Where the members say, “Welcome, however, we’re sorry you’ve joined”. Thus began my breast cancer journey.

The Diagnosis and Timeline: The Practicality

I was diagnosed with Invasive Pleomorphic Lobular Carcinoma (IPLC), Stage 3, last November. It started with a routine mammogram in late September—just something I thought I was checking off the to-do list. I had no symptoms. No pain. No warning signs. I had undergone follow-up mammograms in the past and even a biopsy years ago, which ended up fine. But that simple screening turned into a cascade of follow-up appointments, scans, and eventually, a biopsy.

When the results came back, I heard the words no one ever wants to hear: “You have breast cancer.” Not just any breast cancer—an aggressive and rare type called IPLC. It was already at Stage 3 and measured approximately 6 cm.

Although it is not news I wanted to hear, I was not surprised. I know how to “read a room,” and both the radiologist and the physician who performed the biopsy gave telling signs of what the outcome would be. Next steps would be to decide where I wanted to have treatment, and to me, that was a no-brainer.  I am fortunate to have Fred Hutchinson Cancer & Research Center in my backyard (literally an 11-minute drive away). They were quick to accept me and set the initial appointments.

The Treatment: What the Journey Looks Like

In mid-December, I had my initial meeting with Fred Hutchinson Cancer Team, and it was decided that I would undergo a lumpectomy and lymph node biopsy, which I did three days later with successful results:  Clean margins and no lymph node involvement.  Please ensure that you have someone accompany you to this appointment; my son accompanied me. There is so much information given, and it would be hard to remember it all (given my mental state).

Because of several factors, including a high Oncoptype score (31), it was decided that I would undergo an intense treatment plan to prevent reoccurrence:  12 weekly chemo treatments, 4 weeks of daily radiation treatments, then 12 more weeks of chemo. 

For those unfamiliar with Oncotype scoring (According to WebMD):  The test looks at 21 different genes within the cells of a tumor sample. Certain patterns suggest a more aggressive cancer that is more likely to come back after treatment. The test results show a score between 0 and 100.

If you have early-stage invasive breast cancer and are over 50 years old, the scoring is as follows:

• A score between 0 and 25 means you have a low risk of the cancer returning if you get hormone treatment. With this score, you probably will not benefit from receiving chemotherapy.
• A score between 26 and 100 means you have a higher risk that the disease might come back. Both hormone treatment and chemotherapy are likely to be recommended.

Late last January, I had my port placed (it is permanent through treatment and is how they draw blood and administer chemotherapy)— a small yet symbolic moment. It made everything feel more real, more medical, and more permanent. A week later, I began my first round of chemotherapy.

Emotional Journey: What This Reality Feels Like

Nothing prepares you for a cancer diagnosis — not the statistics, not the pink ribbons, not even the well-meaning words from others who’ve been through it. From the moment I was diagnosed, my mind became a battlefield. Fear wasn’t just a feeling — it was a constant hum in the background of every thought. I feared the unknown. I feared the treatment. I feared what I might lose — my health, my sense of control, my identity. I even feared the version of myself that I would become. However, because of the confidence I have in my care team, that fear was minimized, and a sense of calm began to diminish the fear.

Vulnerability became unavoidable. I wasn’t in charge anymore — not of my body, not of my time, and not of the outcomes. Letting go of that illusion of control was one of the hardest mental shifts I had to make. I had to learn how to surrender without giving up — to trust my medical team, to trust the process.

I learned that “chemo brain” is real—mental fog, scattered thoughts, frustration, and anger were and are common.  There have also been moments of deep clarity, where all emotions and thoughts are sharper and more meaningful. The love and support received from family and friends became and is my touchstone.

The emotional rollercoaster continues, with no straight line through it.  One day I feel strong and optimistic, the next exhausted and angry, and at times these two realities coexist.

But over time, something shifted. I started to see my vulnerability not as weakness, but as honesty. I gave myself permission to fall apart — and in doing that, I have found my real strength. The kind that isn’t about staying positive all the time, but about staying real, even when things are hard. Therapy definitely helps!

Lessons Learned & Advice to Others

Be kind to yourself.  The tough days, filled with nausea, extreme fatigue, interrupted and sometimes gross bodily functions, can be intense and overwhelming. Take a breath, take several breaths.

Surround yourself with your “tribe” and don’t be afraid or reluctant to ask for help and support.  I have had friends and family attend treatment as “chemo buddies”. I have had cards, flowers, thoughtful gifts (including a handmade quilt all in pink), groceries, and meals delivered.  Remember that people truly want to help and oftentimes feel impotent and afraid themselves. 

I’ve learned that strength isn’t about having it all together. It’s about continuing to move forward even when everything feels uncertain. It’s about showing up for your appointments, for your emotions, and for yourself — even when you’re scared. Especially when you’re scared.

I’ve learned that rest is not laziness. That healing takes time. That your body isn’t your enemy, even when it feels like it’s betraying you. It’s still yours. Still worthy. Still fighting.  Take a nap, take several naps!

Meditate (I have found several useful meditations, including some on embracing gratitude when going through difficult times) and journal.  Writing down my thoughts and feelings regularly has helped me have more clarity.

Look for opportunities to feel better about both yourself and your situation, i.e, the opportunity to take a walk, to stretch, to dance in the sunlight. 

Take advantage of programs offered at your cancer center.  I have had acupuncture, physical therapy, and nutritional counseling, all as part of the program, and all by trained professionals who work with cancer patients exclusively.

This is a tough one for me:  Embrace the Cranky!  At times, I feel so overwhelmed and so out of control that it has been easy to take it out on others, including the medical staff at the clinic.  By understanding my feelings, it has also allowed me to humbly apologize when appropriate.  Those apologies have always been accepted with comments expressing understanding of how difficult this journey is and cranky is to be expected.

Make sure you have evaluated your financial plans in case of an unexpected disability.  I have been fortunate to continue to work (albeit part-time, which was already the case), however, that is not true for everyone undergoing any kind of cancer treatment.  Disability insurance can make a huge difference.

To anyone just beginning this journey: take a deep breath. You don’t have to be brave every moment. You just have to keep going. Ask questions. Advocate for yourself. Let people help you. Celebrate the good days and give yourself grace on the hard ones.

You’ve got this, I’ve got this. And even when you feel like you don’t, know that there is an entire sisterhood behind you, and we are holding you up.