My little voice

Wednesday, March 18, 2026. The last time I had a mammogram was January 2020. That might seem odd given I am a breast cancer patient, but I do get chest CT scans every three months where anything suspicious should show up. So getting a mammogram at this stage of my disease is considered redundant. However, a few months ago I noticed an itching just below the fold of my right breast. I didn’t feel a lump, more like a thickening beneath the skin. My first thought was “it’s probably scar tissue from radiation.” I wasn’t alarmed or concerned since it wasn’t noted in my CT scan reports. However, after mentioning it to my oncologist, both a mammogram and ultrasound were recommended just to be on the safe side. In the end, the results of mammogram and ultrasound proved it to be benign, and as suspected, scar tissue. Whew!

Both in 1999 and 2018 when I found lumps first in my breast and later in my pectoral area, a little voice in my head shouted that there was something out of the ordinary happening, and not in a good way. This time that wasn’t the case. No little voice. That being said, I still found myself feeling apprehensive ahead of the tests. What if I was wrong? What then? How could anything new show up, when my current treatment seems to be keeping the disease in check? Would surgery be an option? Maybe a research study? I had to remind myself to quit writing stories about possible scenarios. I really had to slow down the chatter and take a slow, deep breath (more than one), and say to myself, “It’s nothing until they tell you it’s something.”

I guess my point is, that’s the way I feel before every CT scan or bone scan or blood draw or any test related to my cancer. I find myself holding my breath while waiting for the results to post to my online records. Every single time. At this point, I guess I’m conditioned to wait for the other shoe to drop. I think that conditioning is a way to protect myself—to not be surprised if the outcome isn’t so great. But then I tell myself to be open to whatever lies ahead, and try my best to live in this moment, and this one. To stay as present in the present as I can. It’s easier said than done.

So far, in the broad scope of it all, I’ve been in the right place at the right time. First when I was lucky enough to be in the care of Dr. Rugo who worked tirelessly to find treatments that my disease might respond to. Second, in 2021 when we had basically run out options, I joined the Magrolimab research study that stopped the cancer’s progression to the point I had no treatments for a year and a half. Third, when cancer metastasized to my right lung and later the paratracheal lymph node, I was given focal radiation that stopped the cancer in its tracks. Fourth, when the cancer started growing again, my current line of treatment had just received FDA approval in January 2025. I’ve been on it since May.

My next scans are in about a month. For now, I’ll do my best not to think about it too much. I’m feeling pretty good. Side effects are manageable. Energy…can’t complain. I have a lot to be grateful for, including you. Thanks for hanging in there with me.

Keep trying. Stay humble, Trust your instincts. Most importantly, act. When you come to a fork in the road, take it. —Yogi Berra