Tag: doublemastectomy

The day it all fell down

The day it all fell down

Analyn Erin

I woke that Friday morning wearing my Terry Fox shirt and trying to smile. They told me I wouldn’t have the results of my biopsy until the following week and so I was doing my best to stay busy.

As usually my toddler woke up and wanted “boobies!” We snuggled in bed, nursed and took happy smiling pictures.

I took my big kids to school and took K to strong start (a parent/tot drop in) we weren’t there for long when the call came. I knew that number. I asked someone to keep an eye on K and went outside. I paced. I was wearing leggings and a tank top. I should have sat down. If no news is good news then news days early is definitely bad. I can’t remember the exact words. I know she said invasive ductal carcinoma, I know she said aggressive. I sat on the concrete steps- I was trying to breathe and not cry while on the phone but that meant trying to get off the phone as quick as possible. I made phone calls, I cried, I gasped for air. I got K and we went to a friends house who gave me exactly what I needed at that time. She let me sit in her couch, she made me tea, she took care of K and she just let me be. I took phone calls coming in faster than I could process. Appointments with my new oncologist, my new surgeon, appts for scans and blood work. I’ll forever be grateful for a friend that knew the true meaning of holding space.

I don’t remember much about the rest of the day. It’s a blur. I know my brother came over. I know I collapsed into my loves arms as soon as he got home. I know flowers from a friend arrived at my door. I remember finding the words to post to FB and IG knowing I wanted to get it out of the way.

“Apparently this year in order to prepare for Breast Cancer Awareness Month I actually got Breast Cancer.

No this is not a joke. Yes I am serious.

After finding a lump in a breast, an ultrasound, biopsy and mammogram I’ve been diagnosed with breast cancer at 33 after 18 years of being cancer free.

I am heartbroken, I am overwhelmed, I am tired, I am frustrated and I am angry. Right now I don’t want to be strong or positive. Today I am crying, feeling, grieving, processing and being human. Today I am feeling the unfairness of it. Today I don’t care about cure rates. Today I wish my biggest concern regarding my boobs was how much they sag.

I don’t know yet what this diagnosis means yet. All I know is that cancer fucking sucks. I also know it’s messed with the wrong person. I am determined. I am loved. I am supported. I am strong.

Love, light, prayers, glitter and sparkles are all welcome and appreciated.”

Most of all I remember being angry. I remember wanted to scream. I remember crying myself to sleep.

It’s been 2 years since that day and so much has happened that it feels like a lifetime but the way I feel about reminds me that 2 years is nothing. In 2 years I lost my breast, my hair and ovaries. I’ve gained truth, resiliency and love. I’ve learned many lessons. I’ve laughed and I’ve cried (sometimes at the same time) I’ve had ups and downs. I had moments I thought I would truly break and moments I felt on top of the world. I’ve continued to learn what I really want from this life. The best part is In 2 years I’ve gotten to watch my kids grow and fallen more in love with my love. Which is all I really need and want. Here’s to each day. To finding something everyday that makes you happy. To being human and real and vulnerable. Here’s to life- because it can change in the blink of an eye.

Why I don’t hide.

Analyn Erin

I try to take my girls swimming once a week. 

I take them in the Womens change room when I could use the family one or even the disability rooms. 

I get changed with them in the middle of the room instead of behind the privacy curtains. 

 I’ll be honest though, this is hard. It’s one thing to take off my leg at cancer camp or when I am speaking to a room full of middle schoolers. It’s one thing to show my reconstructed breast to other women going through it or through a photographers lens. In a locker room where the people around me don’t know me or my story and have to come up with their own narrative is a lot more scary.

 I have no idea what they think when I take off my prosthetic to drain the water and change my wet stump sock into a dry one. Do they wonder if I was born like this? Do they think it’s gross or weird?

I have no idea if they look at my “breast” and wonder why I would get fake boobs. Or what thoughts they have about my “boob job”

It takes some deep breaths, some telling myself I am safe, some telling myself that what they wonder or think doesn’t matter. But I  go through this process each and every time I go to the pool, each and every time I get changed in a room of strangers. 

I know I am making a choice to do that. 

My choice in changing in a room full of strangers is intentional. 

It is intentional. 

Me dressing and undressing right in the open where other women can see me. I do it because I want to show my girls they don’t have to hide their bodies. I do it because I want them to grow up knowing what body positivity looks like. 

I am making that choice for me, to build my own confidence. To hope that one day I won’t wonder let alone care what others think about me. I hope to raise strong and powerful girls who can say “if my mom can love her body scars, amputations and all then so can I”

Today though the hard was harder than usual. Today a mom was nursing her baby. My girls are not shy and they engaged in a conversation with her. Soon it was talk about boobies. K made an observation “you have boobies.” The women looked at her and said “all mommies have boobies.” I could feel my heart in my throat. I wanted to cry because no, not all mommies have boobies. E piped up “my mom doesn’t, she had hers cut off” The women looked at me confused and half naked in a pool change room I told a small part of my story. Without preparation. Without wanting to. 

It will come up again. My children will make conversation and it will come up that mommy had cancer. It will come up that mommy had her boobies cut off. That mommy has a robot leg. They will hear their mom tell her story and one day they might now how hard that is sometimes and in knowing how hard it is I hope they see my strength. I hope they know I could have hidden but I chose not to. I hope it gives them the strength not to hide either.