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Why Awareness And Mammograms Aren’t Enough

The month of October is upon us. The surge of pink is impending. Admittedly, everything looks cuter with a little pink in it. At least that’s my take on it. But there is nothing remotely cute about Breast Cancer.

Absolutely nothing.

I still embrace pink. I am aware. O God, I am so aware of this illness. Every 14 minutes someone gets diagnosed with this illness. How can anyone not be aware? Awareness is a good thing, raising awareness is a good thing.

I was aware, aware for the last 20 years that this is a fatal illness. When I said goodbye to my aunt, I was aware what breast cancer can do. So aware of the trauma her kids underwent.

I was aware, as I sat with my other aunt during her chemo infusions at the hospital, taking time off from my medical school classes to keep her company.

I was aware that some survive, others don’t.

I examined my self regularly since my 20s. I was very familiar with the texture of my dense breast. Lumpy and nodular especially before my cycle. My first mammogram was at 25 years of age.

I was always familiar with a breast surgeon in my network of doctors. I breastfed two children for over a year each.

I was aware of the risks.

I had 2 mammograms six months apart prior to my cancer, a 7 cm mass that never formed a lump. Just a change in the texture of the breast tissue, that only I could tell felt different.

I was aware of the density issue, I had an ultrasound too, which was normal.

Yes, awareness and mammograms help, but in the end, it was my gut feeling that made me locate the lump in my armpit. A swollen axillary lymph node that is never good news.

So those that read this today, please, examine yourself, know your body and your breasts. Mammograms do save lives but maybe not yours. For me, mammograms were a false sense of security. It was a self-exam that saved my life.

So when you see the pink ribbons all over, ask yourself, when was the last time I properly examined my breasts? When was the last time my doctor taught me how to examine my breasts?

Know your genetic risk, I don’t have the BRCA gene but due to two family members, my risk was higher. Know your family history.

Take care of yourself, eat well and exercise. I did all of that. I still got cancer but it was my fate based on my genetic makeup.

Your outcome can be different, why wouldn’t you give your self that chance?

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Before and After

I walk forward
I march ahead
I try hard each day
Then again someone will ask
“Didn’t you have long hair before?”
I did , I did 
A before and an after
There always will be.
I console my self
I seek comfort
Sometimes I lie
And hide from the truth.
Pretend it never happened,
Pretend it was never there,
Then again someone will ask
” didn’t you have long hair before?”
I did , I did
A before and an after
There always will be 
Life expects more
More from us than others
Bravery, courage, right attitude
Every day 
We are different
A tangent that our lives
Have taken
In and out of the flow
Pretending
To be
One of them until
Some one will ask again
“Didn’t you used to have long hair”

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“Some Days”


“Some Days”

Yes, I am thankful
Yes, it’s really great
I have made it so far
so far I have been spared
but some days I get flaky
and sad and angry too.
some days I get so flaky
I want my life renewed.

Some days I want hair
thats long and straight
sometimes pretty nails
a carefree attitude
both breasts too,
Some days I get needy
Some days I have wants
Some days I want protection
from fears to be gone
Some days I just get flaky
and sad and angry too

My freedom has left
My mind occupied
My dreams conditional
My life uncertain
But
But I have to pull this burden
a life marked away
a life marked as traitor
day by day
moment by moment
bit by bit

Suppress the fear
Hold on to hope
Distract yourself
It works, sometimes
It works some days
but some days I get flaky
and sad and angry too.
 Uzma Yunus

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It’s time to go again

Its time go again:
A tribute to my sisters undergoing reconstruction

The OR is ready,
the sheets are clean and crisp,
He is scrubbed and gloved,
Slow music in the back ground,
the masks are on,
The monitors are anxious
the I/V is expectant,
All over ,once again.
It’s time to go.

And you, on the gurney,
ready to count,
till your sleep connects you to them,
quiet hours,
slow breathing,
pain and grogginess,
All over, once again,
It’s time to go.

I am trying,
again and again,
to undo what I didn’t ask for,
All I want,
is to feel whole,
whole again,
like I was,
It’s time to go.
It’s time to try
and to regain
a fraction of what was lost,
I am ready,
I am ready,
I am ready to count,
I am ready to endure the pain,
Ready to be whole again.

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Does Cancer Ever Win?

Does Cancer Ever Win?

Yesterday, yet again I read an obituary of friend’s sister who wrote the most commonly used sentence about death caused by cancer, ” she (her sister) finally lost her battle to cancer”.
I have a problem with that sentence, a big problem. This sentence implies that cancer has won. If that were true, her cancer, as an entity, would be alive, thriving and sustaining, but is not!
So if this were to be appraised it as a win or lose situation, at the most it is a draw, a situation where both parties played each other well, matched each other equally and there was no result. A game where both parties ran out of play time, both spent and exhausted. For someone to win, the victor has to be able to live to enjoy the success, to celebrate the battle, to count the loot.
Here no one loses. For those who survive the assault by cancer, they can be perhaps called winners of the moment but those that die at hands of cancer by no means are defeated.
Right from the time of diagnosis to the last breath that a person takes in their morphine induced stupor, the cancer survivor is the winner. Their will to survive trumps the growth of rogue cells at every angle, every corner. Their spirit is mightier than rapidly multiplying DNA. The body fights back with an army of little white blood cells that are jumping out of the bone marrow in throngs. The body’s immune system creates barriers and hurdles to stop the march of belligerent cells that are the traitors from within.
How can anyone say that a survivor was defeated when they have looked at death in the eye and said I am not afraid of you? How can anyone say that a survivor lost when they endured the hardships of the treatments of a dreadful disease? When they submitted and conquered the cut, burn and poison regimen? How can anyone say that a survivor did not emerge victorious when they gave this fight every ounce of their being?
Death is inevitable, we all know that. We all will die someday. For some it will be quick and sudden , for others prolonged and painful. How can a person’s life, that is full of achievement and accomplishments, of love and warmth , of thoughts and affection, of compassion and giving be ever considered a loss? Just because it ended ? Just because the survivor stopped breathing, it’s a lost battle? No, it’s not. The cancer did not live either. It is gone as well , as is its source of replenishment and growth.
So if I die due to the challenges of my disease, please let the obituary read, ” She emerged victorious in her battle with cancer and as of today is no longer alive and neither is her cancer.” Thank You!

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Of Forgetting and Remembering

In the last month, I have had three episode of unexplained swelling of my mouth and lips, usually triggered by a fruit. My conclusion was that it must be an allergy so I dutifully set up an appointment with my immunologist.

My immunologist is a bright, rather matter of fact and keep-to-business type of  young woman. She is however very compassionate and I witnessed it when she sat all day in the ICU as I got Adriamycin after the allergic reaction to it 3 weeks before.  Although she doesn’t hug or call me “sweetie”, she nurtures me with all her professional competence.

When I had met her the first time, she declared  “Look, you’re a doctor and weird things happen to doctors so get used to it.” It didn’t feel comforting at that time, but it was the truth. One episode of full body hives and 3 bouts of swollen mouth and lips, I am convinced of her theory of misfortunes of physician patients.

Today however she looked pale. A ghastliness that couldn’t be explained by just having been on call over night or stressors of every day life. She lost her train of thought, walked out, and came back to check if she had missed something. I reminded her of what she forgotten to answer. She then said “I am sorry I have had a death in my family over the weekend.”

As the conversation unfolded, she sat down in the chair fully embracing the seat, not the “I am out of here” descent on the edge of the swivel chair. She started to share, “My sister-in-law died in a car accident. She was only 43.” My heart sank. Someone obviously close to her heart had died and she was here at work, passionately giving to others when she herself feels broken.

Yes, that is what doctors are made of. This passion isn’t fed by the pay check that so many complain about or the recognition or appreciation – it is the internal obligation to help set things right for others, to relieve their suffering , a sense of a greater responsibility, a greater purpose. She talked and I talked.

She was grieving and my whole last year has been a prolonged journey of grief. We had a moment, a moment where I was listening and she was talking.

We talked about the unfairness of life, of the two kids that her sister-in-law has who are 5 and 2 and her brother who is feeling completely lost. I shared how I had thought about what my husband and kids will do without me. We talked about Anne Frank and Victor Frankl, and about surviving.

She saw me, I have gotten through last year, her eyes were scanning me and my existence and at least momentary victory over cancer ….some thing to validate her belief that she, and her brother, and his kids will get through this. She then stood up wished me luck, and moved on to the next patient.

The karmic cycle had made one complete loop.

It seemed that she that she found what she had forgotten.

I came home and hugged my kids and I remembered, I am here, I am blessed. Somewhere, a family is grieving the loss of a mom.