At just 35, I received the shocking news that I had breast cancer. I always believed I was exempt from such a diagnosis. But cancer is indiscriminate; it doesn’t care about your age, gender, income, education, or background.
At the time, my youngest child was still a baby. I started to notice that whenever I held her, she would rest her tiny hand on my upper right breast. Soon after, I began experiencing tenderness in that area, especially after removing my seatbelt or cross-body bag.
Concerned, I visited my gynecologist, who identified a small, palpable mass. Following her recommendation, I scheduled a mammogram and ultrasound. I received my results within 48 hours. There was indeed a mass, but it seemed non-threatening, although my radiologist later explained that detecting cancer in dense breast tissue is like searching for a snowflake in a snowstorm.
I consulted with a breast surgeon who insisted on a biopsy. I felt relatively unconcerned—after all, I was healthy, young-ish, and had no family history of breast cancer. I had previously had two benign lumps removed, so I thought, “No biggie.” In hindsight, I realize I was overly confident, perhaps because I believed I understood my body and trusted it to keep me safe. But I was mistaken.
When I returned for my results, I walked in with an iced coffee, thinking I’d celebrate good news. Instead, I left the office transformed into a cancer patient. As soon as my doctor uttered, “I hate to tell women this but…” I knew the news was grim. The moment she mentioned cancer, I entered a fog, hearing only terrifying words like mastectomy, tumor, chemotherapy, and MRI.
For weeks, I couldn’t even say the word “cancer.” I referred to it simply as “the problem.” Even during consultations with my new breast surgeon, plastic surgeon, radiologist, and oncologist, I avoided the term, despite it being the reason for my visits.
After undergoing an MRI and genetic testing, my breast surgeon laid out two options: a lumpectomy with six weeks of radiation, followed by breast MRIs every six months, or a bilateral mastectomy, which would allow me to decide on reconstruction later.
Around this time, my genetic test results confirmed I was negative for both BRCA1 and BRCA2 genes. So why did this happen to me? I led a healthy lifestyle, avoided smoking and excessive drinking, and chose non-toxic cleaning supplies and organic foods. I was the type of person who even used natural beauty products.
As I delved into research, I found it both enlightening and terrifying. After days of inquiry, I confronted an important question: why not me? One in eight women—about 13%—will face breast cancer in their lifetime. This isn’t a rarity. Moreover, around 5% of diagnosed women are under 40, and just 5-10% have genetic mutations leading to the disease.
Notable breast cancer survivors include celebrities like Lily Adams, Mia Thompson, and Ashley Grey. Angelina Jolie famously chose a preventative bilateral mastectomy after learning she was a carrier of the breast cancer genes. It felt so random—why did cancer choose me? I was furious, having invested so much effort into my health.
I kept my diagnosis private while grappling with a monumental decision: lumpectomy or mastectomy? I didn’t want external opinions clouding my judgment. I spent countless hours researching, reflecting, and praying. I even made a pros and cons list, as any diligent woman might. I tried to persuade myself to opt for the less invasive lumpectomy, but the higher recurrence risk loomed large.
One day, while watching my husband play with our four kids in the backyard, I felt trapped in my own body, which was harboring cancer cells. The fear of leaving my children without their mother and my husband without his wife overwhelmed me. That was when I decided to part with my breasts. I informed my doctor, and four weeks later, I found myself in the operating room.
Following my surgery, pathologists examined the removed tissue and lymph nodes, which thankfully showed no signs of cancer. Still, I faced more choices about follow-up treatments, each fraught with their own risks and benefits.
It’s been two years since my mastectomy, and while I’m considered cancer-free, I continue to cope with medical trauma, anxiety, and muscle pain. Life has changed irrevocably, but I’m profoundly grateful to be alive and healthy.
I urge every woman to perform monthly self-exams and to prioritize annual mammograms. Yes, they can be inconvenient and costly, but the financial and emotional toll of cancer is far greater. Remember, no excuse you offer is more important than your health and well-being. Your family needs you, and you are worth the effort.
October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, a reminder to prioritize your health.
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Summary
At 35, I received a breast cancer diagnosis that I never anticipated. Despite leading a healthy lifestyle, cancer doesn’t discriminate. After weighing my surgical options, I chose a bilateral mastectomy, ultimately finding strength in my decision. I encourage all women to prioritize self-exams and mammograms, as early detection is key. Remember, your health is invaluable, and you’re worth taking care of.
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