I have breast cancer.

Those are words you never think you will say to yourself. Until you do.

I had to say them. In December 2025, at only 57, I was diagnosed with Invasive Cell Carcinoma. 

It’s been a trip so far. I was lucky, as far as breast cancer goes. I mean, if you have to have BC, my prognosis was about as good as it gets. How do I possibly see myself as lucky while having breast cancer?

 

 

• My cancer was caught while it was too early to even feel by a screening mammogram. 
• During COVID, I didn’t get my mammogram for 3 years. What if this had happened then?
• I had decent health insurance, and for some crazy reason, when I took my job position, I signed up for some supplement insurance in an amount just over my maximum yearly out-of-pocket amount. This diagnosis wouldn’t cause me extreme financial distress. (At least, not yet.)
• My cancer was not an aggressive type.
• I tested negative for the genes that might make this a whole lot scarier.
• My lymph nodes were not involved.
• Even though I still have radiation ahead of me, I don’t have to do chemo.
• They caught it soooo early. It was the size of a grain of rice.
• It had not spread ot my other breast.

But here is the thing. It’s still breast cancer. It still steals the security that you once had in trusting your body. Your belief that you were low risk. Your present beliefs about your femininity. Your identity. Your trust in the world around you.

I mean, if you thought you were healthy, low risk, and this was unlikely to happen to you, but it did… what else could happen? Do you have cancer elsewhere? Will you have cancer elsewhere? How do you tell your daughters? Have you brought this risk to them? How will you look at yourself in the mirror? How will others look at you?

But there were two things that really stuck out for me as things I did not expect.

 

#1- The Shock

I was shocked. I mean, truly. And I’ve been through more than my share of trauma and heartbreak. Much more. I don’t shock easily. I don’t think of life as an easy ride. I know bad things happen. They have happened to me.

But I was shocked.

I had never smoked, I was a moderate wine drinker, I ate organic vegetables, I got exercise, I wasn’t obese,  I only had one relative in my history who EVER had breast cancer. I had breastfed five children. (Breastfeeding and just having children themselves lower your risk.) My entire family history for generations back, few relatives to my knowledge had ANY kind of cancer before 80.

So I was in shock. Saying those words, “I have breast cancer,” was painful. Still today, even when I look in the mirror at my healing scars from my lumpectomy and lymph node biopsy, I still have a hard time with it. Words you never thought you would say. But it’s getting better. It’s normalizing. It’s healing some. But these kinds of scars, just like the ones on my breast, only fade. I know it will never heal completely. And I am learning to accept that.

 

#2- The Guilt

Yes, I felt guilt about my breast cancer diagnosis. Not because I have it, but because I got off easy. Because mine is curable. Because I didn’t have to have a mastectomy. (Although I had to make a choice between a lumpectomy and a mastectomy, what kind of cruelty is that???🤬) Because I was going to live, and so many women have lost that fight.

Just a week after my lumpectomy, it was my 58th birthday. My husband Steve took me to this wonderful lunch overlooking our harbor in the town where we live. And I had to fight back tears. I was there, celebrating a birthday, when so many women who have been, or are, in my shoes will not see their next. 

I wanted to stand up and tell everyone in the room to raise a glass to those women. I wanted to purge my survivor’s guilt by bringing attention to them, because I think deep down I felt guilt for receiving it for myself. I didn’t do that. I have come far in making friends with the fact that I am an introvert. But we’re not that friendly. 😂 

 

If You Have to Say Those Words

So instead, I am going to do that here. I am going to raise a glass to those women by using my platform to share some things that might help the next one who has to say those words…

I have breast cancer.

• Know you arent alone. There are programs where you can be matched with another woman who has gone through it and get support. Get it. The Susan Komen Foundation offers a free Emotional Support Workbook.
• Talk to a counselor if you are struggling. Go to group therapy with other women who are struggling. Use the sisterhood to get through this and to help another woman get through this.
• Let the people around you help. I know, you’ve always been the caretaker. But if there was ever a time to let them help, now is it. You need that. You deserve that.
• Know that everything you feel about this is normal for you, and you have a right to those feelings. Your pain at getting through this is valid, no matter what the future holds for you.

 

Last Advice

My final bit of advice? This is life-changing. It will change you. Let it.

You can’t alter history and go back and undo breast cancer. Learn from what it has to teach you. That includes learning to grieve, learning to accept, and learning to fight.

And when you are in a place where the future seems brighter, where the grieving softens, where the pain is gentler, reach out. Help the next woman who has to say those words. Encourage women around you to get their screenings.

And please, if you are a woman over 45 who hasn’t gotten a mammogram, or it’s been more than a year since the last one, please, please, go make a call right now. Call and get an appointment. Call your family doctor if you don’t have a gynecologist, and just say, “What do I need to do to get a screening mammogram?” In the U.S., screening mammograms are 100% covered by your health insurance. If you don’t have health insurance, there are ways to get a free mammogram.

Mammograms save lives; one saved mine.

And finally, if you are a woman who is at any stage of having, or having had, breast cancer, this article is for you. My heart is full of well-wishes for each and every one of you. Soon, I will get to say, “I had breast cancer. I am a breast cancer survivor, thriver.” I believe that you will, too.

And for those of you who may one day feel that shock, that grieving, and maybe that guilt… I don’t want you to join the club, but if you must, those of us who have gone before you are here. Too many of us, but that only means that if you look around, you will find us. 

Find us.

❤️ Kathy