When the tables turn: My journey with stage 3B triple-negative breast cancer as a health care leader, wife and mom

I’ve spent my entire career supporting the health care industry—leading, problem-solving, designing and budgeting; working to help construct health care spaces to improve the healing and wellness of others. I have sat in on countless meetings about patient-centered care. But nothing could have prepared me for the moment I became the patient when I was diagnosed with stage 3B triple-negative breast cancer. I was four months late for my annual mammogram. I had no signs or symptoms of breast cancer let alone imagined such a high-stage diagnosis. Due to the density of my breasts, I could not feel the tumor which was over 2cm. Finding out I had cancer—and that it had spread to three lymph nodes— was shocking.

Triple-negative. That label hit hard. I remember sitting in stunned silence as my doctor explained what it meant—hearing terms like “aggressive,” “less treatment options,” “fast-moving.” I was not just facing cancer—I was facing one of its most relentless forms, and I was not prepared.

At the time, I was juggling a new and demanding leadership role, being a wife, and raising two teenagers. Our lives were full of sports schedules, college applications, chaotic mornings and late-night dinners.  Suddenly, everything shifted. Doctor visits, chemotherapy and surgeries became part of our new normal.

Honestly, there were days I did not feel strong. But I knew I had no choice but to face this head-on, not just for me, but for my family. My husband was an unwavering partner—calm, kind and quietly fierce in his support. Together, we made a conscious decision: to be open with our children, to create space for honesty, and yes, even for laughter.

They saw me bald, tired and scared, but they also saw me fight. And through it all, we talked. A lot. About fear, about resilience, about what really matters. I did not sugarcoat things, but I did not let cancer steal our joy either. If anything, we found more of it in the little thing’s family movie nights, inside jokes and long hugs that meant more than words.

Professionally, this experience cracked me open in a way I did not expect. I thought I understood the patient’s perspective. I did not. Not really. Now, I understand the disorientation of walking into an appointment and forgetting every question I meant to ask. The way vulnerability creeps in when you put on a hospital gown. The weight of waiting. The quiet dignity it takes just to show up repeatedly.

This journey has reshaped how I lead in health care. It is no longer about metrics and outcomes it is about moments. A kind nurse who held my hand. A front-desk staff member who remembered my name. A doctor who did not rush. Those human moments make all the difference.

On Thursday, May 1st I completed my last of 16 rounds of chemotherapy. I have had it easy with chemo and have been able to keep my workouts and healthy eating habits. I have had few side effects but the mental piece for me has been where I struggle. Questions like, will the chemo get it all? Will this come back, and could I die? My next milestone will be surgery on June 6th for a bilateral mastectomy, radiation and then reconstruction.

I’m still healing—physically, emotionally, and spiritually. But I carry forward a new sense of perspective and purpose. I want to serve as a bridge between health care systems and the real people they care for—people like me, like you, like my own children. I also want to help remind everyone that routine screening and early detection is key. Over 40% of women out there are like me and have سینه های متراکم, which puts you at higher risk for breast cancer. I found hope through my nurse navigator who connected me with preventcancer.org which allowed me to find women like me with a similar diagnosis who are thriving.

Cancer has changed me. It softened the hard edges, deepened my empathy, and reminded me what matters most. And if even one person finds comfort in this article and is a reminder for others that early detection is key, feeling recognized or seen while on their own breast cancer journey, then it will all be worth the telling.