Breast cancer — two words you never want to hear

A Bee reporter's account of her physical and emotional struggle with a disease that afflicts one in seven women.

Published online on Sunday, Oct. 21, 2007

I was sobbing, shivering in a pink paper vest that opened in the front. The doctor's assistant had told me to take off my blouse and bra and put the vest on.

The assistant was nice and did her best to console me, saying it was OK to cry: "It's fine. Everyone does it. Everyone is scared."

She took my vital signs - I think - and walked out. I watched my tears splash onto the floor. Reality was setting in. I was terrified.

I have breast cancer.

It's getting easier to say but it still doesn't seem real. Sometimes I have to keep repeating it just to remind myself.

I looked around the room. A rubber replica of a woman's breast lay on the countertop by the sink. Was that how mine would end up -- hacked off?

Maybe I would die. Maybe they'd have to mutilate me to save me.

I had to go to work right after this, and my mascara was running.

Get yourself together, Tracy.

The cancer diagnosis was only 3 days old. It was so unexpected. But who anticipates cancer?

I was 41. No family history of breast cancer. Healthy. A vegetarian for two decades. I'd slimmed down on Weight Watchers and exercised regularly.

I was doing everything right.

How could I have cancer?

It's probably the same question hundreds of thousands of women ask themselves each year. I was starting a journey that, with early detection and medical advances, many more of us are living to tell about.

This is my story.

The start of something

I never worried about mammograms much. Not like my mother. She's always convinced doctors will find cancer. I tell her to quit worrying and just do it. "I just did mine and it was fine," I'd say.

That was before I got a call-back notice in the mail and a telephone call the same day. "The radiologist wants to look at your left breast again," said the voice on the answering machine. I managed to calm myself and call back.

I went for a second mammogram May 30, sure they would tell me everything was fine. Instead, the radiologist asked to see me -- first sign of trouble.

I knew the radiologist was Dr. Bonna Rogers-Neufeld. I had interviewed her by telephone for stories -- including one about mammogram screening -- but had never met her in person. Maybe she recognized my name and just wanted to meet me.

Boy, was I wrong.

When I walked back to see her, she called me a muckraker -- she had recognized my name -- and we made polite conversation. Then she went quiet, put her hand on my knee and looked straight into my eyes. She said there was a suspicious cluster "that could be the start of something," a tiny spot on the grainy film image hanging on the light board.

I felt queasy. My eyes began to water, then I muttered, "Cancer?" She said, "Well, we don't know."

At least she was honest.

Next day, I came in for a biopsy, still terrified. I had requested that Rogers-Neufeld do it -- she's a top radiologist in the area, specializing in breast cancer. Actually, I pleaded with her to do it.

I had a stereotactic core needle biopsy -- long name for big needle, plucking out tissue from breast. It hurt.

Afterward I trimmed off the top edges of surgical tape over my chest. The tape was sticking out from my shirt, and I didn't want my teenage daughters to notice. I had decided not to tell the girls anything until I knew for sure.

The results were expected the following day, a Friday, but took longer. I worried the whole weekend about the possibility of cancer swimming around inside me.