Cancer. Again.

On Thursday, February 13, 2025, I got the call.

Cancer. Again.

Flashback to early 2019. Just months before, my twin sister had been diagnosed with breast cancer. At the encouragement of her doctors, our family, and friends, I decided to undergo genetic testing to see if I carried the BRCA gene—a mutation known to increase the risk of breast and ovarian cancer. When my results came back positive, I wasn’t surprised. We were twins, after all.

From there, I was urged to get a mammogram. Begrudgingly, I did. Not because I was genuinely worried, but because I knew if I didn’t, I’d never hear the end of it from my loved ones. I was convinced there was no way anything would come up. But then, the mammogram detected a suspicious spot in my left breast. A biopsy was recommended.

On February 14, 2019, I underwent the procedure. Twenty-one samples later—blood, trauma, exhaustion—I still didn’t believe I had cancer. That was my sister’s battle, not mine. The next day, the call came. They had found cancer.

Fast forward—okay, a big fast forward—to early 2025. Multiple surgeries later, including a double mastectomy, three reconstructive surgeries, and a hysterectomy, I had been cancer-free for almost six years.

Then, on Monday, February 2, I found a lump in my left breast. I didn’t panic. I assumed it was a cyst or scar tissue. Conveniently, I had my six-month routine checkup with my oncologist the next day. I showed her the lump, and after examining it, she referred me to Bronson Breast Health for an ultrasound. Still, I felt fine. I didn’t think it was anything serious.

A week later, on February 10, I went in for the ultrasound. As the tech prepped me, she walked me through the process. I listened, though I was no stranger to this. As she moved the probe over the lump, photographing it from different angles, an unsettling feeling crept in. Something wasn’t right.

She left the room. Ten minutes later, she returned.

“The doctor has reviewed your ultrasound and would like to go over the results with you,” she said.

I knew that wasn’t a good sign.

She explained that the mass was suspicious. It had blood flow within it—a red flag. A biopsy was necessary. The radiologist was available and could perform it immediately if I agreed. Of course, I did.

Five samples were taken. As the doctor worked, he explained his concerns. Given my medical history, he warned that this could be a recurrence. I left the hospital with a sinking feeling. Deep down, I knew.

Three days later, on February 13, the radiologist called.

Almost six years to the day, I heard that word again.

Cancer.

Time stood still.

I listened as the doctor explained what they had found and what would happen next, but it was all a blur. When I hung up, I walked to my office, sank into my chair, and thought, How the fuck is this happening again?

I did everything I was supposed to do to keep this from coming back.

And yet, here it was.

Now, I had to tell my family. Again.

On Tuesday, February 18th, I met with my new surgeon to review my biopsy results and discuss the treatment plan. While there are still some uncertainties, the current plan includes surgery to remove the lump, followed by radiation and hormone blockers. If the HER2 test comes back positive, chemotherapy will also be necessary. If it comes back negative, chemotherapy may not be required.

On Monday, February 24th, I have an MRI scheduled to ensure the cancer hasn’t spread beyond the lump, with a primary focus on my lymph nodes. I also have an early March appointment with my plastic surgeon. Since the mass has grown between my implant and my skin, there is a risk of damaging the implant during surgery. We expect to have a surgery date within the next few weeks, but we are still waiting on additional test results.

February has been a whirlwind—not only navigating this diagnosis but also dealing with a knee sprain and knee effusion—so I’m more than ready for this month to be behind me.

I’m asking for prayers for:

My doctors—my cancer surgeon, plastic surgeon, and oncologist—that they develop a treatment plan that fully removes the cancer and helps prevent its return.

My husband and boys, who have taken this news especially hard.

My family and friends, who have already stepped up to support us in so many ways.

Everyone fighting a similar battle—you are not alone.

Your prayers, support, and encouragement mean the world to me.