It’s been almost 2 years since I was diagnosed with breast cancer, and a year and a half since my medical team declared me cancer-free.

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I was 29 years old, had just been married, and was in the final stretch of my doctorate program. Life stopped in that moment.

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I vividly remember shriveling up, trying to disappear while my husband held me, as my doctor told us that a clinical trial was my best chance at defeating this stage 3c triple-negative tumor. 

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I was among the many women who delayed their cervical cancer screenings during the pandemic, and finally got an appointment in October 2022. A few days before, I had felt a lump in my breast. I didn’t think much of it. There was no known history of breast cancer in my family and I was young. But, as chance would have, it was a cervical cancer screening appointment that ultimately led to my breast cancer diagnosis.  

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After I pointed out the lump to the Nurse Practitioner conducting my cervical cancer screening, she felt it too and referred me to a breast specialist. I called both my insurance carrier and the specialist clinic, insisting I needed to be seen within the week, and the breast specialist diagnosed the cancer soon after.

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In the weeks to come, an ultrasound, biopsy, MRI, PET scan, and mammogram (although, my dense breast tissue meant the mammogram was not as effective) all confirmed the tumor was there and had spread to a lymph node. During this diagnostic journey, I learned that my cancer was due to a BRCA 2 genetic mutation. The mutation was not as evident in my family, as it was passed down paternally for several generations, with few women to impact along the way (the main effects of BRCA 2 relate to ovarian and breast cancers).

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Had I known, I would have been in specialized hereditary cancer care and surveillance since my early 20s – but that’s the thing about family medical history, often we simply don’t know. 

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Being unaware of family medical history is a common challenge for immigrants. As someone who has moved around several times, and the first in my family to immigrate to the United States, my family history knowledge is scattered. While my doctoral research focused on genetic testing experiences, there is little to no guidance for people of “South Asian” or “Indian” heritage to get tested for cancer genes (unless they are aware of a family history). Anytime I would ask for a breast screening, being frustratingly proactive about preventative healthcare, I was told ‘You’re too young.’ In many ways, I fell through a series of cracks. 

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Within 2 weeks of being diagnosed, I was getting my first chemotherapy infusion as a part of a clinical trial for high-risk breast cancers. I had the option to delay my infusions to freeze my eggs, but chose not to. I was overwhelmed knowing how aggressive my tumor was. I spent the next three months getting infusions and MRIs. Never had I imagined I would spend my 30th birthday or my first wedding anniversary bald, nauseous, in cancer treatment. But my goal was to persevere. I was in fight mode.  

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I was incredibly fortunate that the drugs used in the clinical trial worked – in January 2023, an MRI and biopsy confirmed that the cancer was gone.

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In March 2023, I underwent a day-long surgery, a double mastectomy with reconstruction using tissue from my thighs. For four days, I recovered in the ICU. For five weeks I recovered at home, while my husband helped me re-learn how to move with a walker, emptied my surgical drains, and took care of my every need. 

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The rest of 2023 held five weeks of radiation, 13 rounds of immunotherapy infusions, and a 12-month course of pills – and many, many side effects. My skin endured severe burns from the radiation, which required intense wound care. I remember the nurse who changed my dressings each day saying that everyone missed the early signs of my brown skin burning (they were looking for ‘redness’ that one might expect on lighter complexions). My body was covered in allergic hives, a reaction to ongoing infusions. I ended up in the Emergency Room unable to breathe because the pills had greatly reduced my red blood cell count. But, despite everything, I had been declared “NED” (no evidence of disease), and I wanted to get through treatment to keep it that way.

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I am immensely grateful for my stellar medical team, loving family, and unwavering community of friends and colleagues. My husband never let me feel helpless and took on the weight of my care with grace. Somehow, he made sure I still laughed, enjoyed my hobbies, and drew strength in each moment. Now, in close surveillance care, I still hold my breath before every scan and panic at a slight bodily ache, but knowing I am not alone makes a world of difference. 

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While I may wish breast cancer never happened, it has taught me every day to be grateful, find meaning in what I do, and cherish those around me. It has undeniably shaped me and the decisions I have made since. I joined Teal Health almost right after I completed my treatment, and I do not take for granted the opportunity to help eradicate cervical cancer. 

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This Breast Cancer Awareness Month, I will be celebrating 2 years of my diagnosis – celebrating, because getting screened and identifying the cancer was the start of my journey to get rid of it. If you are behind on your routine cancer screenings, please, get screened. If you don’t know your family medical history, talk to your doctor about testing for your health needs. And if this finds you going through your own diagnosis, know that you are not alone. 

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