As I was taking a shower one morning, I felt a lump in my left breast. I mentioned it to my husband in passing, and he said it’s probably nothing, but I should get it checked out anyway. I didn’t know much about breast cancer back then, except that older women got it, right? I kept telling myself that 32 years old was too young for breast cancer, so this lump I just found had to be cyst, or something…. It has to be. But apparently 32 wasn’t too young, and neither was I.

After a trip to my gynecologist, she referred me to the CyFair Hospital for a mammogram. That was depressing in itself because the last time I was there, two years before, I gave birth to my son, one of the happiest days of my life. This was starting to be a little more than I bargained for! So were the results. She sent me to a surgeon for a biopsy, which turned out to be a bit of a mess because he wasn’t on my insurance. I didn’t find that out until AFTER I was checked in and waiting for a fine needle aspiration on my breast to see if it was cancer – I wasn’t about to turn around and leave.

A few days later (which felt like a month!), I’m at work and I get “the call.” It’s the surgeon’s office, telling me they’re 99% sure my lump is cancer. I managed to drive home in a blur, but it wasn’t quite sinking in. I got home and told my husband; we were both kind of numb. What next? I can’t go back to the surgeon because he’s not covered by my insurance. What about our boys? Ethan’s only two and Alex is seven…they need a mum! Am I going to die? What will my husband do if he has to raise both our boys by himself? I know he can do it, but how unfair is that?! I don’t want to die yet, I haven’t done all I’ve wanted to with my life, or with my boys or my husband. What if I have to have a mastectomy? Will that be the worst thing in the world? How will I cope with it? Why did this happen to me? ALL these thoughts ran through my head, around and around in circles every day from the moment I woke up to the moment I went to sleep. I sat and cried every night when the boys had gone to bed, when it was just me and my husband.

Anyway, I digress. I called my cousin, my only family here in the United States, to tell her about the diagnosis, and then I spoke with her husband. He told me that a woman we used to work with had breast cancer a few years ago and that I should give her a call for support. I hadn’t spoken to Becky in a couple of years, but we had something in common now, so I decided to call. BEST THING I EVER DID! She asked which hospital I was going to, which surgeon, etc., and was completely mortified when I told her I was going to CyFair Hospital. I remember her telling me “we have the best medical center in the nation, and that’s where you need to be.” She gave me the number of her surgeon and oncologist, and for that I will always be grateful because I ended up with the best.

The next few weeks were a blur of mammograms, ultrasounds, core biopsies, CAT scans, and blue dye. I had a lumpectomy and sentinel node biopsy on December 27th 2004. The tumor was 4.8 centimeters and the cancer was in one lymph node. My surgeon, Dr. Michael Coselli from Methodist Hospital (the. best. surgeon. evah!), didn’t get clear margins, so he said he could go back in or I could have a mastectomy since the tumor was bigger than the scans had shown. HARDEST DECISION EVER. My husband and I talked about it and decided I should go for the mastectomy. So January 24, 2005, I had the surgery to remove my left breast – turns out it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Being told I needed chemo was the worst thing! I started six months of chemo in March. My cancer was Estrogen positive and HER2 positive, so I was lucky enough to get on a clinical trial to get Herceptin for a year. Going on the trial was the next best decision I ever made with the help of my awesome oncologist, Dr. Jenny C. Chang, the Director of The Methodist Hospital Research Institute, and Toni Sinclair, the Research Coordinator at The Methodist Hospital Cancer Center. These ladies are TRULY AMAZING and contributed to saving my life – along with Herceptin! Radiation started after chemo and lasted for six weeks, yet another “worst thing in the world.”

Turns out, it only took me a few months to realize that a mastectomy, chemo, radiation, and all the other “stuff” that goes along with cancer, weren’t the worst things in the world. Not trying every single thing to beat cancer, not getting those precious years with my boys - THAT would be the worst thing in the world. I’ll be eight years cancer-free in November. My sons are now 16 and ten and I am TRULY thankful for modern medicine, my doctors, my husband (I have the best husband in the world, period!), and my family and friends.

Stephanie Pierson
Eight-year Stage 3B breast cancer survivor