To tell my full story, I would need to write a book. For now, I’ll do my best to summarize it.
I was 31 years old, happily married, raising three wonderful boys, and running a growing business from home. My youngest was only four months old when I noticed a large lump in my right breast. At first, I tried not to worry—assuming it was just a clogged milk duct or an infection that would resolve on its own. But over the next few weeks, the lump grew larger, and a red mark appeared on my skin. Concerned, I made an appointment with a Thermographer, a non-invasive alternative to mammograms and biopsies that uses thermal imaging. I was reassured that everything looked okay and was told to return in six months.
As time went on, the lump worsened, and I knew something wasn’t right. I went to my OBGYN for a second opinion. Both she and a lactation consultant reassured me that it didn’t look like cancer—it was likely just a clogged duct. Their advice: “Go home, make sure your baby drains that side first, massage, and use hot packs.” Unsatisfied and worried, I decided to have a biopsy. (You may wonder why I didn’t just go straight to a mammogram. I had been trying to find the least invasive path, knowing there are risks with both biopsies and mammograms.)
The biopsy revealed I had HER2-positive breast cancer—the same day we closed on our new home in another state. I decided to focus on healing at home, planning to establish care with doctors after our move, two weeks later. I chose to start with natural methods, avoiding chemo, radiation, or surgery at first. Learning about the body and holistic health had been a passion of mine long before this diagnosis. I had watched “The Truth About Cancer” series and followed countless stories of people healing from cancer and chronic illnesses. I believed the body could heal if given the right tools.
With my husband’s full support, I immediately adopted a plant-based diet, began juicing, reduced stress as much as possible, exercised, and took supplements. Once we moved, I began working with a naturopathic doctor and a primary care physician for lab work and ongoing monitoring.
Over the next few months, I traveled to two clinics in Tijuana, Mexico, trying thousands of dollars’ worth of treatments and protocols. Despite my efforts, my body did not respond—the cancer was aggressive. My liver failed, I became severely jaundiced, and I developed ascites, where fluid accumulates in the abdomen. I was going to the ER every three days for drainage—sometimes up to 4.5 liters each visit.
During one ER visit, doctors admitted me to the ICU due to my deteriorating condition. Scans revealed the cancer had spread extensively—to my abdomen, pelvis, spine, lymph nodes, and with more than 30 lesions in my liver. The doctors said I was too far gone for treatment and advised me to get my affairs in order. My husband and I refused to accept that.
Remarkably, the day before receiving that prognosis, my husband received an unexpected call from a friend who mentioned his best friend of 35 years was the head oncology surgeon at a local hospital. Within hours, we had a second opinion scheduled. This was one of the many miracles that would carry us through this journey.
When I returned home from the ICU, I could barely walk or care for myself. I lost the ability to use the restroom independently, and even holding my baby felt impossible. On Labor Day 2018, my husband asked if I thought I was dying. I admitted I wasn’t sure—but I felt like I was. He immediately took me to the new hospital to begin care. Family members came from across the country, some driving 26 hours, fearing they might lose me.
The new doctor told me, “Without treatment, you may have a week or two left. I’m not sure you’ll respond, but we’re going to try.” I was terrified—chemotherapy and immunotherapy sounded like poison. But I had a moment of faith, imagining myself falling off a cliff and trusting God to catch me.
Shortly after starting treatment, I returned home, too weak to leave my hospital bed. I couldn’t take my children to school, cook, clean, or care for them. I had gone from an independent, active mom to a fully dependent patient. But I refused to give up. I crawled into the yard to feel the sun on my face, clung to small moments of life, and slowly, miraculously, began to regain strength. Within months, I was back to functioning as I had before my diagnosis. It felt like a true miracle.
But my journey wasn’t over. Last April, after feeling well for months, I began experiencing daily headaches. An MRI revealed more than 50 lesions in my brain. The news was devastating. But instead of panic, I prayed for supernatural peace—and it came. I approached 14 rounds of whole-brain radiation with faith, knowing I would be okay.
Today, I feel great. I am fully living again—working, caring for my boys, dating my husband, spending time with friends, and cherishing each moment. Every area of my body—breast, liver, abdomen, spine, pelvis—is in remission for over a year, and my brain now has just four remaining lesions, which are healing.
My ongoing healing involves daily juicing, medicinal cannabis oil, Lion’s Mane and Turkey Tail mushrooms, nebulized oxygen, high-dose Vitamin C, parasite cleanses, massage, essential oils, colon hydrotherapy, and vitamins D and K2. I still work on diet and stress management daily, but I am stronger, healthier, and more grateful than ever.
This journey has taught me there is no single “right” way to heal. Life is fragile, precious, and worth every moment. I am living proof that miracles happen, and that with faith, persistence, and support, even the most overwhelming challenges can be faced and overcome.
