The Phone Call

Sometimes life takes a radical turn. Sometimes you see it coming. Other times you don’t.

Last year, in February, I went for a routine mammogram. Then I went about my business. I attended a women’s retreat. I posted to my blog. In the midst of living, I hardly gave it another thought.

I had no reason for concern. A mammogram was a routine part of my annual health care. Because of my family history, it had been since my 20s. Still, I hadn’t felt a lump or anything out of the ordinary in my monthly self-exams and I wasn’t anxious about the test results.

Then I got the phone call. I needed to come back to the women’s health center for more pictures; then for a biopsy. Less than two weeks and three tests later the results were confirmed: Breast Cancer.

The Learning Curve

I spent the next three weeks reading, praying, asking questions and keeping appointments. Besides learning about my cancer there was little time to do anything but eat and sleep. When what I learned began to ache in my chest and feel like paralysis, I slept. I slept a lot during those weeks as I made decisions and moved toward treatment.

After an MRI, genetic testing and appointments with several surgeons, I checked into the hospital early one morning for a double mastectomy. By the end of the day I was out of surgery and resting. A week later the pathology report confirmed good news. By the grace of God, my margins were clean. My sentinel nodes were clear. Thankfully my annual mammogram identified the cancer in my breast early. After a couple of weeks, the surgeon removed the drains. With the support of family and friends I began to regain my strength. I was on the road to recovery.

As I have come to understand over the past year, my story is not unique. It happens again and again all around us. Sometimes we hear about it, sometimes we don’t. Some people are comfortable sharing and some who share this journey aren’t or don’t know how. Through my experience I learned about others recently diagnosed: another member of my Bible Study group, someone two streets over in my neighborhood, a friend from church. Along the way I listened to the stories of survivors: my cousin, a neighbor from Texas, a neighbor from Virginia, women at church, the mothers and sisters, daughters and friends of those who offered support and concern and wonderful meals that kept me well nourished as I recovered from surgery. And I sadly remembered the stories of those who, like my mother, waged the battle but didn’t survive.

Serve Cast Iron Salsa with Simple Fajitas or as a dip with tortilla chips

The Steps to a Salsa

I’ve been one of the quiet ones. I haven’t talked much about my cancer. I’m not one to dress in pink or wear the ribbon. But today, one year later, I want to share a recipe for a salsa that in some way speaks to this milestone in my walk with cancer.

I clipped this recipe for Cast-Iron Salsa from Southern Living magazine last year. It starts with the deep pink of plum tomatoes. Toss in pungent garlic and white onion along with a fiery jalapeno. Together they are seared and sweetened in my cast iron skillet, the big one that always sits on my stovetop reminding me of where I come from and those who have walked before me.

I have little to add to the recipe. As I prepare the ingredients I scarcely deviate from the steps as written. I slice through the tomatoes, tear up as I confront the onion, wince at the scent of the split jalapeno roasting on the hot bed of the skillet.

Once the vegetables begin to char, they are roughly chopped in a food processor. Then the salsa is salted to bring out their character, brightened with a zing of lime juice and garnished with the chopped leaves of fresh cilantro.

Tempered by hot iron this salsa has a rich depth of smoky-sweet undertones. Serve it with chips or savor as a relish with eggs, meat or fresh roasted vegetables.