Living rock-solid: Navigating MBC, financial crisis, and housing uncertainty

One week after my photography business and commercial studio was temporarily shut down for the first of several temporary closures due to COVID-19, I received a phone call that changed my life: I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Hearing those words over the phone — because in-person appointments weren’t possible — was surreal. I couldn’t process it. My mind immediately went to my five children, who were 5, 8, 10, 18, and 22 at the time. How would I tell them? How would we manage?

The first signs

The journey started in February, when I attended a funeral for a friend from the gym who had passed away from breast cancer at only 33 years old. That night, I noticed an itch. When I scratched it, I discovered a pea-sized lump. Alarmed, I visited my doctor the next day. She examined the lump and another one nearby, which together measured 1.5 cm. They didn’t seem concerning to her, especially as I was only 42 years old. She thought they might be cysts, but I pressed for further testing. I had just said goodbye to a friend almost 10 years younger than me — I wasn’t willing to take any chances.

The next few weeks were filled with appointments: a mammogram, an ultrasound, and, finally, a biopsy. The mammogram came back “clear,” but the ultrasound revealed something suspicious. It turns out I have dense breasts, a condition I hadn’t even heard of before. Dense tissue can hide cancer on mammograms, making ultrasounds critical in some cases.

Waiting for the biopsy results was agonizing. I tried to keep busy, clinging to the hope that “no news is good news.” But delays caused by my doctor being away and pandemic backlogs stretched the waiting period of five weeks into what felt like an eternity. When the results finally came in, they confirmed my worst fears: I had breast cancer.

Racing against time

Everything happened quickly after that. My diagnosis of stage II cancer led to surgery 10 days later in April. Because of COVID-19 restrictions, the medical team pushed for surgery as soon as possible, but options were limited. I wanted a double mastectomy to reduce future risk, but, given the short supply of ventilators available, there were restrictions on the kinds of surgeries performed, and only surgeries deemed medically necessary were permitted. My only options were a lumpectomy and radiation or a single mastectomy.

I began chemotherapy in June 2020, continuing through October, followed by a month-long break and three weeks of radiation. I also underwent immunotherapy, a therapy which uses medicine to help the body’s own immune system to recognize and destroy cancer cells, until August 2021. Due to side effects from treatment, I developed heart complications and was introduced to an oncology cardiologist who became a vital part of my care team.

In August 2021, after my final surgery, my oncologist declared that I had no evidence of disease (NED). We celebrated with a COVID-safe gathering of friends and family — a moment I’ll never forget. I believed the toughest year and a half of my life was over.

Another blow

Just as I began rebuilding my life, I was set back again. In August 2022, days before a long-awaited family trip to Prince Edward Island, I ended up in the ER with unusual symptoms  which I thought were due to heat stroke. A CT scan revealed that my breast cancer had returned, this time in my brain. I was now considered to have stage IV, also known as metastatic, breast cancer.

Despite the news, I clung to any positive news or sign. My neurosurgeon reassured me that the lesion was operable. A week later, I underwent brain surgery. The procedure was successful, and I followed it with five rounds of brain radiation. Those months were some of the hardest, but they also reinforced my resolve to live life to the fullest.

Pursuing dreams

After my initial breast cancer treatment was completed, I decided to pursue a dream I’d had since I was a teenager: modeling. If cancer and COVID-19 taught me anything, it’s that life is short, and we need to chase our dreams. I signed with a talent agency and filmed two commercials in 2022, even appearing alongside my youngest daughter in one. Both roles had me portraying a cancer patient — a reflection of my reality but also a testament to my resilience.

In March 2023, my routine brain scan revealed a recurrence in the same area. This time, I was mentally prepared for the five rounds of radiation that followed. I also ticked a bucket list item off my dream list: I flew for the first time as an adult to visit my best friend in Alberta. Together, we explored the breathtaking beauty of Lake Louise and Moraine Lake. That trip was healing in ways I can hardly even describe. Being able to fulfill my dream of seeing these mountains made me feel at peace. I experienced a calmness I had craved, needed even.

New challenges and a viral video

Returning home in June, routine scans revealed spots on my liver. I restarted indefinite chemotherapy in July, every three weeks. Around the same time, I made the heart-wrenching decision to permanently close my photography studio.

Then came another blow: after 10 years of renting our home, our landlords decided to sell, leaving my family scrambling to find affordable housing.

With me unemployed and ineligible for assistance because I was self-employed, I knew we were going to have a difficult time finding a new home. We applied for subsidized housing, but the waiting list was years long. We have family an hour east of us, but I didn’t want to move away from my medical team and, thinking about all my children have been through, the last thing I wanted to do is move them from their community – our community, our village.

Desperate, I turned to social media, creating a video about our situation that quickly went viral. The outpouring of support led to interviews with local news outlets, radio stations, and SiriusXM Canada Talks. I held onto the hope that someone would see our story and help.

By November, my prayers were answered. A longtime friend reached out to say her parents had a rental property and wanted to help. It was a Christmas miracle, made even sweeter by news that my chemo was working — my liver lesions had shrunk by half, and my brain scans were stable.

A new chapter

We moved into our new home in January 2024, surrounded by 10 acres of peaceful nature. I focused on getting settled and concentrated on healing, and the stress began to ease. In February, scans confirmed I was NED — no evidence of disease. It felt like a fresh start.

But cancer doesn’t come with guarantees. In May, I underwent a second brain surgery for necrosis (dead tissue) caused by radiation. Although complications like a pulmonary embolism and a spinal fluid leak extended my hospital stay, I recovered just in time to celebrate my children’s milestones. Watching my son graduate from eighth grade and my youngest daughter perform in her first talent show reminded me why I fight so hard.

Today, I continue treatment with Enhertu, a tough chemo that’s keeping me stable. Despite the challenges, I feel strong. I’ve returned to strength training and exercise, finding comfort in activities that support my mental health.

Carpe diem

Cancer has taught me that mindset is everything. It’s in life’s hardest moments that you discover your true tribe — the people who stand by you through the highs and lows. Hold onto those people tightly.

I’ve also learned the importance of staying true to yourself. Forget what others think — live authentically and boldly. After all, you only live once.