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Straighten Your Crown And Keep It Moving

Writer's picture: Surviving Breast CancerSurviving Breast Cancer

Meet Krystle, Diagnosed At 27 And The True Definition Of Strength


At the start of the summer in 2016, I was in the “prime” of my life. I had a prestigious research fellowship working on an HIV vaccination project at Tulane University, I was entering my last semester of graduate school, and I spent my weekends strolling down the lively streets of New Orleans. Everything was perfect, or so it seemed. Little did I know that a storm was coming. Within a few weeks, everything would change. Forever.


Diagnosis And Holding On

On July 15, 2016, while sitting on the same bed where I had spent countless hours studying some of the world’s deadliest diseases, I received a phone call that would throw my whole world into disarray. That day, at the ripe age of 27, I was diagnosed breast cancer.


One of my very first phone calls was to my then-boyfriend. We had been together for a year, spent holidays together, and even discussed what we would name our future children. I imagined that he was going to be my primary support system- compassionate, understanding, and an impenetrable presence. A minute into the phone conversation, he hung up on me, frustrated at the notion that I might not come home to North Carolina to be treated. That should have been my first red flag, but I had seen The Fault in Our Stars, and I knew we would be okay. He even promised that he would never leave me. That means something, right? Unfortunately, this isn’t Hollywood, and I wasn’t Hazel Lancaster.


Our relationship started to spiral downward, and very quickly. In fact, deep, down inside I knew as soon as a month after my diagnosis that “forever” wasn’t going to happen, but I still held on.


Even after he laughed at me and called me pathetic when I had trouble getting into the car a week after my 10-hour mastectomy surgery with drains distending from my sides, I held on.


Even after our fight because I had to shave my head when my hair wouldn’t stop falling out, I held on.


Even after sitting through a 5-hour chemo, crying, because a fight had gotten so bad that he shoved me into the car door, 10 minutes prior to walking through the cancer hospital door, I held on.


Even after he told me he would rather not spend New Years with me because I wouldn’t be any fun due to a chemo infusion I had a few days before, I held on.


In retrospect, in the beginning, I do think he cared. However, ultimately, it was too overwhelming for him.


Worth More

Cancer is messy.


It’s dark and scary.