Not all breast cancers are created equal. In an ideal world (if there is such thing as an ideal breast cancer), the HER2-positive type (where cancer cells have extra receptors to the HER2 protein) is one you should try to avoid. It’s not that HER2-positive, in and of itself, is a worse type of cancer. It’s just that, compared to other types, it spreads faster than the norm.
One in five women diagnosed with breast cancer are HER2-positive, and, as luck would have it, I was among the chosen ones. Sigh…
Although this does not affect my prognosis —Dr. K. said I’ll be fine and get to see my daughters’ weddings—, the HER2 phantom has added extra weight to my journey. It’s just one more disappointment and one more thing to worry about.
Why did I have to be a type-A over-achiever even with breast cancer? Couldn’t I just have gotten the plain vanilla type? What if some little cells have already rushed through my bloodstream and into my body? What if the cancer has spread faster than the chemo can react? At times, my brain and all these bombarding questions are not a fun place to be in, and, until this morning, the biggest source of anxiety has been not finding a HER2-positive survivor to reassure me I will be fine… BUT I do believe everything happens for a reason, and this morning’s story, my friends, is nothing but proof of that.
After taking my girls to school, I drove to the city for an arguably unnecessary procedure —a month ago, I found what seemed to be a water cyst in my right breast (sigh…) and, although the doctor didn’t even blink about it, I insisted in getting biopsyed and checked out. The whole charade barely took twenty minutes and, despite feeling mortified thinking I was wasting people’s time and efforts, I didn’t want to risk it (because one breast cancer diagnosis in my life is more than enough).
Throughout the twenty-minute process, a warm and cheerful nurse named Dana was there helping me. She walked me through the steps of the process, she kept me company and, above all, Dana kept me calm. The cyst was definitely a water cyst and the doctor left the room before I knew it. But Dana stayed a little longer, and that’s when we began to chat.
As I was changing back into my regular clothes, she brought up her own breast cancer story, and that’s when it hit me: I wasn’t there to get my water cyst biopsyed. My being there was due to a different why.
You will be fine —she said. You have the right attitude.
Oh… You also went through chemo? —I asked, looking surprised.
Yes, ten years ago. And it’s all fine now. I did chemo for six months, plus radiation and also Herceptin, because of the HER2…
HER2… The letter-number combo got my attention. My heart began to pump fast, and my eyes lit up and opened wide.
You were HER2-positive?! —I asked and smiled (forgetting it was still cancer we were talking about). THAT IS GOOD! —I said and, before I knew it, I began to cry.
I have been looking for a HER2-positive all these months, unsuccessfully —I shared out loud. You are the reason I had to come here this morning. You are the HER2-positive I’ve been looking for, and you are alive and fine!
Dana got teary-eyed and, against all hospital protocol, she hugged me and reassured me: I am OK, and you will also be just fine.
I grabbed my things and, as I wiped my tears off, Dana walked me to the elevator. I looked at her one more time, and then we both smiled. The weight of the HER2-phantom had finally been lifted off my shoulders...
Everything does happen for a reason, and now, for real, I know I will be just fine.
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