In 2015, at 34-years-old, I was diagnosed with stage II breast cancer.
I embraced the pink and the celebration once I “beat” the cancer. However, it was all an illusion. The pink washing and the pretty things blinded me to the truth and, one year later, I got slapped in the face with it: I was Stage IV.
At 35-years-old, I was told I had metastatic breast cancer.
A year has gone by now and my focus continues to be the same as it was that day I was slapped in the face: to live and to educate. We need a cure. I am dying for one and pink is not it.