Heather Grant


My Story

As I sit to write, I realize my story doesn’t just belong to me. My story is also my children’s story, my family’s story and my friends’ story. When one is diagnosed with cancer, everyone who loves you becomes part of that story. It’s their story, as well.

My grandmother died with cancer, at 52 yrs old, my mother at 54, so when I found a lump in my breast, at 54, I was taken aback but not altogether shocked. I remember walking out of the doctor’s office, the biopsy having come back positive, and just sitting in my car. My thoughts were not, “Why me?”, in fact I have never had that thought once, during the past 18 months.

All I could think about was having to tell my children. They are grown...strong and independent...but, to me, they are still my babies and the thought of causing them pain, it killed me. It was my absolute worst moment, during this whole process.

But they are who made me laugh through it all! I’m not sure they even realize how much their strength, became my strength. How does one convey that?

Through the countless mammograms, ultrasounds, biopsies, checkups, a lumpectomy, a bilateral mastectomy, recovery and all the ups and downs since...it is thoughts of my three children and my grandson...it is their love and strength and humour...that have kept me buoyed and positive and strong.

My story is about my family and my friends, with their never-ending check-ins, and food, and laughs, and hair washes, and...well...wine!

It is about their friends, who in turn, support them.

It’s about the love that has continued to envelop me, during the months since.

So, as you can see, my life with cancer story cannot just be about me. Yes, I am a warrior but these amazing people who surround me, they are my warriors! My battle became theirs! They took it on with me, wholeheartedly, and I will never be able to thank them or love them enough.


An Ode to Boobs

By Heather Grant

I love my boobs, oh yes I do,
I love my boobs; boob one, boob two.
Some boobs are big, some boobs are small,
But, sometimes, there are none at all.
Sometimes, your boobs, they make you sick,
Sometimes, you think, "You little prick!"

So then the doctor goes chop, chop,
The freakin pain! It makes you hop!
There's nothing left; boob one, boob two,
There's nothing there, what do you do?
You look down at yourself, and think,
"If I let it, this could stink!"

So, instead, you think of luck,
And sing out loud, "Who gives a fuck!!"
"I have no boobs but I'm alive!
I get to dance, I get to jive.
"I get to travel, up and down,
I get to travel, all around.
"I get to sip on wine, and then,
I get to sip on wine again!

"I'll draw, I'll paint, I'll write a book,
I'll walk and hike and maybe hook!!
(A rug of course...what did you think!?!)
I'll wait for winter, make a rink!"

So really, in the scheme of things,
To lose your boobs, some good it brings.
No expensive bras to buy,
No guards that frisk you, when you fly.
(Because of wires, don't you know,
That make alarms, all start to go.)

New styles to wear! Bare shoulders, whoop!
Because your boobs no longer droop!
(Not that they did, cause they were tiny,
Can't say the same, for my poor heinie!)

So, all in all, it's not that bad,
And, all in all, it's not that sad.
To lose two things, to make one whole...
Quite ironic, truth be told!

Hope this at least gave you a smile or a little chuckle. It’s truly how I feel!