One Sunday morning, just after Christmas, Christine Kalafus was playing with her four-year-old son, Trevor, when he accidentally elbowed her in the chest. Normally, this kind of incident would be forgotten in a heartbeat. However, at that time, Kalafus was eight months pregnant with twins, and that minor accident became a pivotal moment in her life.
In a recent interview, Kalafus recounted that the sudden pain felt unbearable, saying, “It was like being stabbed. I nearly hit the ceiling because I was in such pain.” A few days later, she faced a shocking diagnosis: an aggressive form of breast cancer. Although she had feared something was wrong, the confirmation didn’t bring her any relief.
Throughout her pregnancy, Kalafus had voiced her worries about unusual symptoms, but her doctor dismissed them, labeling her concerns as the irrational fears of a “hysterical woman.” Now 56, she shares her experience in her memoir “Flood,” where she argues that patients often know their bodies better than the medical professionals they trust.
Kalafus became pregnant in Spring 2000, just a year after her husband, Greg, admitted to an affair. They wanted to heal their relationship, and the twins felt like a new beginning. However, by five-and-a-half months pregnant, she started feeling a prickling sensation, like needles in her right breast. A lump, the size of a walnut, alarmed her, triggering memories of her grandmother who died of breast cancer at 35. Yet, she tried to reassure herself—after all, she was only 31.
During a routine check-up three days later, she mentioned the lump to her OBGYN, who she refers to as Dr. Robb in her book. He had delivered her first child in 1996 and was supposed to be a trusted figure. She saw him frequently due to the high-risk nature of carrying twins, but he seemed more focused on her belly than her concerns. After a brief examination, he dismissed the lump as a clogged milk duct.
Reflecting on it now, Kalafus acknowledges that she placed too much trust in his authority. “I saw his diplomas on the wall and didn’t question him,” she admitted. She thought she might be starting to lactate early due to the twins. Dr. Robb sent her home without offering any advice for the clogged duct.
Three weeks later, still troubled, she brought it up again. This time, the doctor noted the lump had grown but insisted it still wasn’t a cause for concern. She felt frustrated and belittled, repeating her concerns at her next three appointments without any change in response.
Despite starting to produce colostrum, which she believed validated his diagnosis, she continued to feel uneasy. Mid-November came before Dr. Robb finally agreed to measure the lump, only to dismiss it once more as just something to keep an eye on. It made her feel insignificant, almost like a child being brushed off.
Though she didn’t voice her fears to Greg, feeling it unnecessary and wanting to avoid adding to their stress, the discomfort intensified. The painful elbow incident pushed her to seek another opinion. On January 2, 2001, she visited Dr. Robb again, but he appeared distracted as she recounted her symptoms.
Fortunately, a nurse present showed genuine concern. She facilitated an appointment with a general surgeon across the street, who promptly conducted a needle biopsy. Later that evening, Dr. Robb called with results: her tests were positive for cancer. There was no gentle introduction; he simply stated what needed to happen next. The following morning, she absorbed the shocking news and was told the twins had to be delivered prematurely.
At the hospital, she underwent various routine tests, and it was revealed that the lump had increased in size significantly. Dr. Robb informed her that she required an immediate C-section followed by a lumpectomy. On January 4, the twins were born, but there was little time for bonding; they were taken away before she could even hold them.
After surgery, she woke to discover a significant void in her chest where the lump had been, and thankfully, it hadn’t spread. Reunited with her twins later, she was initially dazed but realized they were indeed hers as she caught a whiff of that unmistakable new baby scent.
Four days later, she left the hospital with her healthy babies. Soon after, lymph nodes were removed as a precautionary measure. Later, she learned she had triple-negative intra-ductal carcinoma, a notably aggressive form of breast cancer.
During this challenging time, family members cared for her twins while she underwent testing and chemotherapy. “It felt like I was robbed of that initial bonding with my babies,” she reflected, recalling that it was supposed to be one of the happiest times in her life, yet it was clouded by fear and uncertainty.
When her oncologist mentioned wanting to ensure she would see her children graduate, she found that statement quite insensitive, feeling diminished as both a mother and an individual.
The rigorous treatments began soon after—six months of chemotherapy followed by multiple radiation sessions. Fatigue made it difficult to care for her newborns, and she couldn’t breastfeed them as she had with Trevor. The illness impacted every facet of those early months together.
Inevitably, she and Greg had to explain to Trevor, now an active participant in her journey, that “Mommy needs medication to make her better.” Their bond appeared unbreakable, as he even helped her with her hair as it began to fall out.
Now, her children, aged 24 and 29, feel grateful that their mother has remained cancer-free. Interestingly, Kalafus noted that Dr. Robb never expressed any remorse for his previous misdiagnosis. Though she considered legal action, the costs deterred her, and she prefers not to cast blame on mistakes made by others.
Today, she advocates for women, especially expectant mothers, urging them to speak out against medical indifference or arrogance. “It’s one thing to be disregarded in a store, but when it’s a doctor, it could be a life-or-death situation,” she concluded.
