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By STEPHANIE LAW
Staff Writer Tuesday, September 04, 2007

Editor’s Note: Last in a series of columns about one woman’s journey through the often-scary world of breast cancer diagnosis and treatment.

My final visit with the surgeon who performed my lumpectomy, bilateral mastectomy and lymph node removal was bittersweet. She gave me great news — the lymph nodes were clean, meaning the breast cancer had not spread. And she saw no need for me to undergo chemotherapy since all breast tissue had been removed and therefore nothing remained for breast cancer to attack.

She scheduled me to see an oncologist, though, just to cover all the bases. The bittersweet part came because I, and most people, I suppose, develop an intimate relationship with someone who holds their life in her/his hands.

I made the decision about the course of treatment that seemed to best fit my situation and then put my faith in this surgeon. She fought the good fight against the nasty enemy and helped me win. I will miss her and all her staff, who have become friends.

I still have some recovering to do. The scars across my chest give me a “tight” feeling, which will ease with time and exercise.

The pain in my left arm from nerve damage also will ease with time. And, after six weeks sitting on my butt, I need to get my strength back. But, for the most part, my journey is over. In many ways, although my solution was radical (removal of both breasts is a life-changing experience, after all), I had an easier path to travel than many women.

I don’t have to worry for the rest of my life that the breast cancer will recur, undergoing mammograms and doing self-exams with anxiety and fear. I don’t have to suffer through the effects of chemotherapy, such as nausea and hair loss.

This next part is for mature audiences only; if you are younger than 18, get a parent or guardian to sign a permission slip before you read this.

Many women’s self-image is based, in part, on their breasts, which they consider to be a sign of their femininity. Loss of one or both breasts can be devastating because it mars their image of themselves and they may feel unlovable or less a woman. When it comes right down to it, though, breasts are no more than fatty tissue and milk ducts covered by skin. An erogenous zone, certainly, but the primary erogenous zone is the brain. A woman’s partner in life loves all of her, because the love is mind meeting mind, sort of a Vulcan mind-meld (“Star Trek” fans know what I mean).

I am a pragmatic woman; I accept the things I cannot change. I chose to live, despite the cancer, in whatever physical form surgery left me. It was an easy choice for me, but I realize it isn’t for all women. I urge other women to talk openly about their fears and insecurities with their partners and their doctors.

All treatment options contain some risk, but make sure the option you choose is the best one for your life — not your looks.

As I close this record of a journey no one wants to take, I want to thank all my friends for their support. I was amazed at the outpouring of love I received (and flowers, too). I heard from former co-workers I had not spoken to in more than 15 years. I received cards and prayers and healing thoughts from many. I could not have made this difficult journey without all of them. They gave me the strength to keep my sense of humor through the difficult times and helped me see the value of writing this series of columns.

A primary goal when I started these columns was to try to make the experience of breast cancer less frightening and mysterious to others who must travel this path and to those who love them. I hope I have accomplished that goal.

Stephanie Law is a copy editor and lives in Sabattus.

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