endless summer: my breast cancer diagnosis

TESTING, TESTING, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

When I went in for my annual mammogram, I just knew it wouldn’t be “normal.” No, I couldn’t feel a lump – no one could. There wasn’t one. And, no, I didn’t have symptoms – no outward dimpling/redness/scaliness and no persistent breast pain. I was just generally stressed and overwhelmed with life, and knew in my gut that the hits would keep coming.

Let’s get deep in my shit for a sec to establish my mindset… 

I’m active. I typically start and stop different forms of exercise. My most recent routine was halted in June. It included attending Barre classes 3 times each week. I was also coaching an after-school running program 2 times each week. And, at the time, I was preparing for a dance recital. I was attending classes on Tuesday nights and practiced on Saturday mornings. Yes, I’m a grown-ass woman who performs in a dance recital each year – it’s glorious, back off. 

I’m also (spoiler alert!) aging. So, when running with the kids during practice felt painful (and sometimes shook the pee out of me), I knew I needed to seek professional help. Nope, this still isn’t my breast cancer story, but it is key to establishing my mindset. So, let’s see… how to keep this bit short: I got referred to a physical therapist specializing in pelvic health. She identified that my issue was 4-fold. Most of my problems stemmed from the fact that my stomach had never fully healed after childbirth. Which child, who knows? I have two and the eldest was 10 at the time, so this was not great news. And, unbeknownst to moi, I was essentially re-injuring myself on the regular with my exercise routine. My insides were struggling to stay in. The prescription? Stop all that activity while doing a 12-16 week PT program. *Gulp* 

I complied right away (because I’d like my insides to stay put). I omitted the bit about tap dancing for several hours a week – I needed to hold on to SOMETHING. These sweeping changes to my exercise routine took place at the beginning of June. Oh! Also during this time, I was regularly driving 2 hours. I had to check in on the renovation project I was managing at my Mother-in-law’s rental home. She has Alzheimer’s, but that’s yet another story – hey, #sandwichgeneration. 

So, mental deterioration in full effect, let’s get back to my breast cancer story…

My regularly scheduled mammogram – we’ll call it Test 1 – came mid-month. That week in June turned out to be one of many moments in 2025 that just felt like Too Much. A near comical list of events that got piled on quickly and challenged my grasp on sanity. I had just started feeling the mental effects of not exercising enough. This was paired with the mental strain of managing a home renovation, which was quite massive. I lost a filling in my tooth and needed to quickly find a new dentist. Car #2 was being fixed after a collision, so I had to coordinate PT appointments with my husband’s schedule. And, my MIL’s rectum was literally falling out (Yes, really). So, I finished out that week by going from a PT appointment where I was trying to keep all my insides in, to my MIL’s memory care unit to literally push her insides back up. Was I shocked when I got a call from my doctor? Nope. Was I in a hurry to go back for more imaging? Also, nope. 

Tests 2 & 3: Toward the end of July, I drove to a different medical facility. I needed better imaging of the abnormality seen in my left breast. First, with a fancier mammogram machine. Then, when those images were inconclusive, an ultrasound was performed. Side note: I find it fascinating that with all the advances in photography – observing deep-sea creatures at record depths and mapping galaxies with increased accuracy from millions of light-years away – we still can’t get a decent enough image of breast tissue that can accurately detect the existence of cancer. (Also. Breast tissue images look oddly celestial.) What was the result of these extra tests? You ask. More info was needed, and a mammogram-guided biopsy was scheduled. 

It’s amazing how well we compartmentalize. Physical therapy. Rental home renovations. My aging MIL’s health issues. Summertime with 2 school-aged kiddos (meaning lots of camps and activities + volunteering to support cede camps and activities). And scheduling my tests around family vacations. Which leads us to Test 4: the first biopsy. 

My mammogram-guided biopsy was an experience I liken to our car being in the shop. I was lifted on a machine while my left boob was probed from below. To say I felt vulnerable in this situation is true. Yet, I don’t know that I have words to describe it fully. Objectively, sure – it was how it sounds. I lay there on my stomach, boobs out and positioned for liftoff. The doctor then hoisted me up and successfully took the samples needed from below (like a mechanic). Subjectively, it was terrifying and vulnerable in a way that felt unique to this specific space and time. So I bonded with the tech. A sympathetic woman who promised and delivered on holding my hand throughout the procedure. This unexpected intimacy was also unique to these necessary closed-door invasions. After we had gotten most of the bleeding to stop, I was back to the waiting game. Is it cancer? 

My answer came the next week while we were on vacation. I knew I’d be getting the call. I scheduled it that way. I thought, if it’s bad news at least I’ll be at my favorite place on Earth. Just us 4 (+ the puppy … did I mention we have a puppy?). And, as it turns out. My seaside escape was the best place to be when I received some pretty awful news. Yes. It was cancer.