When I was first diagnosed with breast cancer, the plan seemed simple — if anything about cancer can be simple. The initial scans indicated a small lump about 2 cm, and my doctor recommended a lumpectomy. That felt manageable — a smaller surgery, a targeted approach. I held on to the hope that maybe this wouldn’t be as invasive or life-altering as I feared. But cancer has a way of rewriting plans.
I went for a breast MRI.
If you’ve never had one, it’s a strange and vulnerable experience. You lie face down on a hard table, your breasts positioned through two openings, and the machine surrounds you with a loud, mechanical rhythm of clunks and beeps. You’re told to stay perfectly still, but inside, everything is moving — your thoughts, your fears, your questions. I kept thinking, They’re just being extra cautious. But somewhere deep inside, I knew.
The results confirmed it: the tumor was much larger than the earlier scans had shown. It wasn’t just a small, contained lump — it was more spread out about 9 cm. A lumpectomy was no longer an option. The only path forward was a mastectomy.
I got that call on the morning of our 20th wedding anniversary.
We were still at home, just about to head out for coffee and a walk on the beach to celebrate — something quiet and simple to mark the day. Then my phone rang. It was my doctor. I stepped away to take the call.
And the moment he told me, I just… broke.
I couldn’t stop crying. I don’t think I even heard what he said after the word “mastectomy.” It all blurred. I dropped the phone. I screamed for my mom and just sobbed. The grief, the fear, the disbelief — it all came crashing down at once. That was the moment the cancer became real in a whole new way. Not just a diagnosis on a report. But something that was going to take things from me. Parts of me.
We all sat there together in stunned silence. Our anniversary morning, which was supposed to be filled with love and memories, turned into something we would never forget — just for all the wrong reasons. I remember thinking: This is not how this day was supposed to go.