Soap, Scans, and Remission: My Unexpected Journey

In late March of 2023, I was taking a shower and having such a hard time with my body wash—it just would not come out. Out of pure frustration, I grabbed my husband’s bar of soap and started washing, when I felt something in my right breast. What the hell is that?

I jumped out of the shower and screamed for my husband to come feel my breast. Well, after realizing I wasn't in the mood, he touched it and got a really weird look. Yep, he felt it too.

The next morning, I called my doctor, and they made an appointment very quickly. I went down the next day: yes, there is a lump. Now what? They scheduled me for a mammogram. Yes, I was overdue for one; it had been two years.

My appointment was within a week, so I was freaking out every day, always imagining the worst-case scenario. Still, I went to work and kept it to myself—no sense in worrying anyone else.

I went for my mammogram and the technician couldn’t tell me anything, but she was such a sweet lady, making me feel super comfortable even though I was sweating bullets (a strict "no deodorant" policy is a must for those). They told me they had to send the scans off to get analyzed. How long does that take?

Well, not too long, because by the time I got home, I logged onto MyChart and there it was: a huge lump accompanied by all these terrifying technical terms. Naturally, I turned to Google, which confirmed this did not look good.

Next, I was scheduled for a biopsy, and I had no idea what to expect. I laid on a bed while the doctor injected me with all kinds of numbing medicine, and I didn’t feel a thing. The waiting for those results, however, was excruciating.

I checked MyChart at least ten times a day for a week until the results finally popped up. I scanned for the word Benign—where is it? Wait, what? Malignant? I had to read it over and over, still desperately searching for a hidden Benign.

I was officially diagnosed with breast cancer on April 26, 2023.

I cried and cried that day, but I knew I had to pull up my big girl panties and face whatever was coming at me.

I met with the surgeon and he explained everything. Initially, I was supposed to have surgery and radiation, but my genetic testing showed a 31% chance of recurrence, so we scratched that brilliant idea. Instead, I would have surgery to remove the tumor, followed by chemotherapy and then radiation.

Scared, but at least relieved to have a treatment plan.

Surgery was scheduled, and it turns out my cancer had metastasized. I had 15 lymph nodes removed, and 4 were cancerous.

Stage 3 breast cancer.

I had my port put in right after, and chemo was officially on the calendar. I had to tango with the "Red Devil" 4 times over an eight-week period, followed by 16 weekly treatments, and capped off with 31 radiation treatments.

Over the next 6 months, I lost my hair—which honestly proved I actually looked really good bald—and endured "cancer fog" every weekend.

It was a wild weekly routine: I went for treatments on Wednesday, spent Thursday bouncing off the walls from a massive steroid dose (ready to vacuum the ceiling), but by Friday evening I was sliding right into my cancer fog. Saturdays were a complete blur, and by Sunday at dinnertime, I was miraculously back and ready for work on Monday.

Yes, I worked throughout my entire treatment... well, except for the radiation phase.

Radiation began in January, and I stayed at Hope House since the treatments were daily and an hour and a half away from home. I would stay there for the week and drive home on the weekends.

It has been 3 years now, I am officially in remission, and I plan on staying right here. Looking back, going through all of that changes you in ways you never expect. But today, I carry forward a deep sense of gratitude for every ordinary, beautiful day—and a profound appreciation for how precious normal life truly is.

-Jackie