Is there such a thing as a boring story?
In April 2021, at the age of 37, I was diagnosed with Inflammatory Breast Cancer and Invasive Ductal Carcinoma. What followed was a whirlwind—appointments, biopsies, phone calls, and endless tests.
It started when my husband mentioned something seemed “different” about my right breast. The skin was thicker and my nipple was beginning to invert. I tend to brush off health concerns—appointments feel like a hassle—but this time, I listened. I booked a visit with my family doctor, who immediately felt a lump and an enlarged lymph node. She quickly referred me for a mammogram and ultrasound, and also reached out to a local surgeon. Looking back, I think the surgeon already had a strong suspicion something was wrong before even seeing me. She suggested a course of antibiotics….a “just in case.”
The imaging confirmed the need for biopsies of both the lump and the lymph node. The surgeon also performed a punch biopsy. I remember sitting in her office, still in full denial, and asking, “Well, if it’s not cancer, what else could it be?” She looked me straight in the eye and said, “Marianne, if this comes back negative for cancer, I won’t believe it. I’ll test you again.” That moment stays with me—it pierced through my denial. As I left her office, she mentioned referring me to oncology before we even had the results.
I didn’t need the phone calls later that week to confirm what we already knew. It was cancer.
That was it—I had cancer. The plan was specific: chemo first, followed by a non-skin sparing mastectomy/lymph node removal, and finally, radiation.
On May 6th, I found myself in a chemo chair receiving carboplatin, docetaxel, and Herceptin. The fight had officially begun.
It sounds simple. It was—and it wasn’t.
Simple—because I had doctors who just knew what I had and what needed to be done. A quick search of Inflammatory Breast Cancer reveals how aggressive and rare it is, with a sobering five-year survival rate of around 50%. It’s not good. But when you have knowledgeable doctors and a strong support system, the patient is free to focus all their energy on fighting the disease. No one should have to fight for a diagnosis or push for proper treatment. With increased research and awareness, more women could experience what I did: a fast, decisive and an uneventful diagnosis—something that should be the norm, not the exception.
Not simple – because the diagnosis is just the start. Chemo was tough, surgery invasive and radiation abundant, but it was manageable. It was summer and we had plans. We wanted to keep life as normal as possible for our 4 kids. We camped, swam, enjoyed our farm life and socialized in between chemo weekends. Family support, my faith in God and hope carried me through. I knew I had a tendency to try to control every aspect of my life and God told me during this diagnosis that just wasn’t possible. I had to let go of control and be content with whatever the outcome I kept this verse that my husband and I chose for our wedding close to my heart, “The heart of man plans his way, but the LORD establishes his steps.” Proverbs 16: 9. We can plan, but we need to enjoy the everyday. Tomorrow has enough worries of its own.
I want my story to encourage women who are just beginning their treatment journey—there is hope. As long as we continue to fight for better outcomes, hope remains. With proper education, funding, and medical expertise, we can begin to shift the staggering statistics surrounding IBC. We can make diagnoses more straightforward, (dare I say boring), treatments more manageable, and life after treatment less burdened by fear. That’s my hope.
Marianne