A Terrifying Journey Sorting through the mail from the mailbox, my hands trembled as I noticed an envelope from the hospital. “Yeah, yeah,” I whispered wearily to myself, pushing it aside—an invitation for a mammogram. The hospital had persistently called, but a cloud of depression loomed over me, triggered by the recent loss of my father. Unable to attend his funeral due to immigration issues, I sank deeper into despair. Ignoring the hospital’s calls, I dismissed the urgency of the mammogram. After all, there was no pain in my breast, and I felt invincible. However, a sudden jolt occurred when a friend sent me obituaries of three friends who succumbed to breast cancer. Fear and reality collided, prompting a desperate prayer to God. “Please grant me the strength to face this,” I pleaded, finally deciding to go for the mammogram. All chaos broke loose in2015when I received a breast cancer diagnosis in June. My surgery, a grueling 10hour ordeal, took place on September 9th, 2015, followed by months of chemotherapy. On that fateful day, the hospital kept me for three hours, incessantly taking pictures. The verdict: a mysteriousmass that demanded further investigation through a biopsy scheduled two days later. The subsequent call confirming my breast cancer diagnosis left me in a state of shock. Grateful that I had put my husband on the line, his voice absorbed the information as my mind recoiled in disbelief. The doctor’s last words lingered, “Nana, you need to fight this with all your strength.” Surgery and chemotherapy commenced swiftly, spanning from September to December. The toll was evident—my hair, a casualty of the battle. A regimen of Tamoxifen for five years and later Letrozole for another ten became my lifeline, a constant reminder of the fragility of life and the resilience of the human spirit. From Fear to Advocacy 26 The Birthday Journal
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