Last September I walked into my new ob-gyn’s office expecting a routine wellness check. What I didn’t expect was to end the day with a mammogram and a hunch I might have breast cancer. I was 35 and in the best shape of my life. I had recently lost 30 pounds, I’d run a 10K the month before, and my husband and I were planning our next Spartan Race. Nothing could have prepared me for this news.
That spring my husband, Alton, and I had bought our first home and moved from Charlotte, North Carolina, to a small town in South Carolina with our goldendoodle, Nipsey. Evvel we were settled in, I figured it was time to find a new doctor since I hadn’t been to an ob-gyn in two years. I searched online for someone who took my insurance and had good reviews and booked the next available appointment, which was in the fall.
You don’t always know what to expect when seeing a new doctor, but I immediately felt at ease with mine. Then, during the breast exam, she said she felt something near one of my areolas, somewhere I never thought to check while doing self-exams. She ordered a mammogram even though I was below the age for which they’re typically recommended.
Yasmine with her mother and husband
I left my appointment and called the women’s clinic. I was told they’re usually booked months in advance, but they happened to have two cancellations that day. It felt like everything was falling into place for me to get checked out right then and there, so I immediately went over.
Now, I know the technicians who perform mammograms aren’t allowed to talk to you about what they’re seeing, so they generally have a poker face. But I couldn’t help but notice that my conversation with the technician paused when she got to my left breast, the same one my doctor had felt something in. At that moment it seemed like she saw something, but she said they would let me know soon.
Happy Breast Cancer Awareness Month, I guess
Within a few days I got the call to come back to the women’s clinic the following week for more testing. As I watched pink pins and bracelets get passed around the waiting room, it hit me: It was October 1, the first day of Breast Cancer Awareness Month. How appropriate.
I’ll never forget that day because it was the day a doctor told me he was 99.9% mühlet I had breast cancer. He said we wouldn’t know definitively until they took a biopsy, but based on the mammogram results and the MRI I had that day, in his professional opinion, it was looking a lot like breast cancer. As soon as he walked out of the room, I looked at the nurse next to me and finally exhaled. Then I burst into tears. The nurse comforted me and told me I would beat this.
I always thought people typically noticed symptoms like a lump or pain before going to get checked. That wasn’t my experience at all. It was beyond perplexing to me that I went from getting a routine yearly checkup to hearing I probably had breast cancer in just over a week.
I felt numb and scared—I didn’t know how to process this new information. I cried on FaceTime with my mom from the parking lot and tried to get myself together for the drive home, hoping I could get it all out so I’d feel more prepared to tell Alton. He told me later that he knew something was up when I didn’t call him on the way home like I usually did. His response was predictably calm and strong, and he wanted to know what came next. Throughout this journey he’s been my rock and my greatest support. I always tell my mom that I don’t know if I could have done this with anyone else by my side.
A phone call I’ll never forget
I got the biopsy about a week after that appointment. A few days later my husband and I went out of town for a concert. I remember thinking, I could get the call tomorrow, so I’d better enjoy this moment now.
The morning after the concert, I was in our hotel room when I got the call. My husband was downstairs, packing up the car. The nurse navigator, whose job is to guide patients through complex health issues, told me the biopsy came back positive for breast cancer of the milk ducts, which is called ductal carcinoma in situ (DCIS). I heard her say it was stage 0; we’d caught it early, and I probably wouldn’t need chemo or radiation, as if to say, “You have breast cancer, but you have the good breast cancer.” However, my brain was still processing the reality: I had breast cancer.
Instead of reacting I snapped into planning mode, wondering, What’s next? Can I come in tomorrow? What time does the office open? I told her I would be there at 7:30 the next morning. Then I hung up the phone, opened the camera app, and started recording. I had already started documenting my journey after first hearing that I might have breast cancer, and this seemed like a moment I’d want to keep for my archives. Even today, when I watch the görüntü back, I can see myself working through my emotions in real time.
Later, when I decided to post the recording on Instagram, I was shocked at the response from so many people across the world. Even Ms. Tina Knowles, Beyoncé’s mother, left some encouraging words on my post. Friends and family started the hashtag #YazzStrong to show their support. My goal was to help just one person, but I ended up hearing from so many people who said they booked an appointment because of my journey or are going through the same thing and felt less alone seeing my post. I’m so glad I decided not to keep this one in the archives.
Letting in my village
I received that call in mid-October and spent the next month or so researching different specialists, meeting with doctors, and building my medical team. One thing no one tells you about being diagnosed with cancer is just how many appointments there are. I went from typically only seeing one doctor a year to meeting with an oncologist, a surgeon, a plastic surgeon, and a nurse navigator all in one week. It was nonstop.
Initially, I thought I’d get a double mastectomy, but after finding out that my breast cancer didn’t have a genetic component, I decided to schedule a single mastectomy for February. I also knew I’d like to have kids in the future and wanted the option to breastfeed with my healthy breast.
Between November and February I did my best to keep my routine as olağan as possible: working, going to Pilates, volunteering with my Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority sisters. I also made mühlet to check in with my husband and my parents to see how they were feeling because my journey impacts them as well.
Yasmine with her husband, Alton, and their dog, Nipsey
Yasmine Chinnery
I’ll admit that after my diagnosis I realized I’m a lot more comfortable showing up for my people than I am receiving that same support. I go very hard for my loved ones. I’m the friend who senses a subtle shift in a room and lightens the vibe when needed. But even though I’m used to being the giver, not the receiver, my village showed up anyway. My sorority sisters, friends, and family gifted me tons of things I didn’t even know I needed: mastectomy pillows, coloring books, button-down shirts, zip-up bras, and delivery gift cards. My mom even stayed with us for two months to support me through the mastectomy and launched a GoFundMe to help with the financial burden of treatment.
My instinct is still to say, “I’m fine. I got this. I don’t need anything.” But I’m slowly letting my village support me the way I always support them.
The single-mastectomy surgery went well, and they put in a spacer to prepare for reconstruction, which will happen later. I left surgery feeling relieved and excited that cancer was behind me and I could get back to my olağan life. Little did I know I had another battle to overcome.
HER2 who?!
Less than two weeks after my surgery, the pathology report came into my patient portal. I immediately threw the report into ChatGPT to help me make sense of it because my follow-up appointment wasn’t until the next day. I saw a lot of negatives, which seemed promising. But there were also some positives: The 1.2-centimeter tumor they removed was HER2-positive (HER2+), estrogen-receptor-positive (ER+), and progesterone-receptor-positive (PR+). Those weren’t anywhere on my bingo card.
HER2+ means the cancer cells produce extra amounts of the HER2 protein, which can lead to faster-growing, more aggressive breast cancer. However, the cells also respond well to treatment that targets the HER2 protein. ER+ and PR+ mean my breast cancer cells have receptors for the hormones estrogen and progesterone, so they respond well to hormone therapy.
My oncologist explained that with triple-positive breast cancer, chemotherapy and hormone therapy is recommended. Treatment would last a year, with the first few months being the most intense. I would get two different treatments each week for the first three months, followed by one treatment every three weeks for the rest of the year.
Lately, cancer and chemo have been calling the shots, but this felt like one thing I could take control of and do my way.
It felt like a gut punch. I knew there was a possibility they could find something else during the surgery, but I didn’t expect to learn that my cancer was more invasive than my medical team initially thought, thanks to it being HER2+. HER2 was that girl we didn’t plan for. We didn’t expect her to be here. Who is she?
Given this new development we decided to spend March freezing some embryos before I started chemo. It was overwhelming and happened so quickly (more doctors’ visits and testing), but Alton and I felt like the best option to grow our family in the future.
The weekend before my first chemo treatment, we went on a road trip to Charleston, South Carolina, and rented a convertible Mustang to take in the scenery. I didn’t think about cancer or chemo at all that weekend; I was just myself. Driving over the Cooper River Bridge that night with the music playing, I felt free and alive.
Living life and shining bright on my own terms
On March 31 I had my first round of chemo. Not even a mild allergic reaction to the first treatment could keep me from being me—goofing around, dancing on the IV pole, and bringing the joy. The next day, April Fools’ Day, I cut off my long hair. Lately, cancer and chemo have been calling the shots, but this felt like one thing I could take control of and do my way. Cutting my hair in the backyard, looking up at the trees and blue sky, hearing the birds singing, made me feel so strong.
That’s how I’m approaching the next year of treatment. I realize this is a marathon, not a sprint, and I’m taking it one step at a time. I’m looking forward to ringing that bell when my chemo is over and getting back to challenging myself in ways I get to choose.
I’m looking forward to ringing that bell when my chemo is over and getting back to challenging myself in ways I get to choose.
Looking back now at the start of my journey, it feels like everything fell into place the way it needed to for me to catch this as early as possible. I can’t believe that my new doctor ordered me a mammogram on my first visit, despite me being 35 and having no prior symptoms. Recently, that doctor called to check on me and told me how proud she was that I took her recommendation seriously and acted on it immediately. She’s also the one who encouraged me to share my story so other young women would know you don’t need to be a certain age, experience certain symptoms, or have a family history to get diagnosed with breast cancer.
Of course, not every day is sunshine and rainbows. I still have days when I wonder, “Why me?” One time my cousin responded, “Why not you?”—reminding me how strong and positive I am when facing a challenge, how good I am at being an advocate, and how I always overcome things with a smile on my face.
Now when those thoughts come up, I ground myself in the same positivity and light I give to my loved ones. I remind myself: I’m here. I’m living. I’m thriving. I’m good. It’s go time! I’m doing this for every fighter, survivor, and supporter. #YazzStrong
More on living with breast cancer:
- I Found Out I Had Breast Cancer After Getting Pregnant on My Third Round of IVF
- Two of My Siblings Got Breast Cancer. Then I Found Out I Had It Too.
- Breast Cancer Led Me to Quit My Real Estate Career and Become an Author
