I sat down to write a blog about breast cancer, not really sure why since I know so many people who are first-hand experts and I am fortunate enough to be at arm’s length and hold an inexperienced and innocent view. I truly believe there is not one thing that happens on this earth that there is not a higher reason to support the experience, but when it comes to the C word I often wonder what in God’s name is a good enough or high enough reason for anyone to experience cancer. And then I always pose the question, “Isn’t there another way to learn the same lesson or experience the same emotional learning opportunity?”
My very first experience with breast cancer came just two months after moving to California from Vancouver, British Columbia. One of my closest friends, Roberta (Bobbi) Stackhouse, called me with the news she had found a lump while in the shower. I was 28, she was 34, and it was September 1997. When we hung up the phone I cried: not because I felt bad, but because I had not one clue about breast cancer or what she might have to go through in the coming months. From my perspective, my fears of being of “uneducated” and “ignorant” had come true.
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