I am not sure when I first found Vanessa. It was on flickr. Perhaps via the group, 52 weeks of BAM? It’s hard to say. Or maybe it was back when benches were all the rage and I found her via Bench Monday? Like in real time, I don’t always know how I come across new friends, but somehow paths cross and something sticks. Vanessa has a wonderful sense of humor and it shines through in her work. She also has a gorgeous crew of boys she happens to call family. I would like to say that this is why I asked Vanessa to share with us today, but it isn’t. I will let her story unfold and be told by her. This is as much a photo journey as it is a life journey.
Vanessa shoots with her Samsung Galaxy S3, iPad 3 (around the house) and sometimes she will break out her Canon 450D (but it’s been a while). To edit her mobile photos, she told me she mainly use Instagram (sometimes Hipstamatic and SquareIt).
When I asked her where and who she draws inspiration from she told me, “I have intense photo-crushes on Denise Andrade, Andrea Jenkins, Susannah Conway, Henry Lohmeyer, Rebecca Woolf, Vivienne McMaster, Xanthe Berkeley and Ryan Marshall and I draw tons of daily inspiration from the Mortal Muses, Shutter Sisters and Treehouse Club communities.“
Vanessa, thank you for being brave and sharing your story. You are stronger than you know and inspire me and so many others with your work. If you would like to follow along further with Vanessa she can be found on instagram, @vanessarobinson.
It was on a crisp day last April, during the revitalized, hope-filled season of spring, that I saw it. Reaching for a towel as I stepped out of the shower, I caught a reflected glimpse of something that looked out of place. Anxious, I followed it up immediately and three distraught weeks later, I had my diagnosis: breast cancer. Several more tests, scans and very distressing days after that, they gave me my prognosis. And it was good; much better, in fact, than all the initial signs had suggested. According to the experts in the hands of whom I have since placed my reluctant body, once the prescribed treatment plan is completed, the odds are 90% in my favour that the cancer will not come back to bother me.
That is my breast cancer story in a nutshell, I suppose; and I predict that when I look back at this experience years from now, I shall tell it just so. But right now, I’m still in the throes of it. And that is a very strange place to be.
It’s a roller coaster ride. I have two surgeries and twelve weeks of chemo behind me and 6 and a half weeks of radiation therapy, plus one more surgery, in front of me. Physically and mentally, it’s trying and long and ugly and tedious. But it’s also introspective and enlightening and emotional and beautiful.
Everything seems magnified, metaphorical.
I have a renewed sense of empathy coupled with a strange inner calmness that I have yet to even recognise as my own. The hormonal havoc being wrought by all this treatment has me one minute feeling nice and stable and marveling at my own coping mechanisms, the next I’m in floods of tears because the postman has asked me how I’m keeping.
Another thing I seem to have gained is a heightened awareness of the passing of time.
Sometimes tough and traumatic events have the capacity to make us feel like time has slowed down or somehow even come to a standstill. Well, the truth is, my everyday life very much resembles business as usual these days, thankfully -perhaps it’s even more productive than before.
And yet…
I look at the fiery leaves falling around me, I feel the chilly darkness of the damp Irish evenings closing in, and I am jolted into reality. I realise that it is no longer springtime, the season in which this body-changing, life-shifting journey of mine began. It is, in fact, autumn now. Summer was lost in a blur. And soon winter will be tightening its bleak and beautiful grip.
Rather than mourning what has been lost, however, I choose to look forward; to find comfort in the simple predictability of the changing seasons; and to be grateful for the reassurance that by next spring, this phase of hospitals and treatments and headscarves and blood tests will have come full circle, and all will be well.
* * *
October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month and, to highlight this campaign, I would like to share some practical advice with you here:
Please remember to perform regular self breast exams and, most importantly, to do them in front of a mirror.
The first sign of my 4cm invasive ductal carcinoma was not a noticeably palpable lump, but rather a strange little indentation in the lower left quadrant of my right breast. Due to its location (and my post-breastfeeding droopiness), it was only visible to me in the mirror from a certain angle, and only when my right arm was raised.
This indentation or pinching is called ‘skin tethering’ and it is a textbook sign of breast cancer. Before it happened to me, I had no knowledge of that fact. Had you?
All I did was raise my arm to grab a towel as I was getting out of the shower; the light fell a certain way creating a shadow, and I thought: ‘what is that strange little dent on my boob?’. The tumour itself was set deep inside my already quite lumpy breasts, only palpable upon very close inspection. It was completely painless, there were no other symptoms whatsoever and there is no recent history of breast cancer in my family. I could so easily have missed it.
Most breast screening programmes commence at age 50. I was 41 when I was diagnosed.
So you see… we need to check our breasts for all the signs of breast cancer. We need to do it ourselves. And we need to do it regularly.
Please take a moment to view the images and advice on www.worldwidebreastcancer.com
Thank you, Vanessa Simpson, for the invitation to share here. And thank you so much, Mortal Muses, for having me.
Vx
thank you Vanessa Simpson for the invitation, and thank you Vanessa Robinson for sharing your story and courage and advice and beautiful images. lots of wishes, Vanessa R., for your path ahead. xo
Thank you so much for sharing your story, and your beautiful images, with us. What a journey this has been for you, and I so appreciate your insight, and your beautiful outlook on life.
Also, thank you for your advice on self-exams…I had no idea that they should be performed in front of a mirror, so thank you for sharing that with us.
Dear, beautiful and eloquent, Vanessa. It s a gift to see you here. xxoo
Oh, Vanessa! I had no idea and my heart goes out to you, your family and all those fighting the good fight. I have two good friends in the thick of it right now, three cousins and and two aunts, and I am so fearful for myself, but also my daughter. Thank you for sharing your story, your lovely photos and for the reminder to always be vigilant when it comes to the health of our bodies. Sending love….
Vanessa, this is beautiful and I’ve learned so much from your words. Thank you for sharing your story, your images, your heart and soul.
Thank you so, so much for sharing this with us, Vanessa – so powerful and touching and informative. I’m so glad to have you as a guest here!
Thank you, friends, for welcoming me so warmly here in this inspiring community today! And thank you for your good vibes and words of encouragement <3
Vxxx
I am so glad you agreed to share with us out here today. Thank you sweet friend.
holding your hand from miles away.
Vanessa, I’m not on instagram, so I don’t get to see your beautiful photos anymore. It’s a pleasure to see your work here. I am very glad to hear that you are on the mend. I did NOT know that about the indentation, so I learned something important today. Thank you.
yes, thank you so much for sharing your story. I’d heard a similar one about skin changes with certain forms of breast cancer — you are so right, that the sight is as important as the touch.
wishing all the best on your journey. you hale from the land of my ancestors, so I know you the goodness that is all around you in body and spirit.
Thank you for sharing your story and advice. My mim is a breast cancer survivor and I know the journey is hard! Best wishes as you heal and grow strong again.
Vanessa from Nevada I’m so glad you had Vanessa from Ireland in mind for MM. I have never heard of skin tethering and so you see I just learned something really valuable, thank you. I have loved your spirit since I first found you, I’m wondering if I too met you in BAM, I can’t really remember but I will always remember you were one of the first blogs I found (late) but I found and printed the entire blog and read it on a road trip to AZ. It just touched me to the core that blog of yours, it made me feel more normal and even more so connected with the stranger from Ireland. I’m so happy we met. I watch you from way over here and it inspires me that with all you are enduring you still capture the moments around you, share them and in a way I see that it is like a healing tool of sort. Much love to you! Love your friend Tracie
Beautifully written and told, Vanessa. Thank you for sharing… xoxo
Vanessa, you tell this story with hope and so beautifully. Thank you so much for sharing your words and images here. But also for explaining the different ways breast cancer can be spotted. Let’s hope that someone somewhere reads this and is helped by your words….