It was a mild winter-as mild as it could be in the month of January. The sun had been shining brightly through the crystal glass that hung from branches of trees, rooftops, windowsills and railings of houses all around the neighborhood. There was a glisten over the pavement and the air was frozen still. It was early morning and nature hadn’t yet been disturbed. This day would not be as my others. I wouldn’t be in a suit, on a train, or in the office. Today would be a difficult day and the beginning of a long road to finding out the answer to a very serious question—does my mother have breast cancer?

We arrived at the hospital at 7 a.m. and I took a seat next to my mother on the sofa. No matter how comfortable it tried to be, that sofa to me felt like a pew.

My uneasiness grew when my mother said, “Jenn, how will I look when this is over? Please don’t tell anyone,” she said. “I feel too embarrassed.”

At that moment the roles seemed to reverse themselves and I suddenly became the adult. The counselor. Who am I to console her? I’m only 23. It made me angry to realize just how much us women have been trained to worry about our looks. Our “womanhood.” I couldn’t come up with anything to say so I just sat there and tried to understand, but how could I? I wasn’t going through it.

My mother was called in after what seemed like...like... like a wait in a waiting room. We looked at each other and all I could muster up was, “good luck.”

Nice going Jenn. Real nice.

I felt helpless. She wasn’t going in to get her teeth cleaned for God’s sake. I was so frustrated with myself and felt like I was being selfish. Worrying how I was going to handle the results. Part of me didn’t want to face the consequences.

Attempting to distract my anxious mind, I rummaged through the messy stack of magazines and picked up the New York Times Magazine. I flipped through looking for solace and discovered an article about none other than breast cancer.

“How convenient,” I thought to myself sarcastically.

I read about women’s issues with breast cancer-about their fears and the victimization brought on by the disease and the public. It was both enlightening and depressing. I felt myself getting angrier. How could it be a woman’s fault for getting breast cancer? It could happen to anyone. Even me. Gulp! I sat there with more time than I wanted to think this over.

After two hours my mother came out of the recovery room and the doctor said the tumor appeared to be benign, but we would know for sure in a couple of days.

With some relief, at least on my end, we left the hospital and stopped at a diner for lunch. My mom looked different to me. She looked vulnerable and not like the mom who had all the answers. The words, feelings and people in the article I had read scurried in my mind like a million little ants.

A few days later the test results showed it was a benign fibroid. PHEW! What a relief!

At least until now. Eight years later here I am in the same predicament. My gynecologist found the lump and I had surgery two months later-after going for mammograms, sonograms, and second opinions. My thoughts went from, “Will I be disfigured?” to “What if it is the Big C?” I tried to keep my mind upbeat and positive. “I’ll just have the fibroid removed and be fine,” I thought.

The procedure took about 40 minutes. 20 minutes later I was released absolutely starving and still a little high from the anesthesia. Again my mother and I went to the diner across from the hospital and, for the first time, she shared her emotional experience with me. When I got home I watched Oprah and reflected on the day-then I passed out. It was the best sleep I’d had in two months.

I would like to say that I had the same happy ending with my breast scare as my mom. Unfortunately, mine continues.

The test results showed a benign Phylloides tumor-which are found in less than 1% of all breast cancer cases. The bad news is in 60% of all cases reported, the tumor grows back malignant and is not treatable with chemotherapy or radiation. The pathology report and my surgeon strongly suggest that I have surrounding breast tissue removed as the cells from the tumor are aggressive and have already begun to spread.

When I learned the results of my lumpectomy, I did research, drastically changed my diet, and do yoga and meditation regularly to keep my mind centered. Yes, I continue to stay upbeat, and my emotions also continue to sway back and forth between fear and hope.

I’m thankful I don’t have breast cancer and feel more empathy than ever for those who do. The fear of that possibility is with me, and I keep it at bay.

Now I truly understand what my mother was feeling that day eight years ago and I can also relate to my friends who simply don’t know what to say, and, without malicious intent, end up sounding insensitive. There are many people I have chosen not to share this experience with in order to protect myself from their insensitivities, but I also realize how important it is to share it with other women-like those women in that article did eight years back. Emotional support for all women enduring this is the most important remedy of all. That and the understanding of just how hard it is not to be able to eat pizza anymore! Yeah, how fortunate if that were the worst of it. Until it is, juice me a shot of wheatgrass!

Jennifer Vacchio has been a professional writer for over ten years. Her various works include producing motivational sales videos, writing scripts, advertising copy, magazine features, news stories, websites, newsletters, personal stories and marketing materials. A graduate of the College of Mount Saint Vincent, Jennifer got her start as an intern at Rolling Stone Magazine and has been published in Millimeter Magazine, on the web, and in various news mediums. Her ultimate mission is to help suffering girls and children around the world by giving their plight a voice. To learn how you can help, or to send Jennifer a message, you can reach her at: Jvacc2@Netzero.com.