Hey everyone,
I’m new here, and to be honest, I’m still catching my breath from the last 10 months. But I feel that I am finally able to tell my story.
This journey has been everything—fast, terrifying, confusing, frustrating, sometimes hopeful, sometimes heartbreaking… and almost never predictable. I wanted to share my story because maybe someone out there is feeling the same way—and it helps to know we’re not alone in this chaos.
It all started on September 14, 2024—just a regular annual mammogram. I wasn’t expecting anything unusual. But then they found two lumps in my left breast. In that instant, my stomach dropped. I didn’t even have time to panic properly—things moved fast. I was suddenly juggling 1 to 3 appointments a week. Ultrasounds, MRIs, biopsies… I felt like I was just being passed from room to room, barely catching my breath. It was like I got on a train that never stopped.
By November, I was heading into surgery for a lumpectomy. The fear was real, but I was held up by my support team—my partner and my son were incredible. They were there for every appointment, every teary-eyed conversation, every tough moment. I honestly don’t know how I would’ve managed without them.
After the surgery, everything slowed down—but not in a peaceful way. More like, “Okay, now what?” kind of slow. That’s when the physical discomfort really kicked in. I was told to wear a bra and apply heat a few times a day to help with the swelling. But even the best bras felt like sandpaper. Everything rubbed, everything irritated. I felt raw—physically and emotionally.
Eventually, the swelling started to ease. That’s when I noticed a lump, about the size of a quarter, right near the incision. Cue the anxiety again. I saw my doctor at the cancer clinic on January 27, 2025. She examined me and didn’t feel anything concerning—no cording, no red flags. She said it was fine. But something in me still felt off, so I followed up with my family doctor a few days later, on January 30. He thought it was likely scarring, given the location under the incision. Still, no one seemed alarmed.
Then—this part still freaks me out—I woke up that night to find my bed covered in blood. I was in full panic mode, checking everywhere on my body, but I couldn’t find the source. The next morning, I got dressed without thinking—white shirt, no bra—and sat down for coffee with my partner. That’s when he noticed blood again. This time, it was coming from my nipple.
I bolted to my family doctor. He acted fast and got me an urgent ultrasound. I got a call first thing Monday morning: “How soon can you get here?” During the ultrasound, my nipple started bleeding again—just from the pressure of the scan. At that point, I was terrified. What else could possibly go wrong?
The results showed a hematoma in the surgical bed, extending toward my nipple. My body had been holding onto blood for weeks without me knowing. I was referred back to the surgeon, who explained that because of the location, it couldn’t be drained with a needle—too close to the ducts and glands. He gave me two choices: go back in for surgery to drain it, or wait it out and let my body absorb it on its own. After everything I’d already been through, I couldn’t bear the thought of another operation. So, I chose to wait.
At least I finally had an answer—and a new household use for maxi pad liners. (Not joking—they were lifesavers for the bleeding.)
While all of this was happening—and yes, still bleeding from my nipple—I also started radiation treatment. To be honest, I was really nervous about it. The idea of daily sessions, the unknowns of what it would feel like, whether it would hurt—it was a lot. But I have to say, the staff made all the difference. They were kind, calm, and incredibly supportive. The process itself turned out to be… almost relaxing in a weird way. Lying there quietly for a few minutes each day, knowing we were actively doing something to fight the cancer—it brought a strange kind of peace.
It took about a month for the seepage to stop, and a couple more months before the hematoma finally went down. That whole time, I kept thinking, “Okay, this has to be the last hurdle. Surely things will settle now.”
But nope.
Just as things started to feel somewhat normal again, I was hit with a new issue—sharp, intense nerve pain in my nipple and areola. I’m talking sudden, breath-stealing jolts of pain that came out of nowhere. And just like that, I was back in that familiar place of fear and frustration.
I saw both my family doctor and my oncologist at the cancer clinic, and they both agreed: it was time to go back to the surgeon again. So now… I wait. Again.
This experience has taught me a lot—mainly that healing isn’t linear, and emotions don’t follow a neat timeline. There were moments of hope, even laughter. There were also moments of deep fear, anger, and just plain exhaustion. Some days I felt strong, other days I felt like I was falling apart. I know I rambled a bit here but once I started, I could feel myself getting lighter. I guess this was a way for me to start being whole and healing
I’m still here. Still holding on. Still riding this roller coaster—just like so many of you.
Thanks for letting me share. It helps just being able to talk about it with people who get it.
