My name is Sophie, and I turned 42 this past June. I was diagnosed with BRCA2, Stage 3 breast cancer a year ago, in June 2021. 

I’m still undergoing treatment, doing preventive chemo by taking medication. When my breast cancer was discovered, I had no symptoms. I knew there was a strong history of cancer in my family, including breast cancer; my mother’s cousin had it.  

I had been asking for a genetic test for several years, but my doctor refused. 

One day, while doing breast self-observation, I felt a lump. I had an ultrasound, followed by a biopsy. The diagnosis came back: it was Stage 3 breast cancer. Finally, I would get my DNA test…  

The first thing I said to myself when I heard the diagnosis was: “I don’t want to die.” I suspected that I would eventually get the disease; there were too many in my family for me to be spared.  

I had support. Plus, my godfather is a throat cancer survivor, so he knew how I was feeling. He said: “You’ll see, this is the worst part of your journey. Afterwards, you’ll find your comfort zone.” He was right. 

I had an enormous amount of support from my family, but also from my work colleagues. They never abandoned me. I work in the shipping department of a car parts company. My colleagues fundraised for me. After a year, I would have thought that their support and commitment would have waned, but no: they are still checking in, still there for me. I will probably go back to work next January.  

In November I will have my ovaries and tubes removed. Because I have BRCA2-associated cancer, this is for prevention. It is day surgery. 

The treatment for my cancer was very fast: I was diagnosed and a week later I started my treatments. In total I had 16 chemotherapy sessions, one a week, two different kinds. I also had a total double mastectomy because of my genetic code. I had both breasts removed as a preventive measure. I chose a flat reconstruction (I think that yes, you can be beautiful and feminine, even without breasts). Then I had 25 radiation treatments.  

When my doctor agreed that I should do the genetic test it was no longer for me, as I already had cancer, but it was for my brothers and sister. Being a BRCA2 carrier, my two brothers and my twin sister had to do their genetic test. My sister was positive, and had to have a preventive mastectomy. She will also have an oophorectomy (surgical removal of the ovaries). My older brother did the test and fortunately it was negative. My other brother has opted not to be tested for the time being. No breast cancer on my brothers’ side at the moment, so let’s hope that doesn’t change! 

I am being followed at Maisonneuve-Rosemont Hospital. They are such nice people, but you have to follow your file very closely. It’s not a matter of bad intention on their part, but they have so many patients: I have had to manage my own follow-up.   

I have also received tremendous support from my life partner. He has been, and still is, my ray of sunshine. He brings me back into the present moment when I tend to project too much. He reminds me that everything is fine right now, and that we are together through all this.  

I found losing my hair so difficult. People say things to encourage you like: “It’s just hair, it’ll grow back… it’s just appearances.” But it’s much deeper than that, at least for me. For some people like me, your hair is a big part of your personality. I even dyed it pink. It’s a way of expressing myself. 

When it fell out, I experienced it as the loss of a part of my identity. I had to learn to express myself differently. I used to wear extensions and had a lot of fun with them. People used to say: “She lives for her hair.” When I lost it, I decided to go all the way: no scarves, no wigs. I don’t think you should be embarrassed about being sick. Once, a lady I didn’t know stopped me in a shop and said: “You’d look better with a wig.” It’s okay to wear one if you feel like it, but not to make others feel comfortable! 

I found chemotherapy tough. I was lucky though: I didn’t suffer any major side effects. I was just tired, and my bones hurt. I had generalized pain after treatments. I didn’t have dry skin and I didn’t vomit. The chemotherapy pills didn’t do anything other than make me feel tired, which is inevitable with a disease like this. Also, the radiation didn’t burn me or leave any marks on my chest. 

I think you have to accept the fatigue, the fear, and try to adapt as best you can. You have to learn to function with the disease and its impacts. You have to make them “allies,” not enemies. I said to myself: “If I were to die tomorrow, would I want to have lived my last years in fear and sadness? No.” It motivated me to better manage my various emotions.  

When I was diagnosed, I sought out all kinds of testimonials to give me hope. Of course, you are confronted with all sorts of stories, some of them tragic. Many people die. But I was looking for stories of survival; I was looking for women in remission. I find that the more testimonials that are accessible, the more likely it is that women who have been diagnosed will find stories that will resonate with them, touch them and connect them with their own story. 

If I had one piece of advice to give to someone who is diagnosed with breast cancer, it would be: “Buy a diary, you’re going to need one.” But I would also say: “Surprisingly, the journey will not be all sadness and fear. You will experience joy and, you will see, you will manage to find balance in all this.”