Let’s Do It Again!
This time was different. I was not sure what it was. I just knew it was not supposed to be there. “What the hell is this?” was my first thought, as I stood in front of the mirror — naked — feeling on my nippleless left breast. I went around and around, up, and down, even felt under my armpit. I massaged the right side — there’s no nipple there either. Only to feel nothing. I immediately thought — not again!
I received my first diagnosis of HER 2+ breast cancer at the age of 46. I had been having mammograms since I was in my mid-thirties due to my gyno finding a lump during my annual exam. Being African American, having huge, dense breasts — it was highly recommended that I have 3D mammograms, so I was shocked when they told me I needed a biopsy due to inconclusive images. Nevertheless, I went ahead with the procedure and the thought of having breast cancer never crossed my mind. I told myself when I went in, “this biopsy is just a formality.”
A week or so later, I was out for lunch when I noticed a missed call on my phone. It was from the hospital. After three attempts to call back, I decided to look at my online chart. As I startedreading the chart, my heart sank. Suspicious calcifications in the lower inner quadrant of the left breast demonstrated invasive ductal carcinoma, tumor grade II, with grade III DCIS. Given the patient age, breast MRI – blah, blah, blah extent of the disease.
“I have cancer,” I said. My best friend of over 30 years, Leslie, whom I had lunch with snatched my phone as if I did not know how to read. She re-read it aloud. We stared at one another in disbelief, both wishing it were a mistake. Suddenly my phone rang. It was the breast cancer nurse navigator. She confirmed what I had read. I asked her what stage and she told me the oncologist would inform me of that and the next steps during my “already” scheduled appointment. I asked her if she was sure that I had cancer. I tried to convince her that it was Stage 0, and it “could” potentially develop into cancer. “No, it is cancer,” she said in a calm, emotionless voice.
By this time, I am standing at the dining room table crying and I motioned to Leslie for a pen and something to write on. She handed me a notebook. I scribbled: Invasive Ductal Carcinoma, milk ducts, Grade 2, 4x3cm, estrogen, progesterone, lymph node, breast surgeon, Amanda, St. Mary’s Friday @ 9:30. She asked me if I had any further questions, I said no. I thanked her for calling and, with tears streaming down both our faces, my friend and I hugged, but suddenly a peace came over me. I wiped my face and said, “Thank you Lord.”
I gained my composure and called my then husband, who barely responded. It was as if I had shared the most unimportant piece of information he had ever heard. There was no urgency in his voice for me to rush home so we could process the news, nor did he respond with any empathy. “He’s probably in shock,” Leslie said sadly. While then, I believed her, I would soon find out that was not the case, and he truly did not care. I arrived home to find him sitting on the chaise — stretched out watching television. I sat down on the couch. Silence. He did not even look at me. “Hello?” His response, “What?” I could not believe that he did not acknowledge anything I had said over the phone. He merely brushed it off. He did not console me. He did not inquire about anything. No suggestions on how to tell our children. He did not care!
The next few months would prove to be a nightmare and little did I know, he was slowly making an “escape plan.” From him being stoic at my first oncology appointment, demanding that I have a second opinion, having secret subscriptions on dating sites. Oh, and the coup de grace — him telling me to my face that he “probably wouldn’t be attracted to me when I got my breast cut off.” Now full transparency, our union was not without its difficulties, but what type of person would dare speak those words to someone that they claimed to love?
I spent the next year recovering from the surgery — mentally and physically. A few constants were my personal beliefs, and the support of my family and friends. My mother took me to every chemo infusion because he refused. I remember every Tuesday, her pulling into the driveway and him just sitting there at the dining room table — working from home. He did not accompany me on any appointments. Sadly, we lived in the same house, and he was not even aware when I finished treatment and rang the bell. Talk about trauma at its peak. Yes, my family and closest friends were supportive; I had people all over the country praying for me, but I did not have the love and support of the person that I desired it from most — him. Filing for divorce and having it finalized two and a half years after my first diagnosis was the best thing I ever did. I hoped and prayed for better days, and they were finally here.
Until, yep, another diagnosis. Yet, this time is, in fact, different. I found the lump myself just before Christmas 2024. Biopsy confirmed once again — Stage 1, HER 2+. Different regimen, more aggressive.
Different Nikki. Same God. While this is my second diagnosis at 50, is there disbelief — yes! God, you mean you chose me again — did I not do it right the first time? Was there something I missed? Did someone else miss something? All these questions deserve answers. But I have decided to focus on how both diagnoses have made me a stronger, wiser, more faith-filled person. I know, without doubt, that my overall mental health and wellbeing are my responsibility and no one else’s. I grew up with huge breasts as a kid from the time I was in the sixth grade, so having them taken away to save my life is/was not a big deal. My breasts did not then and do not now define who I am or the talents and purpose of my life. I am excited about this next season of discovery. So, come on — Let’s do it again! 🌿
Nikki Hutcherson
Educator, mentor, public speaker. Diagnosed at 46 and 50. IDC, Stage I, HER2+.
Despite being diagnosed twice, Nikki maintains that it is her faith in God that has carried her through. She continues to encourage and uplift other women in her community that are currently battling breast cancer and has become an unofficial advocate to many. Nikki is also an active member in her local church. She lives in the Metro Detroit area with her two adult sons.
“Let’s Do It Again!” was published in Wildfire Journal’s 2025 “The Second Time Around” issue. Read the full issue; available in the shop and subscribers’ library.