A look.  The moment I knew I had cancer started with a look.  I had gone for a routine mammogram.  When the technologist came back into the room to let me leave, she could not look me in the eyes.  As a career nurse, it was not difficult to know what that look(or lack of one) meant.  Bad news. Cancer

Soon after in January 2020, I was diagnosed with invasive lobular breast cancer.  This was only the start of my journey of looks. 

The next set of looks comes after you tell people you have cancer.  The “I’m so sorry” looks.  The “you’ll get through this” looks.  The “I feel helpless, yet will love and pray unconditionally” look.

Then, it’s the look after the double mastectomy.  The look of not having breasts anymore.  The look of being different.

After that are the looks during chemotherapy and radiation.  The looks after losing my hair. The looks people make toward bald women.  The look of assumptions.  The look of not feeling like yourself.  The look of smiles when a stranger tells you “you rock the look”!

And now, I am one of the fortunate ones.  A survivor.  Cancer Free.  My battle with cancer may be over, but that is not the end of my journey.

I ask you to join me.  Support anyway that you can to ensure that we can fight with the latest mammogram technology and access for all women.  Hopefully we can catch breast cancer sooner and sooner, so other women don’t have to experience all the looks I did.  And maybe someday, we can end these looks altogether with a cure.  Let’s PAINT GWINNETT PINK Y’ALL

XOXOXO