Official Diagnosis

The weekend was impossible to get through, trying to remain positive that perhaps the Radiologist was wrong but knowing deep down that this cancer has been growing inside me for nearly three years. 

I went back through my notes in Mychart from my past appointments thinking maybe I missed something…NOPE. Just good ‘ol “DENSE BREAST TISSUE” everywhere.

I then did the thing that everyone tells you not to do…I went onto the Internet.

I had the Radiologist’s notes from the biopsy so I just wanted to see what the literature said, like what my odds were.

Well, I found a study that said “axillary lymph node cortical thickness > 3 mm is a reliable predictor of nodal metastatic involvement.”  My axillary lymph node cortical thickness was 5 mm per the Radiology report.

“Shit, it's metastatic breast cancer.” I sobbed.

Tyler took the phone from my hand, “Let me see this.”

“Don’t look on the internet anymore!  Do I need to hide your phone?” Tyler said 

I called my parents crying, my mom said, “whatever it is, we’ll get through this.”

She then told Tyler to take away or hide my phone.  

At the end of my appointment on Thursday they said I should have the results by Tuesday but I keep checking my email and Mychart for notification starting Monday morning.  

Sure enough, by Monday afternoon I got a notification that there were new results for me to view.

“Okay, Ashley.  It’s better to know the truth.” I thought to myself

I loaded the results on my phone with my heart beating so loudly my head was throbbing.

“FINAL DIAGNOSIS. A. Breast, Left 2 o’clock: Needle Core Biopsy: Invasive duct carcinoma, Nottingham grade 2, 19 mm in greatest dimension. B. Breast, Left, 12 o’clock: Needle Core Biopsy: Invasive ductal carcinoma, Nottingham grade 2, 3 mm in greatest length.”

“NOOOOOOOO. NO. NO. NO. THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING!” I screamed so loudly in my head.

I scrolled down for more information.

“Test(s) Performed: Estrogen Receptor (ER) Status: Positive (greater than 10% of cells demonstrated nuclear positivity). Percentage of Cells with Nuclear Positivity: 81-90%;  Progesterone Receptor (PgR) Status: Positive (Percentage of Cells with Nuclear Positivity: 5%); HER2 by Immunohistochemistry: Positive (Score 3+). Percentage of Cells with Uniform Intense Complete Membrane Staining: 90%.”

“TRIPLE POSITIVE?!” I thought

I ran down the stairs to Tyler’s office.  “My results are posted,” I said to Tyler softly before I started sobbing.

“What does it say?” Tyler asked joining me on the couch

“It’s cancer, a more aggressive form. So like Reverse Flash. The cancer also tested positive for Estrogen, Progesterone and HER2” I said, showing Tyler my phone which still had the results up.

Tyler took the phone from my hand while laying his other arm around me to comfort me.

I sobbed for quite a while, like ugly crying with snot running from my nose and my face saturated in tears.  

With tears in his eyes, Tyler reassured me in a calm, loving voice,  “We are going to get through this, it’ll be tough but we will get through this.”

In my head I thought, “What if I don’t get through it? What if I’m dying? What if I don’t get to grow old with you and travel the world? What if I don’t get to see our babies reach their milestones? Pursue their dreams? Oh, god what about the grandchildren I promised I would spoil and love from the depths of my heart??” I sobbed harder.

Then another emotion took over, ANGER, I was both deeply sad and ANGRY.  

“WHY COULDN’T THEY HAVE DONE AN MRI IN FEBRUARY OF 2019? WHY DIDN’T I GET MORE FOLLOW-UP? HOW COULD MY DOCTOR HAVE SAID MY BREAST EXAM WAS NORMAL IN NOVEMBER? WHY DOES IT FEEL LIKE THE SAME HEALTH CARE SYSTEM I WORKED IN, DIDN’T WORK FOR ME?” I thought.

“I AM MAD TYLER.  I AM REALLY MAD!” I said out loud to Tyler in between my sobs

“WHAT IF THIS KILLS ME? WHAT IF THIS ALL COULD HAVE BEEN AVOIDED IF THEY HAD CAUGHT IT FEBRUARY 2019 AND I WOULD HAVE HAD MINIMAL TREATMENT AT THAT TIME. THE CANCER HAS HAD ALMOST THREE YEARS TO GROW!!! ”  I shouted even louder to Tyler 

“I know, I know.” Tyler said while crying

“Let's not go to the worst case scenario right away, we need more info.” Tyler pleaded with me

I called my college roommate, Michelle who is a doctor in Minnesota.  She always has had the ability to talk me down.  To help me see things from a doctor’s perspective.

“Michelle!” I said while crying, “The results were posted! It’s cancer!”

Michelle asked for all the information, talking in a calm, reassuring voice.

“How could this happen Michelle?  How could I have been overlooked like this?  I did the right thing, I advocated for myself.  How did this take so long?” I asked her

Michelle said, “Ash, it’s hard when you see so many patients each day to know which patients know what they know.  If you were my patient, I would know that you know your body and you have a medical background.  I would have made sure you came back in 6 months for follow-up and ordered every test under the sun until we figured it out.”

“What do I do now?” I said

“Well, you jump in line.  You do whatever it takes to jump ahead and get treatment ASAP. We all have connections that can get you ahead, can get you 2nd and 3rd opinions.  Take Ellen up on U Chicago Medicine (UCM).  I can ask my friend in California. Don’t give up. You advocate for yourself and when you get tired, you let us advocate for you.  You get the doctors to realize that YOU KNOW YOUR BODY. I can be involved in any conversation you have with the doctors.  I can be available by phone, whenever!” Michelle said firmly

“Thank you Michelle.  I love you.” I said

“I love you too.” She said as we hung up the phone

“I need to let my doctors know that I know what I know.  I need them to feel a connection to me. I need them to see that I am their sister, daughter, friend, etc.” I thought after I hung up the phone with Michelle

I sat down at my computer and wrote a letter to my healthcare team.

Four years later...

You know what I see when I read back what I wrote four years ago?I don’t just see the fear or the anger or the shock. I see something else now—something I couldn’t recognize then.

I see my husband Tyler holding me together when I was falling apart. I see the way his arms wrapped around me like a lifeline, the way his voice stayed steady even when his own eyes were full of tears. I see the love that sat with me in the darkest moment of my life.

And I see my best friend Michelle stepping in with a pep talk I didn’t even know I needed. Her calm. Her clarity. Her fierce belief in me when I couldn’t find any for myself. I see someone who refused to let me face this alone, who knew exactly how to lift me without dismissing my pain.

Looking back now, I don’t just see the fear—I see the support that held me. I see the beginnings of the community that carried me through every appointment, every scan, every sleepless night.

Four years later, what stands out the most isn’t the diagnosis. It’s the love.

It’s the people who showed up.It’s the hands that held me when my world shook. It’s the voices that reminded me who I was when I felt lost.

That’s what I see now. Because it’s not just a story about cancer—it’s a story about the people who helped me survive it.