By: Anne Marie Allocca
In September 2002, while I was serving jury duty, the clerk offered female jurors the chance to have a mammogram. She explained that Nassau University Medical Center had a brand-new portable truck in the parking lot, and was urging women who hadn't had a mammo in a while to get checked. I was one of 10 women who decided to take her up on the offer. I wasn't the least bit worried. I was 45 and had been getting tested every year, as my gynecologist suggested. Plus, I figured I could kill two birds with one stone: It would save me from having to take an additional day off from work.
The technician completed the mammogram, and said I would be contacted only if there was something wrong.
Two days later, the NUMC called, saying they had found something suspicious, and I would need further testing immediately. I quickly made an appointment to have more films taken. Then, with the worst bedside manner I have ever witnessed, the technician nonchalantly said, "Oh, you need a biopsy," in answer to my query of how long it would take the doctor to read the films. The tears began streaming down my face, as I was sure it meant I had cancer. The tech thought the "squishing" had finally gotten to me, but little did she know just how numb I was.
I met with Dr. Dwight De Risi, a surgeon who specializes in diseases of the breast, on Oct. 6, 2002. He assured me that the seven calcifications found in both of my breasts didn't necessarily spell doom. Sixteen days later, he performed an excisional biopsy in both breasts; now all I had to do was wait for the results.
On Oct. 29, I got a call that would change my life forever. Dr. De Risi informed me that six of the calcifications were benign, but one in my left breast, about the size of a pinky fingernail, was indeed cancerous.
My chemotherapy began in January 2003. My husband attended every treatment with me, and friends accompanied me to the many blood tests and follow-up visits. Words can't express how grateful I am to all who gave me support with kind and uplifting words, helped with my daughter's carpooling or gave me a ride to the doctor. My family sent me flowers, guardian angel pins, inspirational cards and a teddy bear dressed like an angel to keep my spirits up.
I like to think of myself as a positive person. Many commented on how I hadn't "fallen apart," but instead had a "great attitude." Things changed a bit when I began radiation therapy in mid-June. The 33 treatments took a bit of a toll on me physically, and by the last treatment, on Aug. 1, 2003, I was emotionally spent. Funny, but I'd rather go through chemo again and lose my hair than undergo radiation again.
This Sunday I'll be walking five miles in the American Cancer Society's Making Strides for Breast Cancer Walk at Jones Beach. I will proudly wear my pink survivor T-shirt. After three good mammograms (yes, last Friday's results were fine), I am thankful. I encourage all to come out and support this worthy cause. If you can't attend, please send a donation to the American Cancer Society. We need to find a cure for breast cancer, so our children don't have to worry about this disease.
And to those women who haven't made their mammogram appointments yet, please call right now, after you finish reading this. After all, aren't you worth it? I know I am.
Comments about this story? NFalco@liherald.com or (516) 569-4000 ext. 208. Allocca is a freelance writer for the Valley Stream and Franklin Square/Elmont Heralds, and does the Herald's weekly Viewfinder column.
