My experience was much more of an emotional journey than a physical one. I was diagnosed in April of 2005, six weeks after my 49th birthday. My husband’s health had been going downhill for months and he was in the hospital when I told him. We cried together.

I never had any symptoms. My annual mammogram showed some calcium deposits. There was no lump, no indication whatsoever that I had cancer. I would have three biopsies over the next few months and frankly was more concerned about my husband’s health than my own.

I think the hardest part for both of us was that we knew he wouldn’t be able to go to any of my appointments or procedures with me. I smiled when he told me that even a double mastectomy wouldn’t change how he felt about me. We’d been together over 20 years and all the challenges of his medical problems and now mine, continued to bring us closer together.

I knew I was going to be a young widow. I knew I’d become physically and emotionally drained and that stress and being overweight probably made me more susceptible to disease. In the summer following my diagnosis, I began getting up early everyday and going for a long walk before the heat of the day set in. Then I would head for the nursing home to be with Keith. I credit the walking not only with a forty-pound weight loss but with saving my sanity. It was also the simple act of doing something for myself that made me feel like I had a little control over my life.

I began radiation treatments in the fall of 2005. Six weeks of treatments, taking Tamoxefin, and having a mammogram every six months was my course of treatment. Since it was caught early and the last biopsy removed the pre-cancerous cells, there was no need for chemo.

I completed my first week of treatments on October 14. Keith died the next morning. I never missed a treatment. Keith’s memorial service and all the things that had to be done were scheduled around my appointments. I knew it was important to him that I take care of myself and this was my way of honoring him. I have no doubt that I was in shock. I looked like a functioning human being on the outside but felt numb on the inside. Life had a surreal quality.

Sitting in the cancer center waiting room was an eye-opening experience because you know, you know, everyone sitting there has cancer. I still felt very fortunate that my cancer had been caught early and was the simplest kind to treat. I’d been grieving for my husband and our marriage for some time but I knew I wanted to live and felt I’d been given a second chance.

Unbelievably, I got a second chance at love also. I met Bob in November of 2006. Ironically, he was a non-hoskins lymphoma survivor and had lost his mother to cancer three weeks after my husband passed. Once again, I thanked God for bringing such an understanding and supportive partner into my life.

We experienced our first challenge as a couple within a few weeks of meeting! I reported some unexplained bleeding to my doctor and she scheduled a D & C. I was diagnosed with early-stage uterine cancer which could have been a side effect of the Tamoxefin. I had a complete hysterectomy in December and have been cancer-free ever since.

I’m back on an annual schedule for mammograms; I’ll be a three-year survivor in March of 2008. My oncologist and family doctor are pleased with my progress but I’ll never forget that early-stage breast cancer doesn’t necessarily display symptoms.

If there’s a silver lining, it’s that my experience has led me to become involved with the Komen organization. I know I’m a pain to some of my friends because I hound them about their mammograms. I don’t care if they get irritated with me. I may not be able to save the world but I can make a difference one person at a time. And I truly believe that is why we’re here; to help each other, to care and support each other in this fantastic adventure called life.

Lois Porter