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My Boob Tried to Kill Me

Now it won't even look me in the eye.


On October 8, 2017 I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I was a new mom who worked out four days a week, breast fed, and ate kale because I actually liked it, not because it was all over Insta. I had no family history of cancer at all--as a matter of fact, my paternal grandmother is 104 years old and as healthy as they come. So how could I, whose boobs weren't even a B cup engorged with milk or stuffed with socks, have cancer? After 18 months of active treatment--surgeries, chemo, radiation, the works--and another 2 years of sitting in a shocked stupor, I got back to where I felt alive again: I got back to writing. I've been working on a collection of essays that were meant to be serious but sometimes you just have to laugh at the ridiculousness that is life--even when you're fighting for it. There is an excerpt here, and if you're so inclined, you can catch the rest of the essays as they come (two a month) on Patreon, here. (COMING SOON!)

For more essays from WINKEY, my breast cancer memoir, join me here on PATREON

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