What It’s Like to Get Stage 4 Breast Cancer at 37

I’ve always been a private person. My family will tell you, “She has so much in the vault!”

So it’s funny for me to share my story like this. A lot has changed.

I can still remember every detail of the day I was diagnosed with Stage 4 breast cancer. It was February 22, 2022, and I was 37 years old. I remember waking up with a headache, but I didn’t think anything of it. I went into work — I’m a senior revenue cycle manager, and I work with physician practices, and at the time I was working in-person at a practice. Something just didn’t feel right, so I asked the medical assistant to check my blood pressure.

My blood pressure was 160 over 100. (Editor’s note: normal blood pressure for most adults is less than 120 over less than 80, according to the National Institute on Aging.) So now my blood pressure was really high, I had this headache, and I had tingling in my arm, and I knew I had to run over to urgent care. When I got there, my blood pressure was even higher, and they told me I had to go to the hospital.

Keep in mind, this is all on my lunch break. And the first thing I said to them was, “Does this really have to be done right now? Because I need to pick up my kids from school.”

And they said, “Yes. We want to call you an ambulance, that’s how serious this is.” That was when I called my husband and told him what was going on, asked him if he could pick up our three kids (ages 18, 11, and 10 now).

When I got to the hospital, they ran some tests. My blood work came back fine, but they told me they wanted to take a chest X-ray. As soon they said that, I knew something was going on.

I get the X-ray and the doctor calls me in. He was younger, I could tell he was new. He was shaking with the paper in his hand. And he says, “We found a mass in your breast.”

I was pretty calm in the moment, but I just couldn’t believe it. I thought he was going to say, “Oh, you have anxiety. It’s stress-related.” You think of all the things it could possibly be, but you never think it’s going to be cancer.

I followed up with that same hospital for the next steps — they wanted to do an ultrasound, a mammogram, and a biopsy, all that same week. I was talking to a new doctor there, and he immediately wanted to do surgery, but I work in the medical field. I knew I should be getting a PET scan and probably an MRI, in addition to another CAT scan, before we got to surgery. (Editor’s note: a PET scan is an imaging test that looks at the metabolic function of your tissues and organs. It is often used to detect cancer and determine whether it has spread, per Mayo Clinic.)

But when I asked about the PET scan, he told me my insurance wouldn’t cover it. But I had already checked with my insurance and I knew it was a covered benefit.

I don’t know what he was thinking. Was it that he didn’t want to take the time to do the authorization or did he not have the staff in place to do it? Or was it because I’m Black, and he just assumed that I didn’t have good insurance? I hate to say that, but we all know it’s there.

And on top of all that, there was just no empathy for me. I get it, they deal with this all day long, but I was just diagnosed with cancer. I was a bit annoyed with his bedside manner. Can you just ask me if I’m OK?

I just knew that this wasn’t the care I needed, so I got a second opinion. And at the next provider’s office, I spoke with a nurse navigator, and the first thing she said to me was, “Are you OK?”  They asked if I needed help with my children and how my children and spouse were dealing with the diagnosis. It was just a totally different experience.

They got me the scans I needed to confirm the diagnosis, and they’re also the ones who found that the cancer had already spread to other spots. There were three masses in my breast, but it was also in my lymph nodes, my ribs, my hips, my shoulder, and my neck.

The first doctor wanted me to get surgery right away, but my new doctors told me I wasn’t even a candidate for surgery. There was no point to operating on my breast when it had spread to so many places. I think it was my medical background that empowered me to get a second opinion, but I also just had a gut feeling and I acted on it. And I probably wouldn’t be sitting here today if I allowed that first provider to do surgery on me.

I started chemotherapy once a week to shrink the masses down. I’ve improved since, so now I get it once every three weeks, and I’m also getting injections and taking an oral medication. My goal is to get to remission, and I know I’m going to get to that place where I can ring that bell and say, “This is my last chemotherapy session.”

It hasn’t been easy. I have lost fingernails from the chemo, I’ve lost toenails, I lost my hair. The neuropathy was a nightmare, this tingling and itching in my hands and feet. I had to wear mittens and booties with ice packs in them, because that was the only thing that would calm it down. I also lost weight, had vomiting and diarrhea. How can I forget how fatigued I was and am, even till this day? At one point all I could taste was metal, which is also a side effect of chemo.

And there were times when I felt hopeless. I prayed a lot, and I leaned on my husband a lot. He just kept reminding me that we weren’t going to let cancer win.

I had to push myself to stay present with my family though, especially my kids. One time, I got sick and had to stay in the hospital for two days — not COVID, not RSV, just a regular cold that the cancer made worse. After that, I was scared to go out again. I didn’t even want to go to the grocery store.

But I saw how it affected my kids and it broke my heart. My son plays basketball at his high school, and I was streaming his games online instead of going in-person, but I think physical presence means a lot to my kids. Once I realized that, I started to get more involved, coming to games and wearing a face mask. I think just being present made things better for them. Now I’m not missing anything. I’m going to be there because my family means the world to me.

But at the same time, I realized I had to get more vulnerable. I had been ashamed at my diagnosis, because I thought having cancer was going to disable me, so I wasn’t going to be able to do everything I used to. I still have trouble letting myself rest, even through the chemo, because I want to show I’m still strong. I can still do it. That’s just how I’ve always been.

The more I opened up about it and let other people help, though, the better I felt. My family even threw me a fundraiser event, which I initially didn’t want because I didn’t want people to feel sorry for me. But eventually we did it, and we had 212 people show up, even people I didn’t know who just wanted to help and support. I couldn’t believe it. They had something like 60-plus raffle baskets they auctioned off.

So with all of that, I felt like it was time to open up and talk about everything, even though I’m such a private person. I feel like if I can give back just by talking or giving advice, then you know what? I’ll do it.

And the advice I’d give to other Black women especially is, first of all, if something doesn’t feel right, go with your gut and get it checked out. Don’t wait. And second, you have to take care of yourself first.  If you don’t take care of yourself, how can you take care of anyone else? To be honest, I was not taking care of myself. Yes, I was 37, so I wasn’t due to start getting mammograms yet, but I wasn’t a healthy person. I didn’t eat healthy and I didn’t exercise.

My suggestion to other Black women would be to make healthier choices by eating better, by exercising every day. It only takes a few minutes to take a walk. Even now, I have a desk cycle for exercise, because I sit behind a desk all day. Every little bit counts. As Black women, we have to do better for ourselves and for our families.

When people ask me how I feel now, it’s like, “I woke up to see another day, and I’m thankful for that.” I can deal with the chemo side effects, I can deal with all of it, as long as I’m here to see another day and see my husband off to work. As long as I’m here to see my kids off to school, I’m good.

As told to Maggie Ryan

Before you go, shop these thoughtful gifts for breast cancer patients and survivors: