The last few weeks have been rocky. I thought I was past this chapter but here I am. Another cancer scare, another biopsy, another reminder that survivorship is never a straight line.

Many of my close family and friends are learning this for the first time here. I kept it close to the chest because honestly, the weight of it was too heavy to carry out loud. As I’m continuing to share my experience, I’m learning my triggers as I go. So if this is news to you, know that I love you.

As a cancer survivor, the fear of recurrence is quiet, but constant. It lingers in the background, a whisper I try to silence. Suddenly, it wasn’t a whisper — It was a cyst in my right breast.

“But didn’t you have a mastectomy?” Yep, sure did. Which is why I was rattled when the nurse pointed out a shadow on the ultrasound screen. How could this even happen?

The fact is, no surgeon can remove every single breast cell. Even the most aggressive surgeries leave microscopic cells behind. Left over cells can still form things like cysts, fat necrosis, scar tissue — and yes, in some cases, even new cancers.

I managed to remain level headed throughout my ultrasound, but when the radiologist pulled me in a room, sat me down, and told me they wanted to biopsy, panic set in.

I was immediately sucked into a time warp, back into the room where I first heard “it’s cancer”. Time slowed, and the only words I could manage were “I can’t do this again”. I can handle a lot. I’ve been through more than most my age. But this? This felt like a cruel joke.

Everything in my being rejected the idea of going through treatment again. But deep down, I knew I’d do it if I had to.

I called my surgical oncologist immediately. Even though I’m now out of network, my team at Bedford Breast Center stepped up. One of the lead surgeons performed the biopsy herself. If I had to start this process over, there’s no team I’d rather have by my side.

After almost a week of waiting, the call finally came.

🎉✨FAT NECROSIS! BENIGN!✨🎉

Relief washed over me… but only for a moment.

The greater weight of recurrence doesn’t subside. Truthfully, I’m not sure it ever will.

I don’t look up statistics on triple negative recurrence anymore. I did when I was initially diagnosed, and it didn’t do my mental health any favors. I choose to believe that I’m not a statistic. Now, if only someone could tell my anxiety that. 🙂

I’m still here, and thats what matters. Maybe the fear will never fully dissipate, but it reminds me to live fully, show up authentically, and stay rooted in gratitude.

If you’re a survivor navigating the aftermath of cancer, you don’t have to carry it alone! There’s community waiting for you. Join the conversation at r/YouSurvivedNowWhat

Cheers to not dying!

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Let me take you back to a moment in time.

I’m getting out of the shower for the first time since my double mastectomy surgery with the help of my man. Bald, muscles atrophied, and a brand-new (barely recognizable) chest. My partner gently lotions my legs while I attempt to stay upright, diverting my eyes from the mirror in front of me.

But then, a quick slip.

Just a glimpse.

I catch my profile. And I break.

Crying isn’t even the right word. I unravel. I wasn’t ready to see myself like that. Not yet.

I don’t know when I expected to be “ready” to see my reconstructed body. But hey, when did cancer ever wait for my readiness?

Nobody tells you what it feels like to meet yourself again in fragments. You expect to look in the mirror and feel some relief after overcoming a life altering diagnosis like this. You did it! It’s over!

But instead, you’re squinting to recognize the architecture of your own body. My skin tone gray. My chest tight. This body didn’t feel like mine.

I had joked throughout treatment that my body was science. I lost autonomy over it months before this moment of reckoning in the bathroom. I found it easy to dissociate and let the doctors play me like a game of operation. Coming back from that mindset, on the other hand, is a mind fuck.

Because I didn’t recognize my body, I didn’t recognize me. I knew I had changed — but into what?

Who was I without the body I had known for 31 years? What the mirror reflected wasn’t just physical, it was emotional. Existential. All the “before” versions of myself had dissolved, and I was left to build again from scratch.

I didn’t love my post-cancer body right away, but I showed up for her.

Acceptance came in pieces. Not in grand moments, but in the tiny decisions to stop hiding. Now, when I look in the mirror, I still see change. I see the battle scars. But I also see someone who fought to come back home to herself.

After all, if my body didn’t give up on me through cancer treatment, why should I give up on her now?

As everyone in my life knows, I’ve been dealt an interesting hand. At the age of 30 I was diagnosed with cancer, and my life has been forever changed. Sometimes I hate feeling like the “cancer friend”, but more often than not I realize what a massive opportunity I’ve been given to help other people who have experienced cancer (and adversity generally) at a young age.

In a weird way, I was primed for this. I’d experienced more instability and adversity than most by the time I was 18… Who’s to think my adult life would be any different? Perhaps I’ve been forced to learn the hard lessons young, but what is that worth if I don’t grow a garden from this dirt, ya know?

I’m creating this space not just to share about cancer, but about life. We all know it’s hard in these streets, but what keeps us together is community in shared experiences. This is my contribution.

I often get asked how I found out I had cancer. Well, we gonna learn today!

How I Discovered I Had Breast Cancer

It all started on a Thursday morning in August of 2023. I woke up with an ache in my boob. Nothing dramatic, just enough to make me reach up and grab it. That’s when I felt it. A lump right where my left thumb rested. I immediately ran to the other side of the bed and grabbed my man (Marcus) and said, “yo, do you feel this?!” I needed to know I wasn’t imagining things. He stayed calm, told me he felt it too, and said to schedule a doctor appt, but not to freak out yet. Of course I was anything but calm.

I tried to book an appt, with my primary care doctor but couldn’t get in, so I went to urgent care the following day. When I shared why I was there, they let me know they wouldn’t be the ones to help me, and I was quickly redirected to Bedford Breast Center. I was able to get an appt for the following Monday. Over the weekend, I kept a long planned tattoo appointment on my shoulder, because in my head this wasn’t going to be anything serious. SIKE.

By Monday, I was at Bedford for an ultrasound. On the screen there was what looked like a simple cyst. Just a black hole on the monitor. They noticed an enlarged lymph node in my left armpit too, but we all assumed that might have been from my body processing the tattoo ink (🫠).

They scheduled me for an aspiration of the cyst on Tuesday. I went in expecting a quick procedure, but the cyst did not aspirate. That is when the procedure escalated to a biopsy. Still, this likely was benign, right? I went home with a bandage and shortly after it began to leak and needed to be replaced. Wednesday, I called and went back in for a bandage change expecting nothing more than a quick 5 minute office visit. At the time, I was working remotely and took my lunch break to run that errand. My man dropped me off in front of the office, and I told him to lap the block.

While getting my bandage changed, I was told the PA who did my biopsy wanted to stop in and say hi. The minute she walked in the door I could see it on her face. This was not a casual pop-in. It just so happened that while I was in office, my preliminary pathology results came through. The PA sat down and put her hand on my knee. All I could do was curse. I was sobbing before she even had the opportunity to mutter the words “you have cancer”.

I called Marcus and told him to park the car. I can still teleport myself back into that room as he walked in the door and I blurted “I have cancer”. My next immediate concern was “how do I tell my family?” Both of my parents live out of state and leaving them with the weight of that information was unbearable to me. The thought of them feeling incapable of action was worse than them being with me in person. The incredible PA — who i’m sure had many other patients to see — stayed in that room with me for over an hour. She spoke to my parents directly when I couldn’t find the words. I’ll forever be grateful to her for the care and empathy she showed for my family in a moment that is now cemented in my memory as the worst day of my life.

A week later, the final pathology results confirmed the specifics of my diagnosis. Could they just cut my boobs off and I’d be good? (that was my hope), or would I be forced into longer treatments and chemotherapy? By this time, we had also biopsied the enlarged lymph node we thought was holding onto tattoo ink, and the results were less than stellar. My final diagnosis was triple negative breast cancer, and it had in fact spread to my lymph nodes. My KI67 score, which serves as a measure of how quickly cancer cells are dividing and growing, also came back high. A score over 30 is considered a fast moving, aggressive cancer — mine was 76. From that moment on I was in go mode. Everything else fell away, and my life was immediately consumed by cancer.

Fast forward through one round of IVF, 16 rounds of aggressive chemotherapy, three blood transfusions, one emergency hospital stay, nine months of immunotherapy, one double mastectomy with direct-to-implant reconstruction surgery, one necrosis complication/correction surgery, 25 rounds of hyperbaric oxygen therapy, physical therapy, talk therapy, cancer rehabilitation, and more to come… I’m still alive.

My whole world has changed. I’m simply not the person I was before — I’m better.

That friendship that wasn’t serving me? Dropped it.

That job that was giving me panic attacks? Quit it.

That passion I’ve had since I was a kid? Relentlessly chasing it.

The best part is, I’m just getting started.

Next Chapter: Survivorship

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I didn’t see myself reflected in most survivor stories. Especially not as a young Black woman navigating survivorship. So I’ve been slowly working on creating the space I wish to see in the form of my upcoming podcast You Survived! Now What? A space specifically for young adult cancer survivors to find community, shared experience, and hopefully feel less alone. More to come on that later, but for now, If you’re a cancer survivor reading this, you can join us on Reddit at r/YouSurvivedNowWhat to get the conversation going! 💛

Here on Substack, Imma keep it a buck. This is a home for sharing myself in a way that can hopefully be beneficial to others. I hope you join me. ☺️

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