Marcus and Saundra (Photo Courtesty of Sandy Puc)

by Saundra Robinson

We had planned to spend the day together. Maybe do some shopping, dinner and a movie. After-all, we were newlyweds. The only thing “planned” for the day was my routine mammogram. I had one every year as recommended and religiously did my self-breast exam monthly. So with my wonderful and very patient husband, Marcus in-tow, we headed to Kaiser. When the exam was completed, I dressed and was ready to spend the remains of the day with Marcus. That’s when our lives changed. Forever.

My heart began to pound as we took several more pictures of my breasts. Marcus was now in the room as I began to dress. The nurse came in and said the radiologist wanted to speak with us. In a very calm voice, she told us she was suspicious of some “white spots” on the mammogram and that they could possibly be cancerous. Marcus held my hand even tighter as she recommended a biopsy be done to confirm or rule-out her suspicions.

Several days passed, the biopsy was done, and several more days passed by. The phone rang as I was walking down the stairs of our home. “It’s the radiologist”, Marcus said. “You have breast cancer”, she said. DCIS, ductal carcinoma insitu. At that point, I was numb. I couldn’t hear anything else she said. I put her on speaker and we listened to the first of many conversations that we would have with our health care team over the next 8 months. There was to be a second biopsy and a plan of attack was being formulated. The one thing that gave us a sliver of hope was that she said “Of all the cancers to have, this is the one I would pick.”  That was April 2006.

Over the next 8 weeks, we had several appointments that included our surgeons: general and reconstructive. Marcus became very knowledgeable on our cancer and it’s treatment. He went in fully prepared to be our advocate and to make certain that we were comfortable with the plan of care. Not being able to completely grasp all that was happening, I asked about what I could do after surgery was complete. “Can I still run marathons?” My surgeon said “Absolutely, but you must give yourself time to heal.”

In May, I ran the inaugural Colfax marathon (my 11th marathon) with cancer in my breast tissue and a broken toe, which I did while carrying my youngest grandson down the stairs. The Denver Post covered our story as a result of Marcus having a bright yellow sign stating the above and his continued support along the marathon route. All I wanted to do was finish the marathon under 6:00:00, which we did. Our next hurdle was June 29. The day I would lose both of my breasts.

Our breast cancer was found through digital mammography. No lumps or pain noted before the exam. There was no involvement of the lymph nodes, so chemo and radiation were not needed. I was given the choice of just doing the left side where the cancer was found, or both. Having to go through the next year wondering if we’d find cancer in the right side would have made me crazy. My breasts have never defined who I am as a woman, so it was easy to let them go. Marcus loved me for me, and not for my breasts. The decision was made.

Fast-forward to the first Sunday in December. The air is brisk, it’s still dark outside and I am running along a dirt road to warmup for the Tucson marathon. Five months after having a double mastectomy, I’m running my 12th marathon. My toe has healed and my reconstruction has been completed. My cancer is gone. We hope. There are days when life gets so busy that I forget that I’m a survivor. However what I don’t forget is that “I am the Cure” because I tell my story at every chance. I show women considering surgery my breast, so they can see that disfiguring is no longer an acceptable result of surgery. I remember that as a marathon runner, I can do anything. And every year I look into the ocean of Pink at the Denver Race for the Cure and marvel at the support, love and remembrance for everyone touched by breast cancer and know that with every step, we move closer to finding a cure. With every step, we can do anything.