It was a dreary January day about 15 years ago when my sister called me. She had been at the mikveh: an old one with the thin walls where you could here everything the person in the next room said to the mikveh attendant. She told me that she overheard a woman telling the attendant, that she was 28 years old and had breast cancer. My sister, only 36 at the time, but a bit of a hypochondriac, immediately did an exam and – she found a lump. I told her not to worry – that most of the time the lump turned out to be nothing. But just a week or so later we had confirmation of that dreaded diagnosis.
I was a 27-year-old new mother with a 6-week old baby, and our lives were forever altered. [Read more…]