Navigating Breast Cancer: Jennifer Kistler’s Story
WRITTEN BY: JENNIFER KISTLER
In 2021, we were still in the middle of the COVID-19 pandemic, and there were many appointments I had neglected to schedule. One of which at the time, did not feel necessary, and that was my annual mammogram. Since I had no family history of breast cancer, no lumps to denote abnormal tissue growth, not to mention my mammograms had always come out fine the appointment was forgotten. In my head I told myself, "Oh yeah, I need to schedule my mammogram. I will do it later."
Eventually life started to return to normalcy and I remembered what I said to myself. I scheduled and received my annual mammogram on April 14th and continued with my life, expecting the same letter I receive each year about my result: a mammogram with no abnormal tissue. Instead of a letter, I received a phone call. "Can you come in? We just need to take a few additional images?" I told myself, everything is fine; I have dense breast tissue, and it is better to be safe than sorry.
I went into the Women's Imaging Center to receive the additional scans, and before I left a radiologist reviewed the scans. The radiology tech told me, "The doctor thinks the area we examined was benign. However, he wanted me to return in 6 months for a follow-up mammogram." OK, I thought that was strange, so I returned to work. Shortly after I returned to my office, my phone rang; it was the same radiology tech I had just spoken with; she said, "The doctor has decided that he would like us to perform a biopsy on the mass, just to be on the safe side." I told myself that it was ok- it's better to be safe than sorry.
My biopsy was on April 27th; afterwards I prayed and kept telling myself that everything was fine. But it was not; my phone rang again, and there was a familiar voice on the other end: Kelly, the Breast Cancer Navigator with Lexington Medical Center. I immediately pulled out a piece of paper, just in case I needed to make notes. Kelly said, "Jennifer, you have breast cancer." I replied, "I have breast cancer?" her reply was, "Yes."
Across my notebook paper, I had written, "I have Breast Cancer."
From that point on I went through the motions, dazed by this new diagnosis, sharing the information with my family and friends and making the first appointments and decisions with this new diagnosis. I was diagnosed with stage 1 estrogen receptor-positive breast cancer, with a mass approximately the diameter of an iPhone "home" button. My hormones, specifically estrogen, had fueled my breast cancer.
Thirteen days after diagnosis, I underwent surgery and a lumpectomy. My cancerous tissue was removed, and there was no evidence of cancer within my lymph nodes. After sending the cancerous tissue off for an Oncotype Dx test, I was told there was no need for chemotherapy; however, I would undergo four weeks of radiation. I felt like I have dodged a bullet. The cancer was gone from my body, and I simply needed radiation to "sterilize" me and address any rouge cancer cells.
June brought with it the beginning of my radiation treatments. Walking into the radiology department, I was surrounded by patients with a similar link, the uninvited guests in our lives- Cancer. Some patients were like me, seemingly unaffected, and others were there facing a much more intense battle with cancer than I will ever experience. I entered the women's locker room each morning and reached for the freshly washed and folded wrap-around tops to prepare for my radiation. The radiation room and the metal table were always cold, but the compassion and support of the radiation techs provided the warmth at a time when I felt most vulnerable and exposed. Then, I returned to the locker room to place my "fancy" top in soiled linens and prepare for the rest of the workday.
Some of my most memorable moments occurred in the radiology department. Many times, I stood beside women prepping for radiation just as I was, women who had lost all their hair from chemo, women whose bodies had changed drastically. I made a point to make them feel comfortable by smiling, making eye contact, initiating conversation, and seeing them for the beautiful women they were. Seeing the woman who brought in a dress, the colors of her sorority, to change into after her radiation because it was her last day of treatment, and she was going to "Ring the Bell" in the radiology department. The most memorable was seeing the sheriff and many deputies coming for one of their own to ring the bell. The female deputy was someone I had seen for weeks; she was frail and always accompanied by someone else, wearing her hoodie to cover her bald head. My heart always broke for her, and seeing her colleagues' support brought me to tears.
That day, and many others, I dealt with feelings of survival guilt. When people asked how I was, I constantly downplayed my experience as cancer–light; I did not allow myself to experience certain emotions because I saw others whose battle was so much more than mine. I had even decided I wouldn't invite anyone to my bell ringing. Ultimately, a conversation with my sister led me to invite my family to my "Ring the Bell" event on my last day of radiation. They were so grateful and happy I had reached that milestone. What I had forgotten was that cancer wasn't just something that I experienced; it affected my family too. This celebration was not mine alone, it was for all of us.
Today, I can say, "I am a breast cancer survivor, and that body is cancer-free." I will continue diligently monitoring my health and follow all necessary diagnostic screenings. As a survivor, my one ask is this . . . take your preventative screenings seriously and be consistent with your regularly scheduled mammograms. It just might save your life.