Approximately 1 in 8 American women (open in new tab) will be diagnosed with breast cancer in their lifetime. Each Monday during Breast Cancer Awareness Month, we will document one black mother and survivor's journey through the uncertainty of breast cancer in these uncertain times.

I was getting dressed for a busy day when I unexpectedly felt a lump in my left breast. It was a Monday morning and I was staying at a luxury hotel in New York City overlooking Central Park. I had just started a new position as the legal director of an international sports organization and was commuting to work each week from my home in Houston. The lump was large and horribly palpable. Rubbing the area with body cream made its presence known. Every time I showered, every time my hand touched the area, the fear of the unknown sent chills through my body. Breast cancer happens to other people, and I had no family history of it. I became a self-proclaimed Internet doctor and diagnosed it as a benign breast fibroma. There was no need to rush to a specialist. After all, my career was demanding and this supermom of a precocious 8-year-old boy had no time to sit on the sidelines.

A persistent internal discord eventually led to having the lump examined. The practitioner ordered a mammogram with ultrasound as part of the examination. I was shocked to hear that the mammogram did not show a mass. Apparently I had dense mammary glands. The ultrasound was not so forgiving, but it did show the radiologist images that led to a breast biopsy. The biopsy revealed that the tumor was a stage II malignancy, a journey that began six years ago on June 27, 2014, the day I received those results.

The diagnosis was a simple one. It was only after I began to understand the magnitude of the decision I had to face, to accept the fate that had been bestowed upon me, and to understand that the word cancer would always be a part of my reality, that the real trauma surfaced.

The oncologist advised that I was a great candidate for lumpectomy because the cancer had not metastasized to any vital organ, only one tumor had been found, and I had never received radiation therapy. According to The National Breast Cancer Foundation, breast lumpectomy is usually lumpectomy (open in new tab) is the method that removes the least amount of breast tissue. The breast surgeon removes the cancer and some of the surrounding tissue or margins, but not the breast itself. Mastectomy is the least invasive breast cancer surgery, but it is still very effective and may not require further surgery.

My treatment plan began with harsh chemotherapy combined with targeted therapy for hormone-positive breast cancer (opens in new tab). I had a complete response to chemotherapy and had no detectable tumor after treatment. With a lumpectomy, the breast surgeon only needs to remove a portion of the surrounding tissue and test the cells to ensure that no cancer was detected.

Chemotherapy was a medical success, but it destroyed my body and soul. I suffered emaciation, chemo brain, hair loss, and extreme neuropathy. I was grateful that the tumor had collapsed, but my spirit was exhausted. I was mentally exhausted, unable to recognize myself. Perhaps it was not the best time to decide which breast surgery to undergo.

My options were to recommend a lumpectomy or a double mastectomy (open in new tab) where both breasts are removed. I spoke with a woman who chose the mastectomy. I surfed the web and read books about both surgeries. The common question I heard from the women who chose mastectomy was that they did not want the possibility of their breast cancer coming back. I felt their passion and understood their decision. I also spoke with women who had opted for a mastectomy. They were equally passionate about their decision and wanted to be cancer-free. At the time, it did not occur to me to ask the women who chose to have a lumpectomy if they had any doubts about keeping their breasts.

After careful consideration and leaning on my faith, I chose to have a mastectomy. I did not have the mental capacity to make the decision to harm my body more than necessary. I could not imagine removing my breasts, my nipples, my femininity. Yes, my breasts were the very thing that betrayed me, but I could not endure any more physical pain.

As the annual June breast exam approached, I questioned my decision to "protect my breasts." Each time I prepare to have my breasts squeezed, pressed, and crushed by the cold, sterile mammography machine, my anxiety grows. Lying on the ultrasound table in the dark, solemn room, feeling the almost warm gel stick to my naked flesh, I feel traumatized again as I wait in the deafening silence for the technician to scan every inch of my breast, poking and prodding, digging under my armpits, looking for signs of cells conspiring against me.

This year, that trauma came back tenfold. The radiologist recommended a stereotactic breast biopsy (open in new tab) after a mammogram image revealed suspicious calcifications in my "good breast." My heart sank and fear took over everything. As I fought back the tears that threatened to fall, I wondered if the required face mask was waterproof.

Thankfully, the cells tested were benign. The radiologist explained that it was atypical ductal hyperplasia (open with new tabs), which is considered one step short of cancer, and said I should consult an oncologist and schedule an appointment with a breast surgeon. Myself and my yo-yo mask headed home, my examination-weary mind ready to reopen the space to embrace the new normal.

The breast surgeon who had performed my lumpectomy six years earlier had retired, so the oncologist recommended a new surgeon. I was apprehensive when she walked into the room, but her bedside manner was warm and reassuring. The options she presented to me were 1) continue with my annual routine of testing for fate and praying that the cells would not turn malignant, 2) partial mastectomy, or 3) double mastectomy. Given my history, I immediately ruled out testing for fate.

Whatever decision I make, I am fully aware that this journey is a choice I will carry with me for the rest of my life. If I ever look back and regret not having a mastectomy, I will be stuck in a constant abyss of "what ifs." given the chance to choose again back in 2014, I will stick with my original decision. I craved a flickering peace, and that's what the lumpectomy gave me in that emotional space I was in at the time.

Yes, I'm nervous. Yes, I'm scared. But I won't let the fear of recurrence stop me from being happy and believing in a good outcome today. I will have been cancer free for six years this October. This is reason to smile and to be mindful of my many blessings. The fact that I was able to choose the best surgery for me means that I am still alive and for that I am grateful.