Boobless Mammal: I Wasn’t Too Young to Have Breast Cancer

By Dana Ch. Levy

It was June of 2019, and thirty-one-year-old interior designer Dana Ch. Levy had just gotten engaged—but then she received bad news. She was diagnosed with breast cancer. In Boobless Mammal, she shares the story of her journey.

In this memoir, she tells how she broke off her engagement, froze her eggs before starting chemotherapy, and began treatment. Levy chronicles a life in turmoil, dealing with a terrifying diagnosis. She embarks on a healing journey where she embraces her feelings with honesty. The experience gave her clarity, making her realize the story she had been telling herself—the romantic one—was the wrong one. Cancer served as a catalyst to open windows to emotions that had been closed for a long time.

Boobless Mammal revisits painful memories from her childhood and adolescence, turning the pain into life lessons. Despite the drama, Levy’s witty sense of humor and sarcasm prevails, bringing levity to each situation. From her Jewish home in Lima, Peru, where she currently lives, to the tropical weather of Miami and finally, the vibrant city of New York, the three become meaningful, yet contrasting settings.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Dec 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781480894983

Dana Ch. Levy

Dana Ch. Levy was born in Lima, Peru, in 1988. She studied international relations at Boston University. In 2014, she became an interior designer, graduating from the associate degree program at Parsons, The New School, in New York. This is Levy’s first novel.

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Copyright © 2020 Dana Ch. Levy.

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except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher

make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book

and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

Note: This book has been written to entertain and tell a real story. It is

not meant to provide medical advice. Always check with your doctor

if you have any health issues or concerns about your treatment.

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ISBN: 978-1-4808-9497-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-9498-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020916019

Archway Publishing rev. date: 11/30/2020

Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1 The Trip

Chapter 2 Landing in Miami

Chapter 3 The Engagement

Chapter 4 Miami Me Lo Confirmo

Chapter 5 Pre-diagnosis

Chapter 6 The Surgery

Chapter 7 Nuevo Barrio

Chapter 8 The Break-Up

Chapter 9 Lifetime Goals

Chapter 10 The Therapist Break-up

Chapter 11 The Big Apple

Chapter 12 In Search of an Alternative

Chapter 13 First Round

Chapter 14 Twenty Years Ago

Chapter 15 Second Round

Chapter 16 The Sun, The Moon and Glendy

Chapter 17 Mental Health

Chapter 18 Spring

Chapter 19 The Boogie Boobies

Chapter 20 Las Levy

Chapter 21 Final Round and Mikveh

Chapter 22 Radiotherapy

Chapter 23 Madame Dana

Chapter 24 Ringing the Bell

Reflection

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Pictures

To Raquel—La Gringa—and all her descendants.

The ones that are here,

The ones that are with us in the sky and,

The ones that are yet to come…

Survivorship is deciding to tell your story…

– April Sterns

INTRODUCTION

June 18, 2019

I was in the in the middle of Aventura Mall in Miami when I got a phone call from Dr. Brenda Bonelli. Are you far away from my office? Her voice sounded high-pitched. Shall we wait for the rain to calm down and then you can come over here?

I was with my mother, walking around the hallways in circles, getting lost among the countless pieces of clothing. We promptly ran to the parking lot and headed to Dr. Brenda’s office. Now, it was pouring rain, as if the sky was yelling: what you are about to hear is going to be tormenting. It was passed 5:00pm, and Dr. Brenda had stayed longer than her regular office hours. The partial results from pathology had arrived. Honey, she said, as we arrived at her unusually empty office, they found some atypical cells in your biopsy that need further evaluation. By they she was referring to the faceless men in the pathology laboratories—the ones we never see, but do all the work behind the scenes. My mom started crying. When she calmed down, she reminded Brenda that our flight back to Peru was scheduled for the following day. I suggest you change that flight ticket, Dr. Brenda ordered.

I asked her if she knew about mastitis granulomatous. My symptoms were very similar to those of a friend who had had mastitis granulomatous and the doctors gave her the wrong diagnosis, confusing the mastitis with cancer. I begged her to find out more about the syndrome—as if I knew better than the doctor. Brenda brought me a book, like those from the high school library. She opened the book right to the mastitis granulomatous section. Indeed, she had been studying. However, my cells—the atypical cells—required further study. I told Brenda that I was recently engaged, as if my relationship status depended on the diagnosis (which, at some point, it did).

Tomorrow, we will have more accurate results, and I will perform three additional biopsies, just to be one hundred percent sure said Brenda, with her eyes wide open.

Brenda’s assistant, who had also stayed passed her office hours, escorted us to the car with an umbrella because the rain was still heavy. My mom drove like a teenager, lost in the streets of the East Dixie Highway, driving against traffic. We were lucky the driver in the car next to us noticed we were lost. The woman in the car next to us stopped to pull down her window, and she kindly told us: Make a turn up here and drive the other way. My mother accommodated the car and started driving safely, while my Aunt Tuti was on loud speaker. She had been following up with us and Dr. Brenda the whole time. My mom, wiping tears from her face said: they found cells that are not atypical in Dana’s biopsy.

Ma, do you mean atypical cells or cells that are NOT typical.

Please, Dana, I am nervous, this is how I talk when I am nervous, whether you like it or not.

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The weather is so unpredictable. How can it change so dramatically from one minute to the next? Like life itself. To think that just a few hours ago, that same morning, I had been enjoying the broad sunlight and the clear Caribbean Sea at the beach. My mom and I—while lying in the sun—spent some pleasant, candid time together. We talked about love…and sex…with transparency. We have mother-daughter conversations very often, but this one felt more frank than usual. After a quick swim, I came back to the umbrella to rejoin her. It wasn’t long before my mom started interrogating:

Is Steven good in bed? she asked. Both of our eyes were facing the horizon.

Very good. In fact, the best. He knows what women want, unlike others, I confessed.

How many references do you have?

More than I would like to have. We laughed. Let’s just say that I have been with as many guys as the number of ice cream flavors in the ice cream place, I said, hiding under my sunglasses.

My mom always says sex isn’t the most important thing in a marriage, but it is important. Too bad it wasn’t the most important thing, because in that regard, I had no doubts about Steven. She also says money isn’t the most important thing but it is important. What is the most important thing? If I were born a lion instead of a human being, I would have no doubts about my partner. I would just follow my instinct without letting my mind betray me. Even though we want to pretend our life isn’t ruled by society, truth is, we live under social structures. There are rules and there are ways to survive, which are very different than what we find in the animal kingdom.

A grey cloud started to approach us; it was about to rain. We left the beach and went to the mall. Again, to keep shopping or return whatever we bought out of boredom. Our attempt to get distracted at the mall fell apart with Dr. Brenda’s phone call.

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CHAPTER ONE

The Trip

June 16, 2019

I was sitting in the passenger seat of a cab on my way to the Jorge Chavez airport in Lima. I was crying hard. My tears, like the Florida rain, seemed to be warning me about the nightmare I was about to live. It had been more than a month since I got engaged, but instead of excitement, I was experiencing a sense of dread… I could not set up a wedding date. Am I making the right decision? Or am I making a mistake? My doubts were unsettling. However, at thirty-one, and after two years of being in a relationship, getting married seemed like the right decision. My mother, who was in the cab with me, tried to calm me down with her drama-free attitude. We are going to Miami. Don’t think of Steven right now, please. We are going to see Dr. Brenda. Then we will spend some time at the beach and swim in the Caribbean…once we get back, you will figure it out. I felt trapped and had very little appetite because both the idea of breaking up the engagement and the idea of keeping it made me uncomfortable. It was Sunday, Father´s Day but unlike previous years, my mother and I were excused from the family brunch due to last minute travel arrangements.

On Saturday, prior to the trip, I got into a fight with Steven. It felt like it would be one of the last fights we would have. I had had a long day, starting early in the morning at my millworker’s workshop in Comas, which was more than an hour drive away, and involved crossing the gap between Lima’s vastly different economic realities. Part of me wishes I could drive blindfolded, without noticing the chaotic urban planning and the surrounding poverty, which leaves me with a bitter feeling of helplessness. I find it hard to be in two different worlds in one day. I leave from a neighborhood filled with trees, small gardens next to the sidewalk, and security guards, and gradually arrive at disorganized roads, pieces of empty land, a lot of street dogs, and finally, a house with a rough window opening on the second floor, without glass or railings. That was my millworker’s workshop. There is a reason for that window without glass though: to easily manipulate big, custom-made pieces of furniture. How informal and clever Peru is, I thought. I spent a couple of hours studying the piece of furniture, being very careful not to walk backwards, to avoid falling out of the window without glass. This cabinetry was special. It was not for a client, but for myself. I had given this design a lot of thought in my head, with paper and pen, in 3D models and now, finally, I was evaluating the piece at scale with the cabinetry in front of me, partially assembled. I visualized how this cabinetry would look in my new apartment, my most valued piece of art. How will the pulls look in here, and the joint on this surface… We need an angled look, and German hinges on the tall doors were the folding tray goes … I do not know when I started speaking a language that sounded foreign before, but now, it is like my native tongue. If you haven’t guessed it yet, I am an interior designer. A little more about me: I am a Pisces, 5 feet 3 inches tall, and have always worn an XS in everything. My pointed fangs and thick eyebrows makes me look younger—and I have never weighed more than 110 pounds. Currently, I am underweight. Since I got engaged, I have been experiencing more bowel movements than ever before.

Once I finished giving instructions and the final construction details, I drove back home. It took me almost two hours in