By Tracey Ryan Chase
I started getting screened for breast cancer at age 29 because of my mom’s breast cancer. She was diagnosed at the young age of 39. I was in grade six when my parents sat my brother and me down to tell us that our mom had cancer.
What did that mean? I had no idea – it was scary.
She had a lumpectomy to remove a large tumor from her breast and another surgery for total lymph node removal. I recall many friends and family surrounding us with support, gifts, and meals. After my mom’s surgeries, she had to undergo chemotherapy – a drug known in breast cancer circles as the “Red Devil.” I remember her being violently sick for days after her treatments. Just when she started feeling better, she had to go for the next round of treatment. Years later, my father shared that he had to carry her into the hospital for her last few chemotherapy sessions.
Life before, and after my mom’s breast cancer
Looking back at that time, I now realize my life was divided into before my mom had cancer and after. Before cancer, my mom was the life of the party – always full of energy and laughs. Once my mom finished treatment, she didn’t bounce back to her pre-cancer self. She was very self-conscious about the different sizes of her breasts.
Mom’s breast cancer returned while I was in high school. The cancer’s return broke my mom and scared everyone in our family. She struggled mentally with the recurrence. She was adamant that there was no way she would ever go through chemotherapy again. She didn’t have the support that cancer survivors have today. She didn’t talk about it to many people. She bottled up her anger and fear.
In 1999, my brother had a baby, a beautiful boy named Connor. Connor became the light of my mom’s life. Having a grandchild brought my mom out of her dark place. My daughter Amanda was born in 2001, and my brother’s daughter and my second daughter were born in 2003 — those grandchildren brought joy back to her. Unfortunately, later in 2003, my mom’s health deteriorated with yet another cancer recurrence. I took her for radiation treatments with my baby girl, Ella in two, riding shotgun in her car seat. My mom loved those grandkids more than anything. They returned to us the vibrant, bright mom we missed so much. I have so many wonderful memories of seeing Nanny with her grandkids.
Nothing can prepare you for the loss of your mom
Towards the end of her life, my mom moved into an assisted living facility. She was just 58 years old. Watching her deteriorate was heartbreaking. We made the most of her time in care with many visits and time together.
A few days before she died, my daughters and I visited her at the hospital, where she had been transferred due to stomach issues. We found out mom’s breast cancer cancer had spread to her stomach. She was so sick. We took her for a walk around the unit, and she looked me right in the eye and said, “You’re going to have another baby, and I will miss it!” I told her she was crazy – no way my husband would agree to another baby – we were busy enough!
Mom passed away on November 6th, 2006 at 59 years of age. We knew the end was coming, but nothing can prepare you for losing your mom. It was beyond devastating and I have to admit, I keenly feel her loss still to this day.
We made it through the funeral, heartbroken and exhausted. The morning after the funeral, for some reason, I decided to take a pregnancy test. I had been so busy, so distracted, I hadn’t been thinking about my cycle at all. But something (perhaps it was my mom whispering to me) told me to take the test. Lo and behold I was pregnant! It was not planned and I was overcome by emotion. During one of our final moments together, my mom predicted this would happen. How did she know?
I call Lily — my surprise baby — gift #1 from my mom. She reminds me a lot of my mom. She is spunky, funny, bright and beautiful.
Mom’s breast cancer saved my life
After mom was gone I continued to have annual breast cancer screening. I would go for a mammogram and often be called back or sent for an ultrasound out of an abundance of caution due to my family history.
For 15 years after mom’s breast cancer, I dreaded those appointments, always thinking about the what-ifs. What would I do if I got cancer? There were many ultrasounds where tears streamed down my face during the exam because I thought this time I was going to hear bad news.
In January 2019, I was once again at the breast clinic for my regular mammogram and ultrasound.
I thought the technician took a long time with the ultrasound, but I was getting used to it. My family doctor, who was also my mom’s family doctor, always called to reassure me that the tests were normal each year.
This time, they weren’t. I was given an appointment for further investigation, which might include a biopsy. I knew in my heart my fears were coming true. This was different. I was terrified.
I attended the appointment alone. I admit, in hindsight, that was not a great idea. I sat in the waiting room with a few other women, awaiting the next steps. Some left looking relieved, and others looked like I did—in shock and terrified.
Dense breasts hid my cancer
When it was time for my consultation, the breast surgeon told me he didn’t like what he saw on the ultrasound. He told me as well I have very dense breasts, and he wasn’t surprised that the lump hadn’t shown up on previous mammograms or ultrasounds. In all my screenings, no one had ever told me I had dense breasts. Why was this vital information not shared with me?
I left that appointment knowing I had cancer, but I didn’t know what that meant. The worst part was waiting for the biopsy results. It took two weeks! When I finally had my follow-up appointment — of all things on February 14th, Valentine’s Day — I learned that my breast cancer was hormone-positive, grade 2, and that likely one lymph node was involved.
The next step was surgery. At my biopsy appointment, I told the doctor that if I was diagnosed with breast cancer I wanted a double mastectomy. He explained that it wasn’t necessary; a lumpectomy would suffice. He even shared research that supported that approach. My experience in living through my mother’s diagnosis and recurrence weighed heavily on me, however. It took a bit of convincing, but I was glad that the doctor listened to my concerns, both physical and mental, and agreed that a double mastectomy was the right option for me. I didn’t need my breasts anymore. I didn’t want to live with the risk of recurrence. Quite frankly done with them!
Once I healed from the surgery, I started four rounds of chemotherapy. I was terrified because I remembered my mom being so sick after her treatments.
However, things have changed since then; I received drugs that helped with nausea, anxiety, and pain. Chemo was hard but not as bad as I thought.
Then, after a brief break, I began radiation. I had 30 treatments. I found this part of the journey so hard. I was tired. My skin became raw, and I felt so much pain physically and mentally. Fortunately, the nurses were amazing and always made sure I was doing okay. My family and friends helped me so much – there weren’t many days when I didn’t have a warm meal or beautiful flowers waiting for me.
Once all active treatment ended, I started hormone-blocking medication, which I was told I would have to take for 7-10 years. That is a long time to take medication, but I was excited that active treatment was done!
If I am honest, that excitement waned quickly. Being on the other side of treatment didn’t feel as good as I had hoped. I was still exhausted, scared of recurrence, worried about my daughters’ risk of getting this disease, and unsure how to start this new chapter of my life.
I practiced yoga, cared for myself, went to therapy, and spent time with family and friends. I returned to work in January 2020 and am still trying to be kind to myself daily. I don’t have the energy I used to. I am a different person, but I am moving forward.
My mom passed away at age 59 after going through so much with her breast cancer journey. They always say a mother’s love never dies. Because of her experience, and her journey, I knew of my risk, had regular breast screening and was able to get an early breast cancer diagnosis. So, just as my daughter Lily, the baby she predicted was gift #1 from my mom, I call my early screening and diagnosis gift #2. She saved my life.
As a bittersweet final note, our eldest daughter, Amanda, is now a registered nurse (RN) working in oncology and in the chemotherapy suite supporting others with cancer. Our family couldn’t be more proud of her— and I’m sure my mom would be bragging about her to anyone who would listen.
About the author
Tracey Chace is 51 years old and lives in Waterloo, ON, with her husband Jason and their three daughters: Amanda (23), Ella (21), and Lily (17). They have three dogs: Levi, Sammy, and Winston. In February 2019, doctors diagnosed Tracey with breast cancer.
View Ellyn’s intro to this story here
