Breast Cancer Care in Rural America: My Grandmother’s Story

My grandmother, Ma Bennie, was the first person I knew with breast cancer. Cancer didn’t care that she was a loving wife and mother. Cancer didn’t care that she took her nephews to the movies every month. Cancer didn’t care that she served as a leader at the local Burlington rug factory. Cancer didn’t care that she didn’t have easy access to care. Cancer didn’t care that she fed her grandchildren spoonfuls of grace, pitchers of patience, and tables full of love. Cancer did not care.

The Diagnosis

I struggled to understand what her diagnosis meant as a seven-year-old in 1987. However, I understood that cancer consumed my family’s life. My mom and dad often took Ma Bennie to her doctor’s appointments in a town about an hour from our home in Monticello, AR. No cancer center or oncologist existed in Monticello. No cancer support groups existed for patients in Monticello. No transportation services existed for patients who needed to get to appointments in the nearest cancer care hub, Pine Bluff, AR. Pine Bluff is the city where Ma Bennie received her care. 

Ma Bennie’s frequent trips to Pine Bluff let me know the seriousness of breast cancer. My parents took her to most of her appointments, and the toll of the travel and the diagnosis tremendously affected my father. I felt his uneasiness and nervousness when talking about his first love, his mother. He was usually always even keel, but his countenance changed as he supported his mother in her care. His deep love for her brought him deep grief, but he did his best to support her as he transported her to and from appointments.

I also realized that breast cancer is serious because my sister, who was around seventeen during Ma Bennie’s diagnosis, was charged with helping Ma Bennie change her bandages. I had no clue what cancer had to do with bandages. Until, one day, I skipped down the short gravel trail that led from my house to Ma Bennie’s house. My sister was there and I wanted to hang with her. I skipped through the porch door and ran down the hallway to Ma Bennie’s room. It was in an instant that I saw the horror of breast cancer.

Bearing Witness

Ma Bennie stood by her bed and my sister stood by Ma Bennie. Before I entered the room completely, Ma Bennie said, “Get out!” Her gentle nature changed in that instant. Although stern, her tone had love because she didn’t want me to see what I saw. It was too late.

For the first time, I saw Ma Bennie without hair. I also saw my sister holding bandages that would soon cover Ma Bennie’s bare chest that was full of scabs and sores. It’s amazing what I saw in just a few seconds. I stood there for those seconds horrified and sad. I quickly left, ran home, and cried. This is the last memory that I have of my grandmother before she reached the Shore of Eternal Rest on October 12, 1988. 

When Ma Bennie died, I still didn’t fully understand breast cancer, but bearing witness to the suffering caused by this disease changed me. After I saw Ma Bennie’s bare chest, I understood empathy for the first time. I had a physical reaction to her pain and I still cry when I think about her. I also understood what it meant to intentionally care about and love others unconditionally. My parents and my sister took care of Ma Bennie, and I am forever grateful that they taught me what love looks like.

Rural Residents and Breast Care Awareness

It’s been thirty-two years since Ma Bennie died. Unfortunately, access to breast cancer prevention resources, diagnostic services, and treatment for rural residents is still limited. Rural residents have lower diagnostic testing than urban residents, travel distance to cancer facilities is still a barrier to care, and rural residents have lower rates of breast cancer but higher death rates than urban residents. However, regardless of area code, people should perform breast self-exams and have recommended mammograms.

About ten years after Ma Bennie died, my mom, sister and I volunteered with The Witness Project. This awesome program brought breast cancer awareness events to rural, Black communities. Prior to The Witness Project, I am unaware of any such breast cancer programs in rural Monticello. After graduating college, I moved to Florida and continued volunteering with The Witness Project. Please visit their site for resources and information.

It is my hope that breast cancer research and treatment continues to improve, that rural people have greater access to resources, and that survival is the only option for all patients.