Personal Narrative: My Mom Has Stage Four Breast Cancer

That day when I returned home from school, my mom’s boyfriend called me asking to speak to my grandmother. Typically, Gus would call my grandmother himself if he wanted to speak with her, which was rare. I found out about my mom going to the hospital from my grandmother after that phone call. The doctor told my family that a stroke afflicted her in the middle of the day. My mom confused the date with her birthday, had trouble getting words out and remembering our family member’s names. The nurse had to take her for walks periodically and exercise her legs and arms because they were weak. Seeing my mother in this condition made me appreciate my mother and everything she does for me tremendously. However, I was terrified for my mother’s health.

When my dad came home that evening he sat me down and asked me if I knew what cancer was. I had an idea so I just nodded my head, he went on to tried to explain to me how bad the cancer was that my mom had been diagnosed with. Seeing my dad so afraid scared me. The fear I felt then led me to realize that I needed to try and hide it because it would only hurt my dad more to see his children so upset. I did my best to help, I tucked my little sisters into bed while my mom was away at the hospital, read them stories and did the best I could at preparing snacks to comfort them. After my mom arrived home and she recovered from the surgery she started chemotherapy. The miserable treatment that attacks the cancer also makes her very ill. Every other week she was sick. Before every bad week I wanted to cry, but that wouldn’t help anyone. Lane and Kenna already were crying, if I cried it could only hurt my parents

When I was in 6th grade my Aunt Dana was fighting cancer, and had been for 3 ½ years, I supported her all the way through it. So we held a rally in Thompsonville to support her and show her how much she meant to all of us, and that if she could fight cancer and get up every morning knowing it could be her last than we can get up and fight our battles. She was my light in a very dark tunnel.

In September of my junior year of high school, my mom told me for the third time that she had cancer. She had spent the entire summer coughing. It was a bad summer cold or maybe a stubborn case of bronchitis. No one could seem to figure out what was causing the cough. A late summer bronchoscopy finally solved the case. It was cancer. Calmly, she reassured me on that September day, “It’s an early stage cancer. They say it’s very treatable. We’ve been down this road before.” The next nine months was a road that no one in my family had traveled. Frequent doctor visits, chemotherapy treatments, and hospitalizations became our new normal. We painstakingly watched as each round of chemo treatments devastated and weakened her. Through everything, my mom was resilient, tough, and determined to live.

With three members of my family having breast cancer, it is believed that getting genes tested for mutations would be a intelligent decision. Due to breast cancer being a common disease in my family I decided to investigate scenario three into further detail. I feel it would be beneficial to get my genes tested to determine if I have a chance of being diagnosed with breast cancer in the future.

I went in to go get a physical check up as I have been a mud obstacle course that raises funds for those with breast cancer. They have them every year. Two years ago, when I went in tor my physical a hard lump was found in my left breast. My primary care doctor sent me to get a mammogram. All I could think about how those in the past said it will hurt as your breast is being squeeze to death between two plastic plates. I had to answer a long questionnaire about my life. The breast care center wanted to know if I led some wild lifestyle involving alcohol or drugs plus more.

Two years ago, my mother was diagnosed with stage four brain cancer. During this time there were countless visits to the hospital. Typically, a visit would consist of shed tears and painful discussions about the next steps, but not this one. Before I set foot into my mother's room I heard the laughter of my oldest sister, Jojo, and chuckles

After a while of sitting in my grandparents living room mindlessly playing with my toys I decided to get up. I walked towards the commotion going on in the small hallway connecting the living room to the kitchen. The gathering of people consisted of my mom, dad, grandpa, and grandma. Curious about what was going on I walked over to the group. I reached my mom and looked up to see that her eyes were bloodshot, as if she had been crying. I looked over to my dad and his face, like everyone else's, was grim. During this time I kept hearing one repeating word, cancer. I started to listen more closely to the conversation going on around me because even at the age of seven I knew that cancer was bad news. I listened intently and heard my mom explain how she had colon cancer.

It had been two and a half years since my initial diagnosis of stage 3 Breast Cancer. For the first few months after my diagnosis, I possessed some optimism despite the odds not being in my favour. I would often be a victim of pitiful looks and glances that conveyed, “I am so sorry for you.”, “Your days are numbered, sweetheart.” and “You are fighting a lost battle.” “Fighting a lost battle?” I would mutter in my mind. Ah nevah loss in meh life and ah sure ah not going tuh start now. Ah doh wah people remember meh as the woman who had breast cancer instead ah want to be remembered fuh all meh achievements and the good things ah do in meh life. Ah doh wah meh neighbours to say, “Yuh remember Elizabeth Jacob, she was one pretty woman, but now,

In February 2012, my junior year of high school, my mom succumbed to breast cancer. During her fight with breast cancer and after her passing, I made sacrifices on behalf on my family. I wasn’t involved in afterschool programs because I was cooking, cleaning, doing laundry and grocery shopping while helping my dad take care of my younger brother. Throughout my junior and senior years in high school, college was one of the last things on my mind. However my family and friends helped me realize that grades nor finances were holding me back from attending college but I was holding myself back.

My first encounter with death took place when I was seven years old. I remember hearing my grandma over the phone talking to my mom and hearing that my great aunt Linda had passed away. At the time, I thought nothing about her death, I didn’t have the best relationship with her and it didn’t really hit me that she was dead. Everyone in my family seemed shocked because she had good health and had just passed away in her sleep. When I went to the wake, I remember reaching in and feeling her skin and thought how it didn’t really feel like normal skin. The most important thing I can recall is feeling that I felt like she wasn’t really dead that she was going to wake up.

I cannot describe what I felt when my mom told me she had cancer. I was sad, I was scared; I did not even know if I felt anything. My mom, however, stayed positive and hopeful while I stayed quiet and seemingly apathetic. There was an obvious ironic contrast between the emotional state of me and the woman who actually had cancer.

My grandma’s strength pushed her into remission, but the cancer came back. I brought her to chemotherapy treatments. I chatted with her about school and the classes I was excited to start next year. Throughout her fight she never made anything about her; she always focused on me and how I was doing. I used to watch her in the kitchen every holiday, making a dinner for twenty-five without breaking a sweat. Eventually I watched her struggle, needing more help than she wanted to ask for. I witnessed her become victim to cancer, I never lost sight of the woman she was and neither did she, strong.

When you are 12 year old you start to see and hear about cancer. Never thinking your mom would get it. I and my 9 year old sister were walking home from school on a hot sunny day. We usually get home before my mom. But today my mom got home before us. Walking in the door it felt weird felt like something was wrong. I went up stairs to see my mom and see how her day went. She was sleeping. Dinner time came around and we were having my favourite food for dinner chicken broccoli casserole. My mom was being quiet and I saw her struggling to tell me and my sister that she had news for us. Finally after seeing her struggling for some time she finally told us she went to the doctors and they told her she has stage 4 rapidly growing breast cancer. She instantly started crying. I and my sister were both confused why my mom was crying. We did not really know about cancer. Weeks went on and my mom had to have 6 chemotherapy’s and 21 radiations. My dad was never really there for my mom to take care of her. He always stayed out late or would work late always and always have an excuse for not coming home. So imagine at 12 years old checking up with your mom every few hours. Trying to hang with friends and go to school if I went. Then repeat that for a few months and also her siblings came over and try to do as much as they could. It sucked having no life at 12 years old. It was hard not to get sick myself. I felt guilty when I got sick and I was not being able to be

Before I was born my mother had Von Willebrand, Lupus and Limes Disease. She wasn 't diagnosed until 18 years ago when I was born. I’d see her struggle everyday while it took over her immune system and her physical movement I saw my mother trying to cope with what was and what would be her. As I got older and I could understand the phrase “mommy isn 't feeling good” I knew something was wrong. I saw my aunts come over and help my mom with her hair and do her makeup, my mother had to wear cancer patient makeup to help make her grey like complexion look somewhat normal, we had to get rid of my dog when I was 5 because my mom couldn 't handle it. When I was 7 my mom had my younger sister, it took a strain on her physical wellbeing and a toll on all of. Her relapse happened a few years later.