About me
My name is Hannah. I am a wife, sister, daughter, step mom, dog mom, paramedic, firefighter, and a very blessed friend of an army of incredible people. I am 32 and was diagnosed at age 31.

My breast cancer story
The body is a vessel for the soul. It gives us a place to reside and flourish and do incredible things. As someone who has always worked diligently to make my vessel a good home, finding out that this very vessel, the one I’d spent my whole life working hard to protect and strengthen and nourish, was now fighting against me, has been a challenge like none I could have ever imagined.

When I first found the lump in my breast, I actually giggled to myself, “it couldn’t possibly be breast cancer, I barely have any breasts!” It wasn’t until a few weeks later, when I found the second lump under my arm, that the reality began to feel a lot more real.

Following an ultrasound ordered by my family doctor, I received a phone call informing me that the results “didn’t really look like cancer” and that, “because of my age, it very likely isn’t anything to worry about”. I thought to myself during a brief pause on the phone line, “not very likely, but, still very possible?” Just before hanging up the phone my doctor said, “well I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have a biopsy done anyway”.

To think that someone, anyone, can slip through the cracks so silently like I almost did is a terrifying thought, but it happens. If there is one take away I can give you from this journey, it’s to put yourself and your health above all. Listen to your gut, listen to your body, and push for what you need, because you only get one vessel – protect it and advocate for it like your life depends on it, because it does.

The beginning days after diagnosis involved an insane number of questions to be answered, decisions to be made, and all of them within what felt like the shortest days of my life. Things I hadn’t necessarily ever thought about in great detail were now going to be the choices that would change my life, my body and my mind, forever.

The next month was spent explaining to my friends and family the immensely small amount of what I knew was about to happen to me in the least scary way I could muster up. Although I knew so little about what the future held, the amount of love and support that followed these difficult conversations was overwhelming. With these incredible people, this unbeatable army beside me, I was fearless. I knew that this cancer had its work cut out for it, and it was about to get a major ass-kicking.

I expected to push through and complete my treatments, followed by a quick recovery period and then be back to my normal self again. However, the reality of this journey has been quite different. The recovery process has been slow and frustrating at times, and my “ass-kicking” skills maybe weren’t as ready for this challenge as I’d initially hoped.

Sometimes I think that the hardest part of this whole thing is right now, after treatment. After the fertility treatments, and the chemotherapy, and the radiation, and the surgeries and the infusions. The hard part is in this long and scary limbo of awaiting my final scans and the results that come with them, all while staying optimistic and trying to put myself back together. The one thing they don’t tell you when you’re first diagnosed with cancer is that you will leave behind the life you had prior to your diagnosis, and you’ll learn to navigate through a very different one. The relationship you have with your body, your hormones, your self image, your physical abilities, your mental clarity, your outlook on life. You begin to live life through a very different lens.

As I try and navigate the long-term side effects that I’ve been struggling with and rebuild a relationship with my body, each and every day brings with it new challenges. Many of these struggles are invisible, which makes it hard for others to understand. Some are physical and obvious, but others have been especially challenging, both mentally and emotionally, in ways I can’t explain.

For a lot of people who are like me, and like most other people who live the life of a first responder, we are well versed in caring for others, but not so great when it comes to ensuring we are advocating the same for ourselves. This journey has shown me the necessity of slowing the heck down and actually learning to listen to my body. Give it what it’s asking for, be kind, be gentle, and be understanding. My body went to war against itself, and sometimes my mind forgets just how difficult that was, still is, and likely will be for the foreseeable future. I fight for my health every day in ways most people don’t understand, but I know with every ounce of my being, I’m not alone through any of it, I never have been, and for that I am forever grateful.

Cancer is not a battle we fight alone, it takes an army. With continued love and support for one another, we are a fucking army. Her fight is our fight.