Some of the most important changes in my life have arrived quietly.

The last several months have been emotional ones, though I have not had much time to sit inside those emotions. Life has been busy in a way that feels meaningful and strangely peaceful.

There has been a major change in my life. It is a good change. But before speaking about it, I feel it is important to walk back through a piece of my story.

In 2007, I was diagnosed with triple negative inflammatory breast cancer.

Ironically, that diagnosis saved my life.

What no one knew at the time was that another triple negative breast cancer tumor was growing deeper in my body, missed for years. Without the inflammatory breast cancer diagnosis, what was an older undetected cancer would likely have been found too late.

Treatment was a whirlwind.

I was fortunate that everything worked, though it was not easy.

For about a year, I rarely went anywhere in public without using a cane. My husband helped make life easier whenever he could — dropping me closer to entrances so I could hold on to a small piece of dignity while learning how to live inside a changed body.

I gained sixty pounds in a short period of time. My breasts were gone. When my hair grew back, it was a different color and curly in a way it had never been before.

I felt like a stranger in my own life.

During long treatment, life moves forward around you.

Friends move on. Marriages change. Children are born. Ordinary life continues while you are learning how to breathe inside uncertainty.

I was also fired from my job.

So I began rebuilding.

I rebuilt myself as a wife, as a partner, and as someone no longer defined primarily by need.

I also rebuilt my role as a mother. My children still needed a mother in their lives, not someone they felt responsible for caring for.

During that time, women from around the world began reaching out with questions about inflammatory breast cancer.

In response, I helped support the creation of patient groups across multiple countries and languages.

The word I carried quietly since childhood became something I signed at the end of letters, emails, and messages.

Hope always.

Eventually, I had the opportunity to help start a foundation dedicated to research and education about inflammatory breast cancer.

The mission was simple.

Fund research.
Educate the public.
Educate medical communities.

What began as a simple mission grew far beyond what I expected.

I am deeply honored by the global community of other organizations, The IBC Networks, UK, Canada and Australia,  who share this mission alongside the IBC Network Foundation. We walk separately but work together toward the same purpose.

As the charity grew, I began to understand something important.

I did not want to become the barrier to its future.

I am not stepping away from the work.

I am stepping out of the center of it so the work can grow larger than I am.

With the support of our board, we strengthened leadership continuity by hiring an executive director who will carry much of the operational responsibility moving forward.

What I expected to be an emotionally difficult transition has instead felt organic and peaceful.

It feels strange not to feel the emotional whirlwind I thought might come.

Instead, I feel quiet excitement.

I will remain chair of the board, a role I have held since the beginning.

But this transition allows me to focus on long-term vision, relationships, and the future shape of the mission.

I am not leaving the work.

I am expanding beyond the daily center of it so the work can continue long after me.

When I first began this journey, people told me I could not do it.

And I remember thinking, perhaps you cannot — but I believe I can.

The next steps are big.

Our supporters and board members do not see this charity as a hobby or a small help organization.

We see it as work that can create translational impact — work that may save lives.

I will remember the hurdles I overcame before cancer entered my life.

There were many.

I will remember the hurdles during treatment.

There were many.

I will remember the hurdles of rebuilding my family.

There were many.

And I will remember the hurdles of starting this charity and carrying it forward.

My emotions are best summarized by the life motto that began on a difficult day when I was nine years old.

Hope always.

Closing Reflection

Life after illness is not always loud or dramatic. Sometimes it is quiet, steady, and surprisingly ordinary in its goodness.

We carry our stories not as weight, but as meaning.

Every story of illness is also a story of endurance, reconstruction, and dignity.

The work of understanding inflammatory breast cancer continues through the voices of patients, families, and communities supported by IBC Network Foundation.

And through it all, we hold on to one simple promise.

Hope always.