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 My Story
 Breast cancer. I have no family history of breast cancer. My regularly scheduled physical exams, yearly mammograms, and self examinations prior to discovering the lump in my breast in December '93 gave no warning. But within three weeks, my life turned upside down as I faced my diagnosis and the removal of my breast. Terror gripped me as I was told that twenty-eight out of thirty-three lymph nodes had tested positive. Dissolving in a sea of fear, I felt desolate and alone.
In the years preceding December 1993, I was caught up in the tasks of parenting, my job, running a household, and political commitments. Moments for reflection, rest, and relaxation were often sacrificed to the demands of a busy schedule. I was continually running from one place to another, one meeting to another, one activity to another. Our home was astir with activity, and my self-appointed task was to keep it all in order; to stay in control. Then suddenly, in the midst of a promising basketball season for my daughter Rebecca at the University of Connecticut, all of that changed.
On the evening of Thursday December 2, 1993, three weeks after a physical exam, as I prepared to step into the shower, I noticed in the bathroom mirror a shadow which revealed the presence of a lump in my breast. I shared my discovery with my husband Dennis and I promised to call for a mammogram in the morning. In less that twelve hours, I stood patiently while the technician maneuvered my breast between the plate and the x-ray machine. We engaged in idle chatter which we both knew was to allay my worries and to distract me from the task at hand. The doctor who read the x-ray encouraged an ultrasound. I returned that afternoon. As the technician looked at my ultrasound, I sensed a change in the room. Idle chatter ceased, and I was told that the doctor would contact my personal physician with the results on Monday. I began to prepare myself for his call.
| "As I repeated his diagnosis to my husband and son, I watched their bodies sag under the weight of the news. They felt helpless in their desire to do something. I was scheduled for a lumpectomy the following Monday." |
The phone rang in my office at work. My gynecologist told me that the radiologist wanted me to see a surgeon. I caught a note of concern in his voice. I asked him to recommend a doctor; someone he would recommend to his wife. Two days later I found myself in the office of a prominent Hartford surgeon, a man I had never before met but in whose hands I was about to place my life.
One week after the discovery of the lump, the surgeon called to confirm his suspicion -- the lump was malignant. As I repeated his diagnosis to my husband and son, I watched their bodies sag under the weight of the news. They felt helpless in their desire to do something. I was scheduled for a lumpectomy the following Monday.
On the Saturday night before my surgery, the UCONN women's basketball team was scheduled to play the highly touted and ranked Virginia Cavaliers. I decided to wait until after the game before telling Rebecca about my diagnosis. It was an exciting game; one in which she was leading scorer, rebounder, and shot blocker. With the taste of victory sweet in her mouth, she bounded up the stairs to congratulatory greeting and well wishes from fans. Indicating that I needed a quiet moment with her, we settled into the bleachers and I shared with her my news. Tears filled her eyes and traveled down her cheeks. "Look Rebecca," I said, "You do what you have to do and I'll do what I have to do to get well."
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