It all began with my annual mammogram — something I never skipped and always considered a routine part of taking care of my health. I didn’t have any symptoms, no pain, no obvious signs that anything was wrong. That’s what made what came next so unexpected.
The results came back showing that I have dense breast tissue. I’d heard the term before but never paid much attention to it. This time, though, it meant that the images from my mammogram weren’t clear enough to rule things out. So, I was scheduled for an additional, more detailed mammogram and an ultrasound.
I remember lying there during the ultrasound, watching the screen, sensing the technician’s focus shift. I didn’t know exactly what she was seeing, but I could feel the energy in the room change. Not long after, my doctor told me they found something — a mass — and that they wanted to do a biopsy.
When they told me they found a suspicious mass and recommended a biopsy, I went into full anxiety mode. Part of me was terrified — scared of what they might find — but another part of me was frustrated. I kept thinking, What if this is all unnecessary? What if I’m wasting time, energy, and emotion over something that’s going to turn out to be benign?
I clung to that hope. I told myself, It’s probably just a cyst or This happens all the time to people with dense breasts. I was nervous about the biopsy itself, too. The idea of having a needle inserted into my breast was unsettling, and I didn’t know what to expect. But the team was kind and walked me through it. The procedure was uncomfortable, but manageable. The worst part, honestly, was the waiting.
What no one really prepares you for is the wait afterward — the silence while your life feels like it's on hold. Those few days between the biopsy and the results felt endless. I kept checking my phone, jumping every time it rang. I tried to stay busy, but the “what ifs” kept creeping in. Still, I held onto the belief that it would be nothing — that I’d get a call saying it was benign and I could move on with my life.
But that’s not what happened.
A few days later, the nurse called me early in the morning. My heart raced when I saw the clinic’s number pop up on my phone. She said, “The doctor would like to meet with you to discuss your results.” That sentence alone made my stomach drop.
They scheduled a video appointment that same day. I sat in front of the screen with my husband, my heart pounding, trying to prepare myself for anything — while still holding onto hope. And then, I heard the words:
“It’s cancer.”
Just like that, my world shifted.
In that moment, everything else faded away. I couldn’t process anything the doctor said after that. I was in shock. My heart pounded. My body went cold. I thought about everything at once — my family, my future, the unknown. I don’t even remember what I did immediately afterward — whether I cried, called someone, or just sat there in silence. All I knew was that my life had suddenly split into before and after.