My breast felt hard, but I couldn't really feel any distinct lump. Even today, I am grateful that I took the feeling seriously and contacted the health center, which referred me to the breast clinic.
I got an appointment just the following week. I was examined, had a mammogram, and then an ultrasound. I remember lying on the examination table and starting to cry when the doctor stated that there was a larger abnormality in my breast.
A biopsy was taken, while they tried to reassure me that it could still be a benign cyst or something else harmless. I was told that the results would be back within two weeks. I remember jokingly saying that if everything looked good, I wouldn't need a follow-up appointment—a phone call would be enough so I wouldn't have to miss work.
A few days later, a letter arrived. I had been given a new appointment at the breast clinic, and it specifically stated that I was welcome to bring a family member.
That's when I understood. I have cancer.
On June 10, 2026, at my own request over the phone, I had the news confirmed. I had been diagnosed with breast cancer. It turned out to be an aggressive and fast-growing triple-negative metaplastic breast cancer.
My first thought was: “Me? How can I have cancer?”
It felt impossible. I felt healthy, strong, fit, and full of energy. Hearing those words was the most overwhelming thing I had ever experienced. My thoughts went back and forth. One moment I tried to keep my spirits up by thinking that they would surely just operate to remove the tumor and that everything would be over after that. The next moment I realized that it wouldn't be that simple. I was desperate for a quick fix. But there are rarely any quick fixes when it comes to cancer.
I didn't want to accept the situation. I didn't want to have cancer, and I didn't feel like I had time for cancer. I hadn't chosen this. At the same time, it struck me that no one ever chooses to receive a cancer diagnosis.
During the first few days, I allowed myself to break down. I cried, was angry, and felt powerless.
It felt as though my life had suddenly been put on hold, while the world around me continued as usual.
But after a few days, I made up my mind about one thing: I am not going to let cancer define who I am.
In the beginning, I desperately searched for someone I could relate to. I Googled, talked to AI, and searched TikTok for young women going through the same thing. I didn't have any close relatives or friends who had had cancer, so my image of the disease came mainly from tragic articles and videos.
I didn't know what was waiting for me. Would my whole life change? Would I become weak? Would I have to live in the hospital? Had the cancer spread? Would I even get well?
Suddenly, I was forced to understand that cancer is something that affects people every day, all over the world. I found it hard to comprehend how others coped. At the same time, I realized how much it meant to me to find other young women who spoke openly about their journeys. That's why I decided to start documenting my own journey on TikTok. I wanted to spread awareness that breast cancer can actually affect young women. I wanted to create a sense of recognition and help others feel less alone.
The first videos were uncomfortable to publish. I was scared and vulnerable. But I wanted to own my own story. I wanted people to hear it from me, instead of drawing their own conclusions when they saw me coming and going from the hospital or when my hair started falling out.
My first question to the doctor was: “Will I lose my hair?” The answer was yes. Right then and there, it felt like the worst news imaginable.
When my hair finally started falling out, it was much harder than I had imagined. Honestly, it felt as though I was losing part of my identity.
I didn't feel like myself anymore.
The hardest thing was losing parts of what I associated with my womanhood. Even today, it is something I find difficult. At the same time, I am grateful to live in an era where research has come so far. There are fantastic wigs and aids that can create a sense of normalcy in a situation that otherwise feels difficult, unfair, and frightening.
When all this happened, I received enormous support from family, friends, and colleagues. I am incredibly grateful for every person who has been there along the way. Their support has meant more than I can describe.
The first period consisted of many examinations. The doctors wanted to examine, among other things, whether the cancer had spread to the lymph nodes in my armpit. On the MRI, they saw something that caused concern, but fortunately, the biopsy showed that there was no spread.
A CT scan also revealed changes in my liver, but further examinations showed that these were benign.
Before treatment began, I had no idea what was waiting for me. Would I manage on my own? Would I need to move back in with my parents? Would I feel terribly ill? I didn't know. Because the start of treatment was postponed due to egg freezing, I had a lot of time to think about the future, the side effects, and the long road back to a healthy life.
If I am completely honest, the chemotherapy has gone better than I dared to hope. I have been tired, exhausted, and had joint pain that no painkillers really helped with. But otherwise, I have tried to live as normally as possible.
After six treatments, I had a new MRI scan. The tumor had shrunk by half.
The treatment is working. That gave me hope.
At the same time, no two days are alike. Some days I am the positive Jennifer who looks forward and focuses on the next step. Other days I just want to leave my body because everything feels too heavy.
From time to time, it has been almost more mentally demanding than physically. Sometimes I have felt as though all my privacy had disappeared. As though my body was no longer my own.
“This is my body. Do what you have to do.”
It has been a little over three months since I received my diagnosis. At the same time, it feels as though the life before cancer belongs to someone else.
If everything continues according to plan, I will undergo a total of 18 chemotherapy treatments. By the time I am writing this, I have completed half. Surgery will follow. The results of the surgery will then determine the next step. If there are still cancer cells remaining, further treatment may be needed. If not, radiation will follow.
The only thing I wish for is to get well. The strange thing is that many of the problems I previously spent energy on seem completely unimportant today. Your perspective changes when you are struck by a serious illness. You realize how valuable time actually is.
If there is one thing I have taken with me so far, it is the importance of attitude. That doesn't mean you have to be strong all the time or think positively every day. Quite the opposite. You have to be allowed to have ups and downs. You have to be allowed to be sad, angry, and afraid. But still try to live as much as possible.
Make the most of each day. Accept the help around you. And never give up hope.
I won't.
