Where It All Began
My story doesn’t really start with me, it starts with my mom. In 2008, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. For twelve years, she fought with incredible strength and grace. In 2020, just as the world was shutting down from COVID, I lost her.
Losing my mom was like losing my anchor. She had been my safe place, my example, and my biggest cheerleader. Walking through grief while the whole world felt heavy and uncertain was overwhelming, but I tried to keep moving forward and live life as best as I could.
A Mother’s Gift
Not long after, my focus shifted to my daughter, who was born with a rare disease called cystinosis. We knew from the beginning that she would eventually need a kidney transplant, but in December 2020, we learned that the time had finally come.
I had always known in my heart that if I was a match, I wanted to be the one to give her my kidney. In January 2021, I was able to do just that. It was one of the hardest and most beautiful experiences of my life, giving her something so life-changing, something that gave her a healthier future.
My Turn
Just a few months later, in June 2021, life threw me another curveball. Because of my mom’s history, I went for regular mammograms. That summer, doctors found a spot. I went through multiple biopsies, and I’ll never forget sitting in that room when I heard the words: Stage 1A invasive ductal carcinoma.
It felt surreal. How could this be happening so soon after losing my mom and donating my kidney?
I met with my mom’s oncologist — a doctor who already knew our family’s story — and we started making a plan. At first, a lumpectomy seemed like it might be enough. But genetic testing revealed that I carry a gene called CHEK2, which increases breast cancer risk. That knowledge shifted everything. I chose to have a double mastectomy, along with reconstruction, and began hormone therapy. I truly thought that would be the end of my cancer chapter.
The Recurrence
In 2022, while taking a shower, I felt a tiny lump near my armpit on the same side as my original cancer. It was so small that I almost brushed it off. My husband encouraged me to get it checked out and thank God he did.
It was cancer. Again. Same type, same place.
Hearing that news broke something in me. I had already gone through so much, and suddenly the finish line disappeared. My oncologist told me this cancer was more aggressive than we thought, and my treatment plan had to change.
The Hardest Season
I had another surgery, then began six rounds of chemotherapy and 21 rounds of radiation. Chemo was exhausting in a way I can’t even describe, and radiation left my skin and muscles damaged enough to require another reconstruction surgery.
I was 38 when I was first diagnosed, and today at 42, I’m on medication that puts me into menopause. It’s a constant reminder of everything my body has been through.
Where I Am Now
Looking back, the last few years feel like a blur of hospital rooms, surgeries, treatments, and emotions I never thought I’d have to carry. But they also feel like a testimony of resilience, of leaning on my faith, my family, and the people who showed up when I couldn’t stand on my own.
I share this story not because it’s easy, but because I know how lonely the journey can feel. If even one person reads this and feels a little less alone, a little more seen, then it’s worth opening up.
In the weeks ahead, I’ll share some of the small things — the comfort items, routines, and products — that helped me get through my treatment. They may seem simple, but they made the hardest days just a little lighter. My hope is that by sharing, I can pass along the same kind of care and comfort I received when I needed it most.
This Beautifully Chaotic Life 