I did not want to worry anyone, and to be honest I did not want to be worried by the concern for me that I knew they’d express.  

Even after receipt of the verdict, I contemplated telling only two of my eleven siblings.  My rationale was since it was early stage breast cancer, everything would be fine; why worry so many people? 

Then I seriously analyzed which siblings could: 1) keep the secret and 2) withstand the wrath of my Mom when she discovered the cover-up.  (Don’t judge me!)  The jury remained out so long on the answer that I concluded, with the urging of a few friends that I had told that the Brady-like violation was not worth the penalty, namely, the wrath of Mom. (A Brady violation refers to a prosecutor’s failure to disclose evidence that could have benefitted the defense).

When I shared the news with family and friends, I carefully pointed out: “Yes, I have breast cancer but,” and I substituted the word ‘blessed’ for ‘lucky,’ “it is the earliest stage.”

On the surface, this early diagnosis brought me solace and I believed it did the same for my family and friends. (I could be wrong.) 

As the days and weeks went on, I cannot count the number of times I disrobed for surgeons, doctors, technicians, nurses, etc.  Upon reviewing my chart, all voiced similar sentiments: “you are so lucky,” “do you know how lucky you are,” “wow, so early, you will be fine.”

Being a person of faith, I prayed and thanked God for the early diagnosis.  I gave thanks for a former co-worker who texted me, after I had retired, to remind me to get a mammogram.  I spoke gratitude for the family and friends who offered to assist wherever needed and who were making plans to be with me during surgery, recovery and the radiation treatment afterward.

Yet, I cannot deny the dark moments. 

The moments I felt guilty for not feeling blessed. 

As I read countless medical websites, I then started blaming myself: Why did your period have to start so early? If you had children, your risk would have been reduced.  Why didn’t you lose weight? Maybe if you had not retired, the work stress would have fought off the cancerous cell.

Then, I felt guilty that I had always complained about the size of my girls (as I and my circle of friends and family called a women’s breasts) that I had not pampered them like I did my hands or feet; that because of their size I had viewed them as a flaw or problem. Now, I was being punished for not being thankful for having two healthy girls.

At some point, the fear and worry collided with my irritation with that irksome word “lucky”.   After hearing it repeated one too many times I snapped, saying, “I don’t feel lucky; I felt lucky the day before I got the results.”  

I immediately scheduled an appointment with my primary doctor, who I’d gone to for 20 years, and spilled my guts regarding my fears and hatred for that “lucky” mantra. 

She calmly explained that unfortunately a disproportionate number of African American women are diagnosed with cancer only in its later stages; that fear paralyzes us; that sometimes these patients will not follow up and that physicians are truly happy to see that a patient (such as myself) clearly will be well at the end of the process.

Similar conversations ensued with surgeons and radiologists on my case. 

My surgeon noted that the mortality rate in Trenton was higher than all other municipalities in Mercer County and possibly higher than the national rate – Trenton’s population is majority African American and Latino. 

During the biopsy, the medical staff complimented me on keeping the appointments, noting I would not believe how many people refused to get a biopsy or did not return to get the results.

Fast forward to now, I recently received my six-month follow-up mammogram and received a healthy and clear diagnosis. 

With a happy sigh of relief, I realized how blessed I am. 

I remembered the five trips from Alabama by my sisters and brother in law (Lisa, Denise and Larry) and how they cared for my every need and “spoiled me rotten.” (I still miss the spoiling).  I could never forget the countless calls from my 82-year-old Mom expressing how she wish she could travel to New Jersey to take care of me.  She asked me to “please” submit to my sisters. (I said, “Yes ma’am!)

 I recalled a good friend going to the doctor to take notes and ask questions notwithstanding the fact that she had cared for her mother who suffered and passed from breast cancer.  I remembered a friend and a cousin coming over to help me declutter because they knew I needed busy projects to keep my mind of the surgery.

I remembered a childhood friend flying in for a week during radiation treatments or a sorority sister and her husband bringing food and having prayer service or my brother’s Kentucky church family asking about me because I remained on their prayer list.

 I reflected on the seven weeks of radiation after the surgery and the number of offers to drive me to treatment. 

And I will never forget on the final day of radiation three friends (Kylthia, Sylvia and Ray) going with me for the final treatment and the ringing of the gong, a beautiful practice the radiation unit has to symbolize completion of treatment and the beginning of the healing process. Hospital staff took photos of this happy occasion, photos that still bring me joy.

These are only a few of the blessed memories I have to overcome past, present and any future moments of fear.

I hope that my early detection becomes the norm for Black Women and that the medical professions will not see us as the exception, but the rule. 

I am thankful for the Capital Health Medical Team and Team Marsetta – my family and friends. 

This is my first time being so transparent and honest about my feelings.

I hesitated at first, while telling my story – I did not want to expose the irrational feelings that had gripped me. However, I recently ministered to a friend and I told her she had the right to feel the way she did and she could ball up on the floor, holler and cry if she wanted to and that no one else had the right to tell her how to process her own feelings. 

I decided to take my own advice when asked to write about my experience for “Her Voice.”

Warmly Submitted,

A Very “Lucky” Black Woman Who Knows She is Blessed.