(Warning! Graphic images below!)
I think my story starts before I had cancer, or maybe I should say it started before I knew I had cancer for I don't know how long it was there. I think this journey started in conversations and in watching other people go through it, especially within the last two years before I was diagnosed. I remember having conversations with one of my sister-friends (Tiffany), who is a registered nurse and a realtor, about how if she was ever diagnosed with #breastcancer that she would just have them cut off her breasts because she doesn't need them for anything anyway. That statement within itself was kind of shocking. I was thinking: How can you be okay with not having your breasts?
Breasts are everything to everybody, so I thought! (I LOVED my breasts. I’d wished and prayed for boobs ever since the second grade! How could I not have them???) However, my girl said that she didn’t need them for anything, so if it came down to it, they’d be gone - POOF! I can't even recall why we were having conversations about breast cancer. It's just amazing how God will prepare you for things even in the smallest ways. I now know that this one specific conversation was preparation in and for my mind for the unthinkable - not having breasts.
I have a former student, Keri (my Kerr-Bear), who was diagnosed with breast cancer about a year or so before I was diagnosed. She is one of my babies from my first year of teaching in 2001 when she was in the seventh grade. Consequently, we stayed in touch throughout the years. She was a 25- or 26-year-old single mother of three at the time of her diagnosis and treatment. I was totally shocked when she let us know that she had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Before her diagnosis, I remember her saying in a #Facebook post that something felt wrong in her breasts and that she knew it was bad. I didn’t think anything of it because she was so young; however, it was stage 3 breast cancer. I encouraged her and stood in awe at her strength. I told her how she was my hero. I guiltily watched her breast cancer journey via Facebook, feeling that I should be doing something to help her besides offering words of encouragement, which is what everybody does. I was just amazed at her strength because she fought breast cancer like a beast! Her support system wasn’t the best, but she “dog-walked” breast cancer, all while raising her daughters. Oh, how I admired her strength, and I still do!
When I met Keri in 2001 during my first year of teaching, I had a short, natural hairstyle. The backstory on wearing my #naturalhair began during my junior or senior year at Ohio University. I decided to cut the relaxer out of my hair, thanks to my friend, Nzingha. (My natural hair story is a whole other story for another blog. LOL!) During my first year of teaching, I wore my hair in a short afro or twists, or I would wear a headwrap, tied in various ways. In 2003, my friend, Angela, locked my hair. I wore #locs from 2003 until 2016. Not as many people were wearing locs as there are now, and I valued my hair even more for that reason.
Fast forward to April of 2016. I had just decided to cut my locs shorter because I was ready to cut them off. (There went God preparing me again.) I cut them in an asymmetrical style, similar to a style from the 1990s. During that time, my mom had called me while I was at work, and she was upset because she had just been diagnosed with breast cancer. I remember asking her what the next steps were. She didn't have a lot of information at the time, but I already put in my head that we weren't going to be sad and upset; I told her that too. Then, my stepdad was diagnosed with prostate cancer within about a month of my mom’s diagnosis - not to forget to mention that my maternal grandmother's breast cancer had returned. I thought: “There goes cancer running rampant in my family!”
We had so much going on in our family at the time! My daughter was one year old, and my son was 9 or 10. My #periods and #PMS were just getting back to normal from #pregnancy and #childbirth. One day, I noticed that my left breast was a little sore. It was so my minute that I could have ignored it; however, I'm a self-diagnosed #hypochondriac, so I couldn’t ignore it even if I tried. I knew that my breast did not normally feel sore, especially after I had already had my period. It was just slightly sore or tender (as we call it). It was the end of May when I went to my primary care physician (#PCP), Dr. Wion. She felt around my breast where I was feeling the soreness, and she found a lump. I, personally, still couldn't feel the lump with my fingers as she could. All I knew was that it was tender.
After that, she put in orders for me to have my first #mammogram at 37 years of age. I underwent two procedures before I was diagnosed with breast cancer. On June 3rd, 2016 at Marion-Franklin High School while I was conducting graduation rehearsal, my #doctor called me. My breast cancer surgeon, Dr. Cripe, told me that they did find cancer in my left breast. People always say that young people think they're #invincible. I don't necessarily even include myself with the younger generation, but surprisingly, it did not really knock the wind out of me. It was more like a smack in the face, though. #NOTME!!! It was at that moment that I knew I needed to figure out my next steps. I remember calling Tiffany to tell her about the diagnosis. I can't tell you what I said to her here though. … Wait, yes I can. I said, “Girl, I got m*****f*****’ breast cancer.” From there, everything happened so quickly.
My mom, Sandy; godmother, Pat Ross; and Stephanie Howell, my survivor sister were with me when Dr. Cripe initially met with us and told us the plan: THE PLAN was as follows: 1) aggressive chemotherapy on four chemo drugs every three weeks from July through October/November 2016, followed by one chemo drug through August 2017; 2) the left breast #mastectomy; 3) #radiation every week day for six weeks; and 4) a cancer pill, #Tamoxifen, for five to ten years.
I must give pause here to let you know about the cyst that Dr. Wion, my PCP, felt. What Dr. Wion felt was a cyst, which was nothing. The cancer was lying somewhere else in my breast, and they just happened to see the cancer while checking the cyst. Do you understand that the breast cancer could have gone undetected until a later stage than two??? The cyst, which was nothing – seemingly irrelevant, was the proverbial whistleblower. One of the nurse’s almost “went in” on that. She said, “Oooh, I’m getting goosebumps!” I already knew what was about to happen when she said that; she was ready to go into a full “bapti-costal” praise. Fortunately, we didn’t tear up that room in a full-out praise.
Back to the order of events, I underwent a bunch of testing and anything else you can think of. There were so many new terms and procedures that I quit trying to remember the names of everything. I just went where they told me to go and did what they told me to do. (I don’t suggest just going along with the plan. Ask questions, research your surgeons and institutions, etc.)
I remember being at church one Sunday not too long after my diagnosis. I don't remember how the word spread, but it did. Sister Diane Kiah, my survivor sister, came up to me and just gave me some real talk. She very accurately warned me about the nausea and what she would eat to help her with it. The main thing she said, though, that stuck in my head was that this whole thing is going to be a test of your state of mind. Those were not her exact words, but that’s how I processed it. I believe what she may have said was that your state of mind will determine how you get through this. She told me that if I stayed positive, then that will be what got me through. That day, I decided that was how I would live. From that conversation with her, I put it in my mind that this was not going to break me. For one thing, I talk too much trash to everybody for me to go out without a fight. I knew I was going to have to put on my big-girl panties (as Pamela Diggs, my mentor, says) and deal with this.
So many things happened leading up to chemotherapy. My doctor told me that I would get a port, through where I’d receive chemotherapy in order to preserve my veins. I should have looked it up online first because I had already fixed in my head how this port would look. I imagined that it would be something white and plastic on the outside of my skin that my daughter will try to rip off my chest. It wasn't anything like that though. For those of you who do not know, the port is placed underneath the skin so that when getting chemotherapy, they don't have to worry about blowing out any veins.
I remember all of these different appointments for which I was being scheduled for so many different things, including genetics testing since my mother, maternal grandmother and cousin (on my dad’s side) all had cancer at some point. (My cousin, too, was under the age of 40 when she was diagnosed.) I even had to make a hair appointment to get the rest of my locs cut off. As I already mentioned, back in April of 2016, I had already started cutting my locks. (I think that was God preparing me for losing them altogether because as of June 2016, I was back in my best friend Artra’s chair getting the rest of my locs cut off in preparation for the impending total hair loss.
I went to have my port installed at Grant Hospital at the beginning of July 2016. (If I’m gonna tell it, then I gotta tell it all, right? Okay!) The next thing that happened totally rocked my world! My godmother; my spiritual uncle, Joe Moorehead; and my sisters, Artra, Tiffany and Lisa were all present. (Forgive me if I’m omitting any names because my support system was so huge that there were multiple people at almost every appointment/procedure.) We were all in the prep room talking and laughing when Dr. Cripe came into the room and politely asked everyone to leave. We all looked at each other in confusion because it was unexpected and rather abrupt. Silly me, I break the silence as they are leaving and say, “I better not be pregnant.” Then, we all laughed, except Dr. Cripe, as they walked away. He watched them walk down the hall, turned back to me, and said, “What made you say that?” My heart dropped down to my feet. I started sweating and shaking my head “no”. How in the world was this happening now?!
That is when things started to get surreal. He and I talked before everyone else came back into the room. I called my husband, Randy, who stayed home to make sure our kids were where they needed to be (as it was summer). I let him know what I had just learned. When everyone returned, I had my head in my hands because I could not look anyone in the eye, not because I was pregnant but because I knew what I would most likely do next. We decided to “interrupt” the pregnancy due to the risks for me and the embryo. Do not get me wrong, a woman can have a baby and fight cancer at the same time; that just wasn’t my path or my #choice. If decided not to terminate the pregnancy, the procedure would have to be adjusted.
Before making that decision, I had more appointments added to the schedule because now I was pregnant and needed to see specialists to determine what was best for my body. After I told the specialist my thoughts, he gave me the facts and assured me that all six of my doctors agreed that it was a good idea for me to terminate the pregnancy; however, he reassured me that they would support me with whatever decision I made. Having the #abortion did bother me every now and then when I would see somebody’s little baby, but I kept it pushing. Plus, my baby, Khari, was only one, so I still got the cuddles.
Fast forward a couple of weeks, it was still July. We went again for the port installation. My sisters, Artra, Tiffany and Tammie and my godmother were there, and everything was a success! I got the port and went home. For those of you who do not know, I work summer school every summer, and summer of 2016 was no different. I started coordinating summer school in June 2016 and continued throughout the summer in between chemo appointments, doctor appointments, etc. (To God be the glory that I did not skip a beat!) I refused to skip a beat.
Can I pause here to tell you how much I love my Marion-Franklin students and colleagues? What should have been the most difficult and trying time of my life was not. Summer school was a breeze. I would wear my hats because I started losing my hair mid-July. When the school year started, I was reminded that I requested to have the previous year’s freshmen as sophomores because they were “off the hook” and needed some ME. Therefore, I had to step back and figure out how to handle such a rowdy bunch in between my absences.
This next part may sound like bragging, but I cannot take the credit. While undergoing the aggressive chemotherapy from August to December of 2016, people would ask me when I would get to go back to work, but one of the biggest blessings and praise reports was/is that I did not have to take any extended time off from work due to chemotherapy. I did, however, miss four consecutive weeks over the course of December 2016 to January 2017 for the left breast mastectomy. From the end of August to December 8th, which was the day before my mastectomy, I’d only missed eight days of work from feeling sick after chemotherapy appointment days. Of course, I missed a day every three weeks because chemo was an all-day affair. People would joke and still do, saying, “Haley came to work more than some people who weren’t even sick!” All I could tell people was that God is faithful!
I finished the rough chemo at the beginning of November. I had started having an allergic reaction to Carboplatin, one of the four chemotherapy drugs, at my second to last chemo infusion, so they did not give it to me at the last infusion. I could have rung the chemo bell in November, but I decided not to do it, seeing as I still had to keep coming every three weeks through August 2017 for that last round of light chemo. I was glad that the aggressive chemo was over because it was starting to break down my body, and I could feel it, no matter what I was telling people or how I was acting. Walking up the stairs, carrying my daughter, walking down the hall and some other things were becoming more and more difficult as the chemo built up in my system.
There were two appointments when I didn’t get the chemo infusions because my white blood cell count was too low. I wasn’t mad because I didn’t feel like being sick, which consisted of nausea, diarrhea, major hot flashes, and vomiting. I had so many different pill bottles that they filled a gallon-sized Ziploc bag and then some. It seemed as if nothing they prescribed helped the nausea. (Well, there was one thing that helped significantly!) Needless to say, I was grateful to be finished with the aggressive chemo. The remaining chemo drug only took thirty minutes to infuse, so I wouldn’t have to take off work anymore at all for chemo appointments.
I had my left breast mastectomy on December 9th. I cannot say that it was as devastating as I thought it would be … at first. At some point early on, I decided that what I wanted most was to #live, and as long as that happened, I was going to be okay no matter what. Before surgery, so many of my loved ones were there to wish me well, to pray for me, and to love on me. We took pictures, of course. Even more people were there after I’d gone into surgery and came out. They took pictures, too. They told me that my people almost got kicked out of the hospital when the doctor came to report that there was no cancer in my lymph nodes because they went into a high and mighty praise, thanking God for cancer-free lymph nodes.
I stayed in the hospital one night. The pain medication, #Dilaudid, was amazing!!! Everything was great until a #hematoma developed in my chest at about three in the morning. Dr. Cripe came in, sat beside me on the bed and just rubbed the hematoma out (or whatever he did). I went home with one drain sticking out the left side of my body. I had to empty it as it filled and measure the amount of blood that was draining into the bulb. It was quite interesting and gross, all at the same time.
Nothing could have prepared me for the #radiation, though. That may have been worse than everything – maybe not – but it sure was horrible. The radiation didn’t get bad until the end and afterward. My skin started to change colors in the area of the radiation like a suntan. Then, it got darker and darker. Then, the skin started to bubble and break open like a bad burn. Next, my skin was just falling off. It would hurt for anything to touch it, even a shirt. I was so angry at the process and the guy who did the radiation procedure. I didn’t know of anyone else whose burns were as bad as mine. Fortunately, I’d already been fitted for an artificial breast, also known as a prosthesis, because that would’ve been impossible to have a fitting during and after radiation with my skin in such a condition. The only relief was from this Aloe Vera concoction that my mother’s friend’s sister made.
After I began healing, it would be at least six months before we would even discuss the next steps. I finished out the school year and worked summer school through July 2017. I had my last infusion of chemo in August and finally rang that bell! Upon completion of chemo, I began taking Tamoxifen, the estrogen-fighting pill, daily. (I forgot to mention that my breast cancer was estrogen-fueled.) Of course, it didn’t stop there. When six months had passed after my last radiation treatment with Dr. Meyer, it was time to meet with Dr. Tiwari, the breast plastic surgeon. He explained the procedure to me. Not only would I be getting a new breast, I would also have a mastectomy on the right breast and a new right breast, too, which I already knew. Although there was no cancer in my right breast, they did find some abnormal cells, and I ain’t have no time for that. I told them to TAKE IT, too!!!
The procedure to reconstruct my left breast was called a “DIEP flap” surgery. They took fat from my stomach (which I didn’t have much of) and used that to make a new breast on the left side. The surgery was to have at least two parts with a six-week break between the end of healing and beginning the next surgery. It was all very intricate and lengthy. I’d be flat out lying if I said that I was excited and looking forward to this. I’d be lying if I said that I was at total peace, knowing all that was going to come with the procedures. I was really “feeling some type of way” as the kids used to say.
December 11th was the day of my right-breast mastectomy and breast reconstruction surgeries. My friend Jennifer of J. Adams Photography captured my first breast cancer photoshoot two days before the surgery, and I love her for that because I was able to be comfortable with my scars and my remaining natural breast. I was to be off work for four to six weeks for the first procedure and then two weeks for the second procedure. When I last told this story at speaking engagements, this was where it ended because I hadn’t yet had the surgery. Remember, this was back in 2017, and it is now January of 2024. So much more happened after that #DIEPflap procedure. It’s really crazy. I’m going to stop here, though, because this is already too long. I’ll follow-up with part 2 later because ... yeah ... it's a lot.
If you read this far, leave me a comment or a reaction, and I thank you for reading my story!
Love,
Kimani
#selfbreastexam #monthly #knowyourboobs #mammogram #earlydetection #Imasurvivor #mastectomy #youshallliveandnotdie #IthankGod #healing #Iamnotmybreasts
Wow! I am with you everyday and didn’t know the extent of your suffering (even though I know you wouldn’t call it that)! You are a badass!
I am in awe of your strength, resilience, faith, grace and beauty ... inside AND out. Your story is going to both bless and help people. It’s also beautifully written. I’m looking forward to part two.
Ahhhhh!! You are amazing!!! Your testimony has always been so inspiring but to read the details and the see the journey from your lens is incredible! Love this 🫶🏾🥹 Looking forward to part 2!