My story began when I was 23 years old and noticed a lump in my breast while watching television.
When I first felt it, I thought it might just be a benign lump and didn’t take it too seriously. However, the lump gradually started to grow, and I began researching. I first went to my family doctor at the local health clinic. There was no history of cancer in my family, but my doctor still requested an ultrasound. After the ultrasound, I was told, “It could be a fatty lump or a milk gland; this is normal at your age. There doesn’t seem to be anything bad.” Still, I wasn’t convinced and insisted on having a biopsy.
A tissue sample was taken, and while waiting for the results, the lump continued to grow visibly and became easily palpable. Since the pathology report could not clearly identify the mass and no definitive diagnosis could be made, it was decided that the entire lump should be removed. I had surgery in September. It was the fourth surgery of my life, but for the first time, I went into surgery cheerful and carefree. I later realized it was because I had unknowingly gotten rid of a malignant tumor.
At the end of October, I learned that I had cancer. The first thing that came to my mind was my family. Everyone who knows me describes me as cheerful and full of laughter—I’m one of the most positive people you could meet. But after that day, something changed. I think I matured the moment I walked out of the oncology clinic.
Because I insisted on further testing, the cancer was caught at an early stage, and the tumor was removed without knowing it was malignant. According to my doctors, I was very lucky; the tumor had a very high potential for spread and could have progressed to the final stage in as little as 40 days.
Even though the tumor had been removed, a decision was made to proceed with six cycles of preventive chemotherapy. Accepting this was extremely difficult for me. Before starting chemotherapy, I underwent egg preservation treatment, and in January, I received my first chemotherapy session. About 15 days later, my hair started to fall out. The chemotherapy process was very hard; after almost every cycle, I was taken to the hospital by ambulance. But I made it. I overcame those treatments, even if it meant stumbling along the way.
In August, my treatment was completely finished. I am now in the follow-up phase.
I used to cry until my hair grew back even when it was only shoulder-length, but after shaving my head, I stopped crying the very next day. The nights we think will never end really do come to an end. The sun rises again. I know this because I lived it—we lived it together. It ends. And when it does, we become stronger than we ever were before 🤍