That’s what the Diagnostic Radiologist called me when she and I were chatting during my second biopsy (this one of the 5 mm tumor). My family isn’t known to be weak and whiny. We are survivors. We see the problem. Make a plan. Move on. We control of our lives, they don’t control us.

My Mother is deceptively tough, having survived my father walking out on her when I was 3. Not only did she take control of her life but she provided me with an amazingly stable, loving childhood where I never wanted for anything, and she went on to retire with a nice nest egg to ensure that she’s taken care of for life. She never remarried. She raised me by herself and succeeded in the times of Title IX and big shoulder pads. She’s my hero.

As an undergraduate studying science, one of my mentors, a young, just-hired female  professor recommended that I read “Women Don’t Ask” by Linda Babcock. I read it and shared it with my Mother. Amazing book. It’s true. We don’t ask. So I started asking and being more aware of the barriers I faced as an educated (PhD) scientist going into the industrial work force.

I am strong. My mother taught me to be nothing but strong and to persevere. I’m a highly educated woman with a PhD in science. Fast forward to the diagnosis and suddenly I find myself in a room with a doctor telling me I have breast cancer. It was surreal.  Given my education (I’d originally imagined my career landing me a job in a pharmaceutical company’s R&D department designing and synthesizing new drugs to target such diseases as cancer )– I wasn’t scared about not understanding what the doctor was telling me about my cancer. The science of what they know and don’t know didn’t scare me and still doesn’t to this day. What was unnerving was that less than a week ago all I was thinking was that I had a routine OB-GYN check up on Wednesday, and perhaps a first mammogram and now I have breast cancer and need to choose an oncologist and work with a team of doctors to determine my course of treatment. WTF?!