My Gut Told Me It Was Breast Cancer. My Doctors Said I Was Too Young.
I was on the phone in September 2024 the first time I noticed moisture on my chest. I thought it was weird, but I figured maybe I didn’t dry myself enough after my shower. Over the next few days it continued: small spots on my bra that looked like discharge from one of my ducts. The fluid was clear, cloudy, or bloody. It was the blood that really freaked me out.
In doing so, I ran to the Internet, which taught me that bloody discharge from a single duct could be a sign of breast cancer. But I tried to keep in mind that I was only 29 years old. Maybe it was something else: I have PCOS, so my hormones are a mess, and at the time I also had COVID, which I contracted after a particularly fun weekend at a music festival with friends. (I asked online if COVID could cause bloody discharge from the nipples; it was inconclusive.)
I knew I needed to see my family doctor, but in Nova Scotia, Canada, where I live, the health care system is overwhelmed, leading to long delays. The first available appointment was at the end of October, so I booked it. While I waited, I noticed more and more bloody discharge and searched online for answers. My anxiety was getting worse, so when my mom had an appointment with our doctor a few weeks before mine, I crashed it.
Realizing how worried I was, our doctor moved up my appointment and filled out the forms I needed to see a specialist at my city’s breast health clinic. Yet he kept telling me that I was young, that it was probably nothing, and that we would laugh about it on our next date. Even though he was just trying to calm my anxiety, I felt annoyed and a little angry because he was dismissing my concerns.
While I waited for news from the breast clinic, I continued to spiral and go down the rabbit holes of Google. I couldn’t help but think: This is something.
Playing the waiting and self-advocacy game
A few weeks later, I still hadn’t heard from the breast clinic, so I followed up. Turns out the staff never received my recommendation. I couldn’t help but feel like no one was taking my situation seriously. I thought, I’m not too young. Something wrong. Let’s get things done. Finally, I got an appointment with a specialist scheduled for mid-December, which required another month and a half of waiting.
Meanwhile, life went on. I was working on starting my own business, after leaving a toxic job a few months earlier. I had just taken charge of a local community development group, Halifax Gals and Pals, with some of my friends. I was hosting events for the Taylor Swift fan group I lead, Atlantic Canada Swifties, with my best friend, Sarah. I was preparing for the Eras Tour in Toronto. Everything seemed pretty normal, aside from my lingering symptoms and the nagging intuition that something was wrong with my body.
When I finally got to the breast clinic, they started with an ultrasound. Imaging revealed thickening of my breast tissue, which may indicate an infection or cyst or (rarely) cancer. Then I had a mammogram, which also showed changes in the breast tissue, but they still couldn’t determine the cause of my symptoms. I left with no real answers, but was told they still didn’t think it was cancer, but would refer me to a surgical team just to be sure.
A few months have passed and I haven’t heard anything about this reference. I followed up with my doctor and was told that my appointment with the surgeon was set for the end of April 2025.
