I was just 28, and all the statistics said I was going to die.
I was 28 years old when I found out I had the BRCA2 gene. It popped up on a saliva DNA health test — you know, those ones that you mail in that might tell you your dad isn’t your biological dad, or that you’re dating your cousin. Unexpectedly, the test picked up on my gene mutation. That was January 2019. In May, at my annual OB-GYN appointment, I casually mentioned the test to my doctor, who promptly freaked out. She made me pull up the app and show her the exact gene my results found.
“You have to get your breasts removed,” she told me.
I had never really heard of the BRCA gene, aside from Angelina Jolie having it, and thought this was a huge overreaction. No one in my family had ever had breast cancer. My doctor told me that while I was still very young to be at risk, she wanted me to think about a double mastectomy. That’s because, according to the American Cancer Society, about 13 percent of women in the general population will develop breast cancer in their lifetime — but between 55-72 percent of women with the BRCA1 and 45-69 percent of those with the BRCA2 gene will develop breast cancer by their 80s. If you have the BRCA gene, getting a preventative mastectomy may reduce your risk of developing breast cancer by as much as 90 percent.
She said I’d probably need to do it in the next five or so years. I told her I would think about it, but thought, Absolutely not.
On September 26, 2019, that same year, I rolled over in bed and a sharp pain went through my breast. When I went to touch it, I felt a golf ball-sized lump. There’s no way, I thought. I’m too young. It’s too sudden. It hurts — and Google says cancer tumors don’t hurt. They don’t grow fast. Mine wasn’t there even four hours earlier when I’d taken a shower. It couldn’t be cancer, gene or no gene.
After multiple biopsies, an MRI, a PET scan, and a lumpectomy, I was diagnosed with stage four triple-negative invasive ductal carcinoma breast cancer. It had already spread to my liver.
I was still just 28, and all the statistics said I was going to die.
Triple-negative is the hardest breast cancer to treat because it’s not driven by hormones, so you can’t be given hormone blockers to kill it. The prognosis for this type of cancer on average was about a year, and that was only if the treatment worked. If I didn’t respond to treatment, it was likely I’d be gone in six months. My particular tumor tested off the charts in aggression though, so I probably had three months.
The first time they cut out the tumor in the lumpectomy, it grew back with three new tumors in two weeks. My doctor told me she had textbooks that said that wasn’t medically possible, and yet, here we were.
It was such a cruel joke from the universe. Here I was, doing everything right: paying my dues in my career, working hard toward success. Before that, I’d gotten good grades and gone to my first choice university. I did everything to build the future that I now apparently wasn’t even going to have. My reward for all that hard work was to die of cancer while my friends were getting promoted or posting photos of their Italian vacations on Instagram. It was completely unfair. I’d spent years prior to my diagnosis stressed out about my job (which was drawing cartoons), or money, or dating, or breakups. Things that don’t even matter at the end of your life. I longed for the days I had “normal” problems.
I really didn’t have any other choice but to go along with whatever treatment options I had. I asked for the most aggressive treatment plan, knowing how unlikely it was that I’d beat this and figuring a little extra intensity wouldn’t hurt — much. I knew I would deal with the pain, anyway; I would do whatever it took.
In the meantime, I froze my eggs since chemo can cause infertility, shaved my head (did you know your hair follicles hurt from the weight of your hair when it falls out?), and got my eyebrows tattooed on (a must). Then, I spent six months in chemo combined with immunotherapy. After that, I finally had the double mastectomy that I wished every day I had just gotten preventatively when I found the gene mutation — plus had 31 radiation sessions, two reconstruction surgeries, and spent an extra two years on immunotherapy, just as a precaution.
I endured almost every single side effect of treatment. I lost my hair, my eyebrows, and my eyelashes. I gained 30 pounds because breast cancer chemo involves a lot of steroids. I got severe acid reflux (everything was too spicy for me), my vision changed due to eye dryness, I went into and back out of menopause, my fingernails turned black, the skin on my feet started falling off (didn’t hurt but it was still weird), and I lost my fingerprints — they grew back, though.
The real kicker was that after over two years on immunotherapy, the drug had overstimulated my immune system so much that my body decided to kill off my pancreas’s beta cells, which resulted in giving me type 1, insulin-dependent diabetes. To say I was exhausted after all this was an understatement.
Being in cancer treatment for two and a half years total was grueling — but it means I survived the extra two years, which is two years longer than average for my type of cancer. And then I kept living.
My super-aggressive treatment plan worked: I became cancer-free/NED (no evidence of disease) in May 2020. I learned how resilient I am, how tough I really am, and how all previous problems — “normal” problems — pale in comparison. The treatment was worth it, and almost everything reversed. Cancer is scary, exhausting, and excruciating, but absolutely nothing scares me now.
I was 12 years too young for a routine mammogram when I got cancer. No one in my family had had breast cancer because we discovered that the BRCA2 gene had been passed down by the men in my family (which almost never happens) and the risk for men is much lower. If I had gotten that double mastectomy right when I found out about my BRCA result, I would have had one or two surgeries and gotten on with my life. But I did the best with what I had at the time.
The key to surviving cancer is to be proactive. This month, while you’re wearing pink, buying pink products, and reading the latest research, make sure you’re also turning your attention inward. And don’t forget about breast cancer when October is over.
The most important thing is to know your body — check your breasts a couple of times a month, learn your family history, get anything suspicious checked out, and act preventatively. Don’t think you’re safe just because of your age. I’m literally living proof.
