Heather Ouida learned she had breast cancer in May 2024. This is her story in her own words.
I was celebrating a friend’s 50th birthday in Las Vegas when I learned I had breast cancer.
What I didn’t know at the time of my breast cancer diagnosis was that the expected lumpectomy in June to treat my early-stage cancer in one breast would soon turn into a double mastectomy on July 10 to treat a more invasive cancer found in my right breast.
I didn’t know that I would find out about the other mass while walking into my son Nicky‘s high school graduation brunch. I didn’t know that the type of invasive cancer would then be confirmed late at night on a family trip to Hawaii, in the Honolulu airport a few weeks later.
I didn’t know that I would instantly be part of a fierce and brave community of breast cancer survivors who would welcome me with kindness and empower me with knowledge.
I didn’t know that my brilliant radiologist friend, Pam, would comfort me with her ability to cut through the noise and get right to the point.
I didn’t know I’d volunteer to be part of three research studies to hopefully help other women with breast cancer. I didn’t know I would be honoring in a more intimate way, the beautiful souls who came before me and lost their lives to cancer.
I didn’t know that the day I joyfully posted a picture of me in a bikini four weeks post-mastectomy, thinking this was the end of my breast cancer journey, with the caption “Post mastectomy doesn’t mean you’re broken. It just means your armor looks a little different,” that I would find out later that day that based on my latest pathology report would need to start chemotherapy the following week, followed by radiation.
I definitely didn’t know I would decide to share my breast cancer story. I didn’t know I would commit to learning as much as possible about not only breast cancer, but early detection, in hopes that I could eventually help other women.
I didn’t know that my husband, who started out nervous and anxious, would end up sleeping in a chair next to me in the hospital for three days straight after my mastectomy. He managed IVs, took fastidious notes and held my hand, a ritual he would continue during my chemotherapy treatments.
I didn’t know the power of my friends, family and work colleagues near and far, being there for me after my breast cancer diagnosis, every step of the way. I didn’t know the meaning of “a warrior never fights alone” until I never felt alone.
I didn’t know my 18-and 21-year-old sons’ friends would overcome nervousness and hesitations, and take the time to reach out to me, cheer me on and offer their support. I didn’t know this would give me hope for the next generation of young men in such profound ways.
The only thing I knew in that moment on the dance floor in an overcrowded Vegas night club, was that for me, no matter what was thrown my way, even a breast cancer diagnosis, I was going to take one of my favorite quotes to heart. “And when you get the chance to sit it out or dance. I hope you dance.” I chose to dance.
Statements and opinions expressed are that of the individual and do not express the views or opinions of Susan G. Komen. This information is being provided for educational purposes only and is not to be construed as medical advice. Persons with breast cancer should consult their health care provider with specific questions or concerns about their treatment.
