My Grandmother, the Hero

My battle with breast cancer came in 2005 when my grandmother was diagnosed. I remember the knot in my throat and the cooling of my blood-the fear in my heart.

My grandmother raised me from the time I was 3 months old. She was my grandmother but she was my mother. She was strong and smart and beautiful with a splash of crazy (or maybe a lot of splashes). We were one in the same and argued about everything, but in her sweet moments, she’d remind me that I was the best birthday present she ever received (I was born just a day before her birthday). 20 years after becoming the best birthday present she ever received, I received the worst news of my life at the time.

Chemotherapy didn’t seem like a fix-all and the diagnosis rang like a death sentence in my ears. Watching her become hairless and holding her hands that no longer owned fingernails broke my heart, but I held back tears because who was I to be hurt? SHE was the one fighting for her life, so the least I could do is fight a few tears and fears. When the chemo was done and the mastectomy was over, I was there to help. I helped her shower, drained her wound, and dressed her bandages. I massaged lotion into her chemo-dried skin. I shampooed her hair. It wasn’t a burden; I was glad to take care of who had taken care of me.

I watched as she had to humble herself in order to be helped with tasks she had been doing on her own for over 60 years. I laughed as she tried to joke the pain away. She survived, and after 5 years of checking in with doctors to make sure all was well, I went with her to her final appointment and the doctor bid us farewell with a smile. We left that office confident that Memorial Sloan Kettering was a place we would never have to step foot in again. We were survivors!

Less than a year later, they found another mass- this time in her right breast. This time around, the family was beyond sure that she would be fine and we made it through chemo and a second mastectomy. My grandmother made it through two mastectomies and is still laughing, loving, and living. Every October I remember what it felt like when breast cancer became more than a ribbon and more than a walk. I remember the fear and the hope through chemo, through surgery, through recovery. I am thankful for her. I am thankful that she, even now, shows me what it means to fight the good fight and prevail, and I smile when I see her vivid pink flowers growing fiercely and fearlessly in her garden. 

Do you have a story about how breast cancer has impacted your life as a parent? We want to hear it! Join our October Breast Cancer Awareness conversation and share your story today.

Gia Hamilton

Tinybeans Voices Contributor

Mom. NYC public school teacher. Lover of all things chocolate. Finder of kid-friendly vegan eats. Wearer of vegan cosmetics. Lover of the arts. Harlem shaker and random-song-lyrics-in-the-middle-of-a-conversation maker.