Remembering Gussie

This week I got my annual mammogram which happened to fall, coincidentally, on the 46^th anniversary of my mother’s death from the disease at age 58. My results were normal, thanks be to God, but I couldn’t help but think of her and how the world of healthcare has changed since she was diagnosed.

I am proactive about my health and keep up with appointments, vaccines, and testing, but damn, mammograms make me so anxious. Because of my history, I have had my share of call-backs, ultrasounds, and diagnostic evaluations. But in the midst of stressing out about the what-ifs, I remind myself that my mother didn’t have the opportunities that I do to protect my health. Today, if they find it, they can fix it, especially if it’s early.

Few people in my life now remember her, but Gussie Denney was vivacious, outgoing, and somewhat of a character. Slim and athletic, (genetic traits I did not inherit) she taught health and physical education back in the 50’s and 60’s. I remember her talking about how she had to fight to introduce even the barest minimum of sex education into the health curriculum at one of her first teaching jobs. She was feisty and opinionated. My mom loved a good debate as well as a good cocktail.

With my Dad, 1978

Her breast cancer journey was a nightmare and to watch her transform into an absolute shadow of herself damaged me as well. She was diagnosed in 1978 when I’m sure the disease was far advanced and at that time, treatments were limited and brutal. She suffered greatly during the last two years of her life. I can remember during the Three Mile Island incident, she thought it was ironic that she had to evacuate to avoid radiation exposure. Her brother was a renowned physician who pulled strings to get her into Roswell Park Cancer Institute in Buffalo, New York, as a last-ditch attempt at treatment, but it was too late. At that point, my mother needed hospice care, but that wasn’t an option then, either.

The formal family pic, probably 1960-61.

I try to keep those memories in perspective when that dreaded annual appointment pops up on my calendar. My mother did not have kind nurses and technicians offering reassurance and understanding at imaging centers equipped with 3D cameras able to detect the tiniest of abnormal cells. She did not have radiologists specializing in reading mammograms and ultrasounds. Preventative healthcare wasn’t really a thing back in those days, and support groups for people fighting a disease did not exist. There was a stigma about illness especially if it was a "female problem." You simply didn’t talk about your struggles in polite society.

Even though she’s been gone from my life for so long, I still think about my mom, especially at this time of year. On rare occasions, I see cousins from her side of the family, and it’s nice to be with people who remember her. At one point, years ago, I had a phone conversation with my aunt, her sister-in-law, and she said, “Oh, honey, I feel like I’m talking to a ghost. You sound just like Gussie.” I loved that.

With her parents, brothers and sister, 1958

So the mammogram is checked off the list for another year, and I’m filled with relief as well as gratitude for the researchers and healthcare professionals who have dedicated their lives to protecting women from this terrible disease. We are beyond fortunate to live when we do, and I’m sure at some point, a cure or definitive prevention will be discovered. But 46 years ago, what all of us who knew my mother wouldn’t have given for a little more time with Gussie…