An annual mammogram can save lives. A Clovis teacher is proof of that | Opinion

I left the gynecologist’s office, climbed into my Volvo, closed the door and sat with eyes shut, inhaling deeply, preparing for the task ahead — revealing my cancer diagnosis to my husband and children.

After a few minutes of deep breathing, I inserted the car key, adjusted the seatbelt, glanced into the rearview mirror at the wide eyes staring back, and whispered, “You have two types of breast cancer. Intraductal Carcinoma on one side and Mammary Paget’s Disease on the other.”

I was 49 years old.

This was my second diagnosis, the first being at age 39 — a benign tumor, requiring a partial hysterectomy. Six weeks after surgery, I returned to my teaching position at Clovis High School, aware of the importance of regular medical check-ups, aware of the tenuous nature of good health as we age.

A year later, I applied for and was accepted into Fresno State’s English masters’ program along with my friend Karen. With my son at UCLA and daughter at UC San Diego, I figured it was the perfect time for me to get an advanced degree. As part-time students with one unit still available, Karen and I enrolled in a P.E. strength-building course. Staying healthy was very much at the forefront of my mind.

Weekly, we laughed our way through sit-ups, squats and planks, trying to keep up with the young college students. But on the last day of the semester, I stopped laughing. The instructor took us out to the track and shouted, “Go!” Three laps later, panting, I flopped onto the finish line. Rolling onto my back, gasping for air, I asked the instructor. “How far?”

She gave me two thumbs up. “One lap short of a mile!”

I was stunned. As a non-athletic, middle-aged woman with legs too short for her torso (according to a body-type stylist), I had almost run a mile! So, the following Saturday, I drove to campus, determined to jog four laps around the track. Two months later, I was running two miles, and then three. Eventually I veered from the track to run through campus and onward into the Fresno State vineyards, jogging between the rows of grapevines, and continued to do so for the next 10 years. I ran three days a week, often in the company of my friend, Jonica. I was a healthy, fit, 49-year-old woman. So how had this cancer invaded my body?

Except for skin cancer, I have learned that breast cancer is the most common cancer in American women. Furthermore, half of all U.S. women who develop breast cancer are diagnosed before the age of 62. Breast cancer seems to be a midlife disease that the American Cancer Society estimates will take the lives of 42,170 U.S. women in 2025.

The good news is that 66% of all breast cancer cases are often diagnosed before the cancer has spread outside of the breast. This was true in my case. Ten lymph nodes tested on each side were clear. Regular mammograms had saved my life. Also, important to note, is that daughters of mothers with breast cancer are nearly twice as likely to develop breast cancer themselves and so must be diligent. Regular exams and mammograms are critical for survival.

Although the overall breast cancer mortality rate has declined since 1991, the American Cancer Society expects an increase in numbers due to population growth and aging. On average, every two minutes a woman is diagnosed with breast cancer in the United States. Yet, at age 49, I had not known anyone with the disease — not my grandmother, my mother, my aunts, nor any of my friends. But here I was, with no warning signs, the first in my family and my circle of friends.

I inhaled deeply, turned the car key, backed out of the parking stall and drove from the doctor’s office to my friend Jonica’s house to practice saying the words, “I have cancer,” before heading home.

“I have cancer,” I repeated as I pulled into Jonica’s driveway. Through the open kitchen window, I heard Jonica and our friend, Karen, laughing as I exited the car. Good, I thought. I only have to say this once. I entered the kitchen through the back door, greeted them, and immediately announced in a serious tone, “I have something important to tell you.”

Jonica led us to the living room where she and Karen sat on the sofa across from me. I cleared my throat, looked directly at them and spoke the words: “I have breast cancer.” My voice fell to the floor like heavy boots. Shock followed in the disguise of silence. They waited for me to continue. I waited because I didn’t know what else to say. After a few seconds, we all rose, wrapping arms around each other, glistening eyes buried in each other’s shoulders.

An hour later, I pulled into our circle drive. My husband was standing on the front porch, waiting for me. I was ready. I exited the car and walked straight into him and whispered, “I have breast cancer.”

“You’re going to be OK,” he whispered back, holding me close, trying to be positive.

And I was OK. The surgeon performed a double mastectomy, removing 10 lymph nodes — all clear. No need for chemotherapy or radiation. No need for my children to come home from college. No need to pause my doctoral program classes though a friend drove me each week. And after six weeks of sick leave, I returned to my teaching position at Buchanan High School.

While overall cancer mortality rates have declined, new cases are increasing, due to population growth and aging. According to the National Cancer Society, every two minutes a woman is diagnosed with breast cancer; approximately 15% of women diagnosed have a family history. This was not my case. Clearly, we must remain vigilant with regular exams.

In my lifetime, I have held hands with three friends who traveled the same road. Annual mammograms saved our lives.

Dr. Pauline Sahakian is a retired Clovis High & Buchanan High A.P. Composition teacher, CSU Fresno, Freshman Composition Instructor, CSU Fresno Teacher Education Instructor, former San Joaquin Valley Writing Project Associate Director and U.C. Merced Writing Project Founding Director. She was 1994 Fresno County Teacher of the Year, a CA Teacher of the Year finalist, and 2016 CSU Fresno Noted Alumni Award recipient. paulinesahakian@outlook.com