It was just an ordinary Thursday morning, breakfast with my daughter. But in an instant, my world collapsed. I had undergone a biopsy a week earlier for a growing lump in my breast. When I accessed the test results on the hospital portal, the words jumped off the screen: Invasive ductal carcinoma. I read it again. And again. My heart sank. I had cancer.

Rewind four months to January 2022. I noticed an odd itch on my breast and discovered a lump. A mammogram revealed a suspicious spot, prompting further investigation. Another mammogram was scheduled, and I received the results on the morning I was due to travel to Morocco to complete my adoption. The report gave a BIRADS 4A rating, meaning a low chance of cancer (2-10%). The recommendation was to biopsy the lump, and the hospital booking office told me I wouldn’t get an appointment for at least eight weeks. With that in mind, I felt comfortable proceeding with my travel plans to gain custody of my daughter.

Looking back, I’m amazed at how I managed to get through the adoption process with the looming fear of a cancer diagnosis. I chose to have testing done in Morocco, and the results came back negative for malignancy. I believed I was cancer-free and healthy.

After returning home, I scheduled my biopsy. I felt something wasn’t right. The lump had grown, and now I had two small lumps in my armpit.

That Thursday morning, when the cancer diagnosis was confirmed, I was in shock. I took a few minutes and cried silently in the bathroom. I didn’t want my daughter to see me fall apart. I then called a good friend to share the news. She understood the pain all too well having lost her mother to breast cancer when she was a teenager. For the sake of my daughter, I wanted to have as normal a day as possible. I took her on our usual morning walk, stopping at the water park, trying desperately to keep it together. All I could think about was her. Just three months after adopting her, I was now facing breast cancer. It felt unfair.

The first few days after the diagnosis were the hardest. Processing the news while trying to bond with my newly adopted daughter felt like an impossible balancing act. I was navigating the healthcare system and doing my own research, but the overwhelming emotions of anger mixed with anxiety persistently overpowered my thoughts. How could this be happening now? I had waited so many years to become a mother, only to face breast cancer. My daughter had already lost her birth parents, and now I feared she might lose me to or worse, I wouldn’t live long enough to see her grow up. These fears left me feeling hopeless.

When the initial shock wore off, I channeled that anger and fear into what I do best, researching and executing a plan. One friend gave me some tough love and said “it’s completely normal to feel sad, angry, and scared. But don’t let yourself stay there for too long because now, it’s time to fight”. With those words, I was determined to give myself the best chances of survival and stay healthy for my daughter.

Thursday, June 15th, marked the day everything changed. It symbolizes the beginning of a new chapter in my life. As I sit here writing this, feelings of nostalgia surface and I can confidently say that chapter of my life is defined by strength and resilience.