LIFE STORIES

One night in early February of 2019, after getting home from the gym, I realized I was a little late getting my period. We had decided in January to start trying for baby number 2, so I hoped that I would feel my breasts and that they would be sore, just like they were when I was pregnant with my first. When I felt them, they were not sore, but directly under my right thumb, I felt a hard lump, almost like the tip of a ballpoint pen, on the side of my right breast. I immediately froze with fear, knowing I had never felt this. I called my husband and told him to feel it. As an oncology nurse, I asked him, “Do you think it moves?” He replied, “No, it doesn’t move”. At that moment, I knew something was wrong when he said that, as he had no medical background. I texted my co-worker, a nurse practitioner, who detected my panic through the message and called me immediately. She reassured me that it was nothing and that she would check it out the next day at work. Somehow, I went to sleep that night but found her as soon as I walked into work the next day. She felt the lump, too, but showed no signs of worry on her face. She called her co-worker, who worked in the breast clinic, and had her come and examine me too. She said, “It is small, but I feel what you are talking about, so let’s see if they can fit you in for an ultrasound today.” I agreed, and within an hour, the ultrasound called my clinic and said they were ready for me. I left thinking I would be back shortly, only telling one co-worker I was going for an ultrasound.

I changed into a hospital gown and lay on the exam table. The ultrasound tech came in and had me point to where I felt the lump and then start the exam with the ultrasound probe and gel. She took many photos, made small chit-chat with me, then excused herself from the room and said she would be right back. I jumped off the table and looked at the photos on the screen. I took my phone out to take pictures and compare them to the ones on Google. A few moments later, the ultrasound tech returned, but she brought a doctor in with her. He introduced himself and told me he looked at the ultrasound. I held my breath, hoping he would say it all looked benign, but instead, he said even though the lump was small, it was too small to tell what it was, so we should do a biopsy to be sure. He said they could do the biopsy right then and there if I wanted. My heart started racing, and I agreed, “Yes, please do the biopsy now.”

They left the room to gather supplies, and I immediately burst into tears. I sat alone in the room; only a few people knew what was happening to me. I called my husband to let him know I was about to have a biopsy. He could hear my fear but assured me that all would be well. The doctor and tech came back to do the ultrasound-guided biopsy, and I remember we spoke about Greece and how I had visited just the summer before. They numbed the area and took 3 passes, and it was over, but there was no way I could return to work and care for patients. I got in my car and drove the 45 minutes home, crying alone in my car, knowing something was wrong.

I remember the next day being very somber. I cleaned my whole house, trying to keep busy. I kept googling images of lumps in the breast to compare my photos. The doctor had promised me they would put a rush on my pathology specimen to get me the results before the weekend. I kept texting my co-workers, asking if they could look in my chart for results. It was 5 pm, and my husband and daughter had just returned from a walk in the neighborhood. I didn’t think anyone would be calling since the office closed at 5 pm. My co-worker sent a text saying the doctor would give me a call shortly, and I knew it couldn’t be good. The phone rang, and I was standing at the kitchen counter. I don’t remember the exact words, but it was something like, “I am so sorry to have to tell you this, but the biopsy did come back as cancer.” I fell to the floor and cried with my mom and husband.

The breast surgeon I work with was on vacation then, but the radiologist called her after he broke the news to me, and by 8 p.m., she had called me too. She put me at ease, letting me know the office would set up all the testing I needed and that she would take care of this. We needed to wait to find out the status of the hormone receptors to know the path of my treatment. It was Valentine’s Day the next day, and I did not want to celebrate at all, but my husband dragged me out to dinner. I remember feeling sorry for myself, surrounded by all these happy people who were oblivious to something awful happening in my life. But then, I realized this was all out of my control. I had to wait, something I hate doing, and not let the fear of the unknown consume me. The next few days were a blur. I had a mammogram, an MRI, genetic testing, and an appointment with my surgeon to discuss what we knew. At the time of my first appointment with her, we determined that I had only one mass in my right breast. It was small, about 0.4cm. My genetic testing was pending. I was estrogen (50%) and progesterone (90%) positive, and my HER 2 status was pending. I had left the appointment thinking, “Great, I will just have surgery, and this will all be behind me.” I spent ten days waiting for the HER 2 status, and when that call came, it changed everything.

I was at work and took the call in a small private office. She told me I was HER2-positive, and I would need chemotherapy. It was like hearing I had cancer all over again. No one had even mentioned chemo to me, and it wasn’t on my radar because I knew the tumor was small, and I caught it early. I sat in the office, inconsolable, with my co-workers, who had to call my husband to have him come and pick me up from work. I was devastated.

So, what we knew was that I was triple positive, with my genetic testing negative—one small tumor in the right breast. The plan was to have a lumpectomy with a sentinel node biopsy, and this was scheduled about 3 weeks after I was diagnosed. The wait to get to surgery felt like an eternity, I hated having to live with cancer in my body. In those 3 weeks, I completed one round of IVF to retrieve eggs and embryos. My egg retrieval was on a Wednesday, and 2 days later, I had my lumpectomy in the hospital. The day after surgery, my surgeon called me unexpectedly as the pathology typically takes 7-10 days to result. I was in Target when she told me the margins and lymph nodes were negative. My husband and I hugged and cried happy tears in the aisle. My diagnosis was what we suspected, stage 1A triple-positive invasive ductal adenocarcinoma.

A few weeks later, I met with my medical oncologist. I knew chemotherapy would be recommended, but it was a gray area since my tumor was so small. But being only 31 and being HER 2-positive, the doctor strongly suggested I consider chemo consisting of 12 rounds of Taxol and 25 rounds of Herceptin to target the HER 2 receptor. I left there feeling very conflicted, not wanting to drag this on any longer than necessary and putting literal poison in my body because the statistics couldn’t tell me if it would even help my prognosis that much. I didn’t want to be sick or lose my hair. I scoured the internet, blogs, and Instagram, looking for my answer but became even more confused.

I came across this awfully sad story about a young mother with triple-negative breast cancer who started writing letters to her 3-year-old son when she knew she didn’t have a lot of time left. The letters became a book after she passed, and on the back cover, it said, “My beautiful son, I so wish that I didn’t have to leave you now. But believe me, I tried everything I could to stay around for you and for every moment I could eke out of this life. I was so full of fierce intention that we could get past this. I would lay in your cot each night and silently communicate from my mind to yours, “I will do this, Freddie, I will gladly take whatever they throw at me if it means we can stay together.” After reading that, I knew what I had to do. My daughter, Sophia, was two and a half years old at the time of my diagnosis, and I realized I would never forgive myself if I didn’t do everything in my power to stay with her, even if the chemo only helped my chances by 1%.

For the next 12 weeks, I went in every Monday for Taxol and Herceptin while wearing the Paxman cold cap. Around eight weeks, my hair started shedding, and that continued for three months after treatment finished. No one but me could tell that I was losing hair. Once I completed chemotherapy, I continued Herceptin infusions every three weeks for a year. I did 20 rounds (4 weeks) of radiation. I started Tamoxifen in October of 2019. I was devastated I was told I could not have another baby for at least two years. It hurt that I could not give my daughter a sibling and that my friends and people my age were seemingly getting pregnant. I tried to focus on living my life and reflecting on everything I went through and how it changed me for the better. Before cancer, I cared about every little thing. After cancer, I can laugh at what I thought mattered. I worked in oncology but never thought cancer would happen to me, not at 31. I did my best to hold onto the hope that I had a good prognosis from what my doctors told me and that maybe one day, I could have another baby with our frozen embryos.

Life after cancer was not easy. It felt like I was on one of those shinny rides at the carnival where when they let you off, you’re left standing there all dizzy and frazzled with your hair a mess, and the world around you is still spinning. My anxiety was through the roof, consumed by thoughts of the cancer returning and me not seeing my daughter grow up. Thank God I had her through it all because, honestly, I don’t know how I would have gotten through it without the joy she brought me.

Once I started adjusting to my new life after cancer, I believed this was not just bad luck. I couldn’t shake the one question, “Why did this happen to ME?” I was young, healthy, and had no family history of cancer—a registered nurse of over 13 years. I was in shape my whole life, had 6 pack abs, and thought I ate healthy and cared for myself. Then, I took a deep dive into what being healthy meant. I started learning about how everything I put in or on my body will have an effect. I wanted to know what fuels cancer and what fights cancer? I started to ditch all the toxins in my house, from the soap we used to lotions, makeup, food, the water we drank, and the air we breathed. I learned so many things I would have never known if I didn’t get cancer. I make better daily choices for my family and me to hopefully prevent this from happening again. I want to share my knowledge of how others can make better choices to protect themselves and their families. While I don’t think being 100% toxin-free in today’s world is an achievable goal, I think looking at what we are consuming and what products we are using is where we should all start when we ask ourselves why cancer is occurring in people younger and younger. I think this is a huge piece missing from conventional cancer treatment, and we should be educating patients more on how diet, lifestyle, and environmental factors can trigger cancer.

In March of 2021, my doctors gave me the green light to take a break from Tamoxifen to try for our second baby. It was almost exactly two years after my diagnosis, and it was such a surreal feeling for it to be happening. We decided it was best to use our frozen embryos because they were PGT tested and not exposed to chemo. I did have to have a D&C done before my transfer for a benign polyp (one of the many side effects of Tamoxifen), but in July of 2021, we transferred one of our embryos, and two weeks later, I got a positive pregnancy test. We welcomed our son, Anthony, in April of 2022. We live in Connecticut with our cat, Crumbs, and I still work as an oncology nurse because I love to help people with cancer. One day, I plan to share my story with my children so they know what their mommy went through and how hard she fights to be here with them.