Mom, Wife & Cancer Fighter

There comes a time, it seems, in every game, every career, every life, that there's a turning point; a moment that propels you to another level. I'm no sports writer or football analyst, but there was clearly a turning point in the Super Bowl when the New England Patriots had seemingly all but lost the game then managed to muster the biggest comeback in game history and emerge the victor. Apple rode a wave at the top of the tech world for years then lost its spot only to get it back again under a new leader, and arguably, came out even better than before. It's clear to many political analysts that even in last year's presidential election there was a turning point amongst candidates, a point where Donald Trump seemed like the unlikely choice then turned into the sure bet for the Republican Party. I've had my own turning points in this cancer diagnosis. I've never felt so depressed, felt such a loss of hope, felt such a despair for my future, as I did in those

Friday the 13 th . January 13 th , 2017. Why on earth I agreed to an appointment on Friday the 13 th is beyond me, but looking back Monday the 16 th wouldn’t have changed anything. I still would’ve heard the diagnosis no one’s ever prepared to hear: You have breast cancer. The doctor explained what kind of cancer (high grade DCIS), how big and where, and reassured me over and over, “You are not going to die.” She talked about pathology and radiology and biopsy and surgery. The tears flowed. She said again, “You are not going to die.” I told her I was too young. I told her I was a mom. I told her my babies were just 2 and 5. “You are not going to die,” she said again with her hand touching my knee, tears welling up in her own eyes. She laid out the options: lumpectomy with daily radiation for 6 weeks, mastectomy of the diseased breast or bilateral mastectomy of the diseased breast and the one cancer had not touched. She talked about my survivability rate and that any of those