I was living my best life—36 years old, married to a great guy, a homeowner, and a mother to two beautiful girls, ages 8 and 4. Then, BOOM. We got hit with a hurricane of sorts.

In December 2015, I woke up one morning to find my left breast swollen. It wasn’t painful, and I didn’t feel any lumps, but I knew something was off. I called my doctor right away. She suspected a cyst but suggested further testing just to be sure. Deep down, I think I already knew where this was heading. My husband, on the other hand, was convinced it was nothing—after all, we were too young for cancer or anything serious.

I went to a breast surgeon who thought it looked like mastitis. That seemed odd to me, considering I wasn’t nursing. She prescribed antibiotics, but before leaving the room, she mentioned one other possibility: inflammatory breast cancer.

After ten days with no improvement, she prescribed a stronger antibiotic. I agreed to try it but insisted on a biopsy right away. She agreed. First, she took a punch biopsy of my nipple area. Then, she used an ultrasound to check my lymph nodes. I could tell immediately by the look on her face—she saw something.

I asked how long it would take to get the results. She usually preferred to review them in person, but I wanted to know as soon as possible. She promised to call me.

The call came the very next afternoon—four days before my youngest’s fifth birthday. The cancer had already spread to my lymph nodes, meaning I was immediately diagnosed as stage 3.

The following week was a blur of scans—head to toe. I met with an oncologist and scheduled a second opinion in Philadelphia. On the way there, stuck in rush-hour traffic, I got another call. The same doctor told me she usually wouldn’t do this over the phone, but since I was getting a second opinion, she wanted them to have all the information.

I hung up and started crying. I couldn’t speak, and my husband and mom had no idea what was happening. I still feel the weight of that moment. Somehow, Cory kept driving as I finally got the words out: the cancer was in my liver. I had jumped to stage 4 Inflammatory Breast Cancer.

We got our second opinion and headed home.

Breaking the News

How do you tell two little girls that their mom is so sick? We decided to wait until after our youngest’s birthday. When we finally sat down for a family talk, my husband hesitated to use the word “cancer.” He started by saying that Mommy was sick and needed treatments. He also mentioned that the medicine might make my hair fall out.

Right away, our 8-year-old asked, “You mean like cancer?”

There it was. Yes, Mommy had cancer.

From that moment on, my entire goal was to fight as hard as possible while keeping their childhood as normal as I could.

Finding the Right Care

Because I was stage 4 with a rare type of cancer, we sought a third opinion at Dana-Farber in Boston—the closest specialist for inflammatory breast cancer. The five-and-a-half-hour drive was worth it. From the moment I met my doctor, I knew I was in the right place. She hugged me at every visit, and when we brought the girls—who wanted to be part of everything—she hugged them, too.

I started with harsh chemo, then switched to oral chemo for a while. Once I was stable, I had a single mastectomy, followed by radiation. After radiation, I returned to chemo and will remain on some form of treatment for the rest of my life.

Over time, my cancer has mutated, requiring me to switch chemo treatments a few times. But for now, my cancer is considered stable, and I get to keep watching my girls grow up.

Lessons Learned

Our lives have changed so much over the past nine years. Along the way, I’ve met incredible people I never would have known if not for this diagnosis.

One of the first people I found was Terry Arnold. I reached out to her online, not expecting a response, but she replied immediately. She has been an inspiration, a wealth of knowledge, and someone I was lucky enough to meet—twice.

I also have an incredible support system. My faith and the prayers from those around me have carried me through this journey. I have no doubt my story could have been very different without them.

But the two most important things I’ve learned came from my doctor at Dana-Farber:

No one knows how long we will live. There are more than 100 things that can kill us—cancer is just one of them. The difference is that we know about this one, and we’re treating it.

It might be better to postpone treatment than to start with the wrong one. Most people want to begin fighting immediately, but take a breath. Make sure you’re seeing a specialist for your specific type of cancer. Get a second opinion. In my case, the third opinion was the best. I have no doubt that traveling to Boston put me on the right path—and that’s why I’m still here today.

No single hospital is the best for everyone, but you need to make sure you have the best for you. That decision can make all the difference.

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