Wait, who has breast cancer? Shut your face.

I was diagnosed with Breast Cancer on Halloween, my favorite holiday. I remember to a tee, the feeling when the nurse navigator told me. I was in complete shock and actually had to ask who she was talking about because I was sure it wasn’t me. My husband’s kind hand on my leg told me it was me. I can tell you that I never thought I would get cancer. I’m a health and life coach after all. Oh the irony.

Now what?! Do we tell people? Who do we tell? My son?

My husband and I decided not to tell my 10 year old son until we at least had a solid treatment plan ahead of us which meant many doctors appointments and tests until we’d know more. We didn’t want to ruin Halloween for him too and we also didn’t want to present information that would provoke questions we couldn’t answer.

On the flip side, we didn’t want to wait too long because it felt like we were lying to him (or keeping information from him) that would at least explain why I was crying or why I had so many doctor appointments. After receiving the MRI results and scheduling a surgery date, we finally told him. And, since so many people have asked how we did that, here it is:

We chose to tell him during the week when things felt calm and we could all be present (for those of you with kids and sports you know how chaotic weekends can be). We sat him down. I started out by telling him that I’ll be nice and old but that we had something to tell him about my health. I have breast cancer, I told him. I paused. I asked if he had any immediate questions, and he asked what the doctors would do about it. I told him that they would remove my breasts. Imagine telling a 10 year old boy that. Mind blown! So he asks, “will they put them back on?” LOL! I explained that they would remove them to remove the cancer, and that I would have a surgeon make me new ones using my own skin. He seemed completely content with that information so we didn’t provide any more detail.

I explained that he would see my cry, be angry and anxious and that’s just me processing how I’m feeling about it and that it’s totally normal and okay. To try and make it relatable, I explained that I’m simply going through something I haven’t before, and when anyone, even he, tries new things it can feel scared, make you antsy, anxious, excited and, this cancer journey is no different. I thought this would be the healthiest way to explain to him about my multiple simultaneous emotional states he’d witness over the coming months, as opposed to scaring him about the disease and potential outcomes and was just a good life lesson. To finalize the conversation, and, frankly, to lighten up the mood, I told him I’d have to go into the doctor weekly to have my boobs filled up until they were back to my old size, ya know, kind of like going to the gas station to fill up the car. He laughed, and that’s where we left it.

Navigating who to tell about an illness can be difficult and, it’s personal to each individual and situation.

Aside from my son, I started telling everyone straight away and I’ll tell you why. One, I always feel like the more positive energy put out into the universe the better and I have some great friends and community who just happen to have those good vibes I want out there. Two, I wanted to make sure that I had a solid support system if/when I needed it. I didn’t want to be asked questions about why I was leaving a party early, or why I wasn’t drinking. I just wanted to have unconditional support from those around me. Not everyone is able to do this, though. I get it. Some people become more burdened after they hear heavy news and become unhelpful or present with negative energy (consciously and subconsciously). It’s hard not just for the afflicted but also for those who easily harbor others’ emotions to become quickly overwhelmed. It is really important to choose with whom, and how, you expend your energy during this journey, you’ll need it for healing mentally and physically not for worrying about other people.

The hardest part of of all of this by far has not been telling my son, the surgery, the grieving and acceptance of missing appendages, the many appointments, pokes and prods. Nope. It has been the ambiguity. It seems like every two weeks you're presented with more overwhelming data, and, the wait for the data can be anxiety riddled and debilitating. But what I never thought possible was the way I’ve handled this. I was sure that if this ever happened to me I would fall apart completely. Instead, I have shown up the exact opposite: strong, clear headed and funnier than ever.

I have embraced data, no matter how hard the wait, because I know that it plays a huge role in which treatment solutions are applicable to my specific case, allowing for a successful plan for my very-long future ahead.

Oh hey, fun fact: I’m the one who found my cancer (she pats herself on the back). In March I went in for what I felt was a tiny lump and wrinkled skin. After a mammogram and ultrasound brought back nothing, I was as satisfied as one could be that still felt a lump without an explanation. After many months, continuing to keep an eye on that spot, I called my doctor to be seen again. This time, the lump was twice as big and things didn’t look like they should (your nipple should never be pointing in the direction of its own choosing). Another mammo and ultrasound, but this time, they saw it, did a biopsy and confirmed my fears two days later.

What I came to better understand, and might be helpful for other people to know, is that the location of my cancer (invasive ductal carcinoma) being at the front of the breast can make it incredibly difficult to see on most imaging; the front of your breast acts kind of like an umbrella shading everything under it. I do not blame the technology or the doctors, they saw what they could, or couldn’t, at that time.

I do remain steadfast in my advocacy for the SELF. If you see or feel something, get it looked at and push for further testing if you don’t feel comfortable with the results. Push for the additional testing especially if you have a family history of breast cancer, dense breast tissue or other risk factors (early puberty, childbirth at a later age, etc). Or, like me, I just knew my body well, and I knew it wasn’t right.

The journey so far has been both incredibly fast and insanely slow at the same time. I have an amazing medical team on my side, targeted treatment options and thankfully, a wonderful prognosis. However, what continues to blow my mind, is the sheer number of women I meet daily afflicted with this disease; one (1) in seven and a half (7.5) women will get breast cancer. How can there not be a cure?!

My goal as a coach, a breast cancer thriver, is to help others who are struggling. I want them to know that they need to give themselves grace. It’s okay to be angry and hopeful or happy and sad all at the same time. It’s normal to feel guilt about how you’ve eaten or taken care of your body over the years. It’s okay to be scared. Many of us need to work to live, and the stress of knowing you need to be away from work to heal can also be intense. The ability to pay attention to work while you’re waiting on data and a plan can be distracting. I get it. I live it.

I’ve chosen to see challenges as positives including showing up to a Halloween party the night I was diagnosed as none other than Dolly Parton, signing my heart out to ‘9 to 5’ Karaoke. Humor is medicine for me.

There are so many resources for breast cancer support from integrative medicine specialists, nutritionists and therapists and I hope to be yet another source of help for those like me. Whether or not it was ironic that as a life and health coach I got cancer, the amazing part is that I had tools and resources for clients that I never thought to use on myself until this happened. I know now that what I’ve been doing for others, and I will do the same for myself! I’m amazing (she pats herself on the back again)!

If you or someone you know is struggling through a new breast cancer diagnosis, or an otherwise challenging time in their lives, send them my way. I’m here to empathize, support, listen or make them laugh. I am choosing to live in the now and create the life I want today instead of waiting until tomorrow. I hope to help others to do the same.