As I was cleaning out my grandmother's dresser drawers after she died, I was shocked to find a pumping system for fake breasts. It was at that moment I realized she had suffered from breast cancer.

After so many years of her making it a point for us, her grandchildren to not enter her bedroom when she changed clothes, I never would have imagined in a million years that was the reason behind it. Now I finally understood - her breasts had been removed and she did not want us to know
it.

I had to have a monogram at age 24 as I needed to begin hormonal treatments for newly diagnosed endometriosis, and they would not begin my medication until I passed the monogram first. Later on the day of my exam, my gynecologist called me. He explained that the monogram results had revealed two lumps in my left breast and because each of them were so large, the only option was surgery; remove the lumps surgically to do a biopsy. It was the only way to find out if I had breast cancer myself or not.

I woke up the next morning and found myself on the way to the hospital. I met the surgeon very early as he wanted to first practice finding the spots of my two lumps on an orange and then actually sew on my breast lumps (with no meds-very painful procedure); he thought this would ensure I would not scar nearly as bad afterwards.

Last memory I have before the surgery itself was each of my parents taking one of my hands and holding them, and it was then I began to sob. Next memory I have was me waking up in the recovery room and overhearing my father tell me, "It is not cancer. The doctor said you have "fibrocystic" breasts." I was relieved.

My family, best friend, boyfriend, and I celebrated the good news the same evening of my day surgery by going out to dinner. My boyfriend was amazed I could be out and about already after having that surgery but I was sore for the next six months. My friends helped me carry all of my luggage upstairs to my second floor room when I returned to the dormitory one week after surgery, which was also one night before Spring semester began. And I would either use a small suitcase with wheels to roll my books along or sometimes, my friends would also help me then and carry them for me.

At age 33, I came across a website one day of a breast cancer survivor. She had made videos during her treatments and recovery, as she wanted to send out hope to others through her positivity. We shared our stories with each other via videos and e-mails. And one day this newfound friend called me. After I hung up, I thought to myself how it inspiring it was to speak to a breast cancer survivor, and then the moment of clarity dawned on me; I had actually been speaking to one all of my life - she was my grandmother.

Looking back now I can not help but wonder at times if my biopsy had been cancerous instead of benign, would my grandmother then have told me about her own experience?

A few months after my surgery, my boyfriend, David (now my husband) gave me a pink ribbon he had received at a Dallas Cowboys' football game. He shared with me the story about how they had breast cancer survivors recognized and stood on the field and during this recognition, these pink ribbons were passed out to all of the game attendees. My pink ribbon has remained on my computer monitor since that moment. I have switched monitors a few times over the past years, but the ribbon remains there.

Two scars on my left breast and the pink ribbon always remind me of this time in my life and the brave women who have fought breast cancer and continue to do so.