I have Breast Cancer. Enjoy your dinner!

In what has been a whirlwind last few months, I came back from a long maternity leave, signed a few fantastic clients, turned 40, had my first mammogram, and BOOM. Breast cancer. It felt like someone had dropped an elephant on my chest. Countless biopsies, ultrasounds, MRIs, miles driven between Austin and Houston, and not-so-stylish hospital gowns later, here I am. Mom of a 1 year old and 3 year old, trying to run a business, at my absolute limit of what I could handle- or so I thought.

When my grandmother, Roslyn, my favorite person in the world, turned 70, she stood up at her birthday dinner at a fancy steakhouse. There were around 50 of her friends and family there. In her very loud, very strong, Queens, NY-accented voice, she said , “I want to thank everyone for coming! I have Breast Cancer. Enjoy your dinner!” We were all shocked. Nobody knew. Not her children, not her grandchildren. And this is how she tells us?? This is how you announce to people you got a new puppy or a condo in Boca for the winters. Not how you announce that you have CANCER. But for my Granny, this was the way. She always said what was on her mind. She had a tough exterior and rarely, if ever, outwardly showed if she was sad or emotional. I’m just like Granny in many ways, but especially these. When I told Granny I was diagnosed with breast cancer, there were no tears from either of us- because that’s just not our way. So she made a joke about us both having cancer in the same boob, giving us the chance to use that moment for a much-needed laugh.

We lost Granny on August 3rd, three months shy of her 95th birthday. I still don’t have words for the pain. We talked on the phone every day, and every day that goes by without her, I miss her. It was another thing thrown into my life along with my young children, my business, the unimaginable rise of antisemitism (more on that another time), and having breast cancer. I couldn’t help but think- HOW? How can I bear all of this at once?

Speaking of bears, I once saw a video of a polar bear trying to walk across thin ice. It was hilarious. He took a few test steps to make sure the ice wouldn’t break under his weight. As he kept walking across the thin ice, he realized he needed to spread his weight around to avoid cracking it. As he tried to grip the sheets of ice, he was slipping and sliding, and was even lying on his belly with his touchas up in the air at one point. But he kept moving forward in this uncomfortable position, fumbling his way to a safer spot- thicker ice. He made it.

I can’t think of a better metaphor for when we’re overcome with several life-altering stressors at one time. If we try to stomp straight ahead as we normally do, taking on all of the stress in our lives as quickly as possible, the ice will crack and we will fall in. However, if we distribute our weight and focus on moving forward as a whole, we will make it to a safer spot without cracking the ice. Yep- we may have to move forward in an uncomfortable position, fumbling along the way. Yep, we won’t move as fast as we are used to moving. However, moving slowly and fumbling our way forward is what gets us where we need to go without drowning.

So here I am, fumbling my way through this mess. The next few months are going to be tough, and while it may not all happen as fast as I would like, I know I will get to that thicker ice.

My mastectomy is MD Anderson (the best cancer hospital in the world) on December 10th. In the months following, I’ll have 1–2 reconstructive surgeries.