It was a Sunday morning...

Editor's Note: We are honored to have A.W. Gryphon share her story of diagnosis with us.
Allison W. Gryphon is an Author, Filmmaker, Creator of The Why? Foundation and a Breast Cancer Survivor. You can also find her on facebook >>

It was a Sunday morning. I’d been up early for a pilates class and I was just out of the shower. I had brunch with my friend Joaquim and a matinée with my standing weekend movie buddy, Elissa.

Getting dressed, I went to put my bra on and it didn’t quite fit right. I re-adjusted and then I froze. I was standing in front of my closet in a small room that suddenly seemed massive and empty… and painfully quiet. I think when someone feels a lump for the first time and they know in their gut what it is, the world does truly stop spinning, just for a moment. Just long enough for you to hear your own heart beating, to feel what it means to take a breath and to know not only the full weight of your body, but of your being.

It was Sunday morning so there were no doctors to call or appointments to be had. It would be something to be taken care of the next day. Everything would change. I knew that. So I got myself dressed and went out for a lovely brunch with Joaquim then off to see Julian Schnabel’s new movie with Elissa. I said nothing to my friends and it was a wonderful. The presence of the lump was never far from my thoughts, but I wanted a day of love and friendship, not fear and concern.

My Monday began with a trip to an Urgent Care Clinic, the fastest way I could get the referral for a mammogram. I was at a highly recommended breast center at 7am Tuesday morning. First there was the mammogram, during which the technician suggested we take a few extra views for the doctor, then came the ultra sound, then the doctor, then the second ultra sound and then the smile. That smile of hope and encouragement and knowing how much trouble I was in that I will never forget. “We’re going to do a needle biopsy.” The wonderful doctor said kindly taking my hand and meeting my eyes to hers.

I don’t know how to describe what was going through my head at that moment. Everything. Nothing. I knew what it was and I knew it was happening, but I hadn’t connected those thoughts. It was like I was watching a movie, but it was me.

The following day, I went to work. I went to normal. That’s what I needed to do. Just before lunch my phone rang. It was the same lovely doctor who’d done the needle biopsy the day before. “We were all pulling for you.” She said… And then she told me what I already knew was coming.

It’s one thing to know what’s coming, it’s another matter all together to hear someone say it out loud. Someone you don’t know, but who in one instant will have changed your life forever. I know that what followed were words of support and encouragement. I don’t remember them. I do remember hanging up the phone and looking at the buttons, not quite sure what to do with them. The room was heavy and there were people on the other side of my closed door waiting. People who had assured me that everything would be ok, not just for me, but for themselves. There were friends, colleagues, people I cared about and people I didn’t know out there. Everyone who the explosion was going to hit once I opened the door.

It took almost a half hour. I looked at the door for a long time. It was real for me, but once I opened that door it would be real outside of that room.

The first person I saw was Jude. She was sitting in a chair right outside wide-eyed and steady. I’m not sure if they were all there already or if they heard me come over, but within a moment Shannon, Mary Beth and Jackie were looking back at me amongst a busy office full of people who were about to find out.

I don’t know if the assault of the cancer on me or of the news on everyone else was more jarring. What I do know is that’s the day where I found out what I was made of and when I found out who all of the people on the other side of that door really were.

It was the most devastating and beautiful day of my life. And that is how my battle with stage IIIa breast cancer began on Wednesday April 13, 2011.

Puget Sound Race for the Cure

Guest Blogger and Breast Cancer Survior, Rebecca Seago-Coyle stands with Providence Regional Cancer System Breast Cancer Patient Navigator Andrea Potter, RN, CPPN-IC at the Susan G. Komen Puget Sound Race for the Cure.

Over $1 million was raised this year! Learn more about The Puget Sound Affiliate of Susan G. Komen for the Cure by clicking here >>

If you'd like to read Rebecca's story, Running through cancer, click here >>

And if you'd like to check out 7 'take charge' tips from Andrea, click here >>

My story: Running through cancer

I’m 37. I’m a wife, a runner, a cyclist, an overall fitness enthusiast, and a project manager. But now I have a much bigger title – Breast Cancer Survivor.

In 2009, I was stuck. I was married, I had a good job and yet I didn’t feel fulfilled. So I decided to take up running. I ran my first marathon in October of 2009 and I had an awesome time so I immediately signed up for a ½ marathon for the next month. It was that ½ marathon that I decided 2010 was going to be my year. I was turning 35 and I was going to be unstuck. It was time for me to do something.

My plan was to sign up for an event for each month – whether it be full, ½ or century ride. In February of 2010 I was on track and ran a ½ marathon in Jacksonville, FL called "26.2 with Donna" (that's me, to the right, at the race). This marathon is known as the marathon to finish breast cancer. I was there by myself and ended up meeting a wonderful couple from Alabama and it turns out the wife was a breast cancer survivor. I didn’t really know what to say. Everyone in my family who had breast cancer didn’t survive or had a really rough time going through treatment. I asked her how she got through it. How did she survive? She said she ran – her and her husband ran every day through treatment. I was completely amazed. As she told me this, I began to think of myself – thankful for my health and ability to run and be active. I also thought if I ever have to go through cancer, I want to run – I hope I can run. If she could do it, I could too.

We arrived at the starting line and I was going through my usual routine – checking shoe laces, going to the bathroom, but I couldn't stop thinking about that survivor. I also thought about the small lump in my left breast that almost a year before my doctor said it was nothing. If 2010 was going to be my year, I need to get this checked and make sure it's nothing serious. A few months went by and I finally found a doctor that I was comfortable with and who was willing to ‘go through the motions’ to see what the lump was. I was 35. Too young for a mammogram, too young for cancer, right? Well, not really. I had a ultrasound, mammogram and then a biopsy.

On June 4th, the voice on the other end of the phone apologized but said it was cancer. All those years where everyone told me I wasn’t at risk – my gut was telling me that I was at risk. Both grandmother’s had breast cancer – one diagnosed at 28 the other at 60; my aunt, 28; and my cousin, 30. Unfortunately I lost my grandmother and aunt before I really got to know them - they died at 34. The doctors I had before told me I wasn’t at risk because the cancer was on my father’s side. It turns out after having genetic testing I’m BRCA 2 positive which means I carry the breast cancer gene.

I had my double mastectomy on July 26th and recovered quite well – thanks to my enthusiasm for staying in shape and eating properly. I began chemo on September 2nd and finished on November 29th. I couldn’t let cancer take me or stop me from what I love doing best. If that woman at the race in February hadn’t told me her story, well I don’t know that I would have gone into with a positive attitude. I went on to complete 2010 with reaching my goal of 12 events – actually 13 if you count the breast cancer. I accomplished my goal and I survived. I didn’t let cancer take me away.

Breast cancer patient navigator achieves nationwide status

Andrea receives her certification at the NCBC Conference as a breast navigator in Imaging and Cancer Care. Pictured with Karry Trout of Mason General Hospital, who is the Diagnostic Imaging Breast Navigator and who also received her certification.Editor's Note: We are excited to announce that Andrea Potter, our breast cancer patient navigator, has earned certification through the National Consortium of Breast Centers in the fields of Imaging and Cancer Care.

The Breast Patient Navigator Certification Program is a certification that has been developed by a peer review team of the National Consortium of Breast Centers (NCBC). The purpose of this certification is to set standards of achievement and the professional's role; enhance patient safety, quality of care and delivery of services; and recognize professionals who advance beyond basic knowledge in a field of specialty.

What does that mean for me, the patient?
Moving a patient through a breast care/cancer continuum is a complex and highly individualized process. The complexity is significantly reduced with the assistance of an individual who is trained to navigate a patient through the processes of care, often referred to as a breast patient navigator. However, just as the breast care/cancer diagnosis and treatment process may differ from facility to facility, so do the definitions, activities, knowledge and job descriptions of a breast patient navigator. These disparities can adversely affect the breast care/cancer treatment provided to women across the nation and around the world. In an effort to minimize and eventually eliminate the variances in a breast patient's continuum of care and the definition/function of a breast patient navigator providing care within that continuum, the NCBC created this program.

In plain terms:

• I was able to network directly with Breast Navigators all over the country meaning I learned about new information for Breast Cancer patients. From radiology equipment, lab testing, treatments, and more!
• New information brought back from the conference has allowed me to build and re-outline my program so that I may be able to navigate more patients than previously done so that less women may "fall through the cracks".
• I am now a member of the NCBC which will allow me to continue networking with other navigators from a distance.

If you would like to get in touch with me, please call at 360.493.4746.