I grew up in a small town called Wimberley outside of Austin, Texas, on a small chicken farm with my large family. We had a family group; my father is a bluegrass musician and my mother is a writer. They're hippies, but I always wanted to be an actress—my life plan was always to move to Los Angeles and become a sitcom star. So, I finished my degree, moved to Los Angeles in 2014, and was diagnosed with stage IV shortly thereafter. metastatic breast cancer. I was only 26 years old, had no family history, and had always been very healthy. It was already incurable. It was already: “You have two to five years to live.”
When I found out, I was between working double shifts at a fancy restaurant in Los Angeles. I tried my best to fulfill my acting dream. I had an agent, I was constantly auditioning, doing stand-up comedy and improv. I've been busy, busy, busy. It was a guy I had been dating for about a year (who I had just moved in with) who noticed a lump in my breast. I wasn't worried; my older sister had a benign tumor removed, so I thought it was the same. I called the office of the gynecologist I had been seeing for years, but went to another doctor because my doctor was out of town. I was told not to worry – it was just a bump, I was too young for it. breast cancer. I believed them, because who am I, with my acting training, to ask questions to a doctor?
But not only did the bump not disappear when I turned to the side and looked in the mirror, I could clearly see it; it was getting bigger. I went to another doctor who said the same thing, but I started to feel weird—like no one was listening to me. He ordered an ultrasound, but my insurance wouldn't cover it because I was too young and had no family history. The third doctor I went to helped me fight and get insurance. By then it had been nine months since we found the lump. All this time I was just trying to be a good patient. The biggest health challenge I've faced was contracting chlamydia one day in college or having my tonsils removed. Every time I went to the doctor, I felt better. I had no reason not to trust the doctors' words. But in the nine months it took me to get diagnosed, the breast cancer had already spread to my liver. It was metastatic. I'm like, “What? What do you mean it's too late? What do you mean I didn't catch it sooner? I've been doing this for nine months.”
I was still thinking about it later that day as I drove to see the oncologist they recommended. Again, I was a good patient; I just went along with it. But that oncologist was not great. He kept telling me that I was going to die and that I needed to accept it and shared some terrible statistics. I finally left the office and told my mom, who had moved to Los Angeles and was staying at an Airbnb to support me, “I never want to go back there again.” Instead, I went and got a second and third opinion. Here's one piece of advice I give to people who are newly diagnosed: Don't let anyone rush you or tell you you don't have time to get more opinions and develop a better treatment plan. The time you spend now can add time to your life later. Treating cancer is an art, a science yes, but also an art.
