Sandra Mitchell’s Blog
Journalists are not just about headlines and deadlines. We are about serving our community.
As I approach the one year mark of my breast cancer diagnosis, I have returned to Pink Lotus Breast Center to have a CESM (Contrast Enhanced Spectral Mammography)
There is an accent to the voice. “Sandra …?” She says my last name but it sounds like “Michelle” not “Mitchell.” There is a familiar strain to the words. A voice filled with everything that is urgent and meaningful in the world.
Today is the 16th annual Susan G. Komen Race for the cure. Fifteen thousand people have gathered on this expanse of cracked concrete to honor those who have died fighting breast cancer, to support those still going through treatment . . .and to celebrate those who have kicked cancer’s butt!
For five months, I have collected your letters and cards, propping them up on my desk like colorful affirmations.
“…I struggle to understand why a stranger would do this for me. Cancer, I’ve learned, is a bigger cause that connects us all.”
It is my third day of radiation therapy. I am trying to find my way from the changing area to the treatment room…
I was the girl who proclaimed and promised: “I’ll never get a tattoo.” “No.” I thought as I noticed the butterfly on the cool mom’s back at the pool in Palm Springs, “Not for me.” […]
The patient steps out of the mammography room. She looks comfortable in her faded denim and scuffed brown cowboy boots. It has been five years since her diagnosis and she is back for her regular exam.
For 15 days I have been waiting for test results that will help my doctors and me decide if I need chemotherapy. There’s a reason why it’s called cancer patient…
The surgeon uses a blue sharpie to write the word “yes” on the right side of my chest. She is indicating where to operate.Yes, I whisper to myself, an affirmation.
Many of you might wonder why I am publicizing such a personal journey. I do it because it’s not just my story. It is the story of the 2.5 million women in the U.S. who are breast cancer survivors.
“Hit me with your Best Shot…” the voice of 80′s rocker Pat Benatar fills our SUV on this late summer morning. My husband and I are driving through Beverly Hills, on our way to meet my surgical oncologist for the first time.
I have started writing a blog to update my co-workers, family, friends and our viewers about my breast cancer ordeal. I intend this as a journey to recovery and hope.
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