as told to Jacqueline Froeber
october is Breast Cancer Awareness Month.
I was in the produce aisle at the Winn-Dixie when a grown man coughed on me. Strong.
I was paralyzed: I had a ripe tomato in my hand. I felt his weight and noticed the subtle spray of coughing on his bright red skin.
This was no accident. Moments before I had seen that man change direction and head directly towards me. As I lay there seething, I reminded myself to breathe. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time a random person saw me wearing a mask in public and coughed in my direction. But that didn’t mean he knew how to act when it happened.
In my fantasy, I take the tomato and throw it at him. When he turns around, I tell him I have breast cancer and a compromised immune system. I see his face fall without a mask. “Metastatic breast cancer!” I added. And then I make fun. Like I know what that means.
But the moment had passed. I took the salivated tomato to the counter and told them to throw it away. “You don’t want anyone to take it home,” I said.
I was diagnosed with breast cancer in December 2019. I found the lump myself and, like anyone in that situation, I hoped to catch it early. My oncologist and surgeon said yes: the cancer was stage 2 and growing slowly. They recommended a double mastectomy to remove the tumors (and all the breast tissue) and leave all of this behind. Even better: I wouldn’t need chemotherapy or radiation.
Unfortunately, my bones were hiding a secret from me. Lymph nodes that were removed during surgery showed that the cancer was more aggressive than previously thought. Follow-up scans confirmed the worst: the breast cancer had moved to my bones. There were injuries to my spine and hip. I didn’t have stage 2 breast cancer. I had stage 4.
When I got the news, I instinctively put my hands on my stomach. I felt like I had been punched. I struggled to breathe, stunned by the betrayal coming from inside my own body. And then my brain practically went on autopilot because, well, there’s not much you can do when you’re recovering from a double mastectomy and preparing for the unknown.
In March 2020, I was still recovering but moving forward with my new treatment plan which included lots of needles, pills, tests and scans for the foreseeable future. My family, especially my sister, helped me schedule all the things and lifted me up when I was down.
Then Covid hit and the whole world shut down.
My first thought: Who gets diagnosed with terminal cancer during a pandemic? I would have laughed if it wasn’t so ridiculous. And absolutely terrifying. I was suddenly quarantined, alone and on the list of high-risk people who were next to die from a virus that none of us could see and had never seen before.
The irony was that she still had to go to the hospital for treatment, which meant she could be exposed to the virus at any time.
I began to hold my breath as much as I could beneath my mask, hoping that every little bit would help against the invisible threat lurking within the very place that was keeping me alive.
Still masked in public, 2024
But in October, once again, I discovered that the threat was coming from inside the house. I was diagnosed with cutaneous T-cell lymphoma on the bottom of my foot. Of all places! And it was a rare type of lymphoma. My first thought: Who gets diagnosed? two Cancers during a pandemic?
Lymphoma really solidified how spectacularly bad my immune system is. My white blood cells (which help fight infections) were low due to the treatment, but looking back, I had always found it difficult to overcome an illness or heal from an injury. I once had poison ivy for six weeks. I didn’t want to think about what would happen if I contracted Covid.
So when restrictions were lifted and the pandemic was “over,” I continued living my new normal as if nothing had changed. I avoided crowded areas. I wore my mask in public. And I got the vaccine as soon as I could. Although it does not completely fight infections, every little bit helps.
My life today is practically the same as it was at the height of the pandemic. My trips around the world have a precision of mission: put on the mask, enter, exit, exhale. I avoid doing things indoors as much as possible and unfortunately that means missing out on a lot of events and opportunities. And I know there are people who think my response is an overreaction.
I also had to learn that there is a tipping point where people only adapt to your needs for so long, if at all. “There are just… a lot of us. And very few of you,” someone told me, tiredly. I am very sorry to tell you that this is simply not true. About 7 million people in the United States are immunocompromised and many of us are still doing everything we can to not get deathly sick from Covid.
So I still use my N95s. I avoid crowded indoor spaces. I watch the waves come and go. I have seen some people disappear from my life and others defend me with fierce kindness. I have also come to know very well the joy of having my own company and I must say: if you don’t have the patience to make room for me, you are really missing out. (I’m a little funny.)
I understand that for some people Covid is no longer even a thought, but it is still a very real threat to me. Because I am immunocompromised, there is no telling how sick I could get. And I no longer trust my body to protect me because it has failed me in such a spectacular way. So I have to do everything I can to not get seriously ill or even die.
But there are days when I wonder if maybe I’m being ridiculous. Maybe you should go to that indoor concert or the grocery store without a mask. But then I remind myself that I live with two cancers and have been through a pandemic. I don’t know what the future holds for me, but I’ve come this far by trusting my instincts. I’m not going to stop now.
Do you have any real women, real stories of your own that you want to share? let us know.
Our Real Women, Real Stories are authentic experiences of real-life women. The views, opinions and experiences shared in these stories are not endorsed by HealthyWomen and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of HealthyWomen.
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