“I don’t know how to say this, but it’s malignant. You have breast cancer.” Those words have echoed in my mind since June 17, 2019—just five months after giving birth to my third daughter. But before I dive into that moment, let me take you back to the beginning.
In 2009, I met my husband Niko while hanging out with my best friend Kristyna, her boyfriend, and his friends. At first, we were just part of the same group, casually hanging out and sharing laughs. But a little over a year later, something changed—Niko asked me out on a date. Our connection deepened quickly, and by August 2013, we were married. Life felt like it was unfolding perfectly.
Not long after our wedding, we learned we were expecting our first child, a girl. Adrianna was born in December 2014, and she immediately became the light of our lives. I decided to breastfeed her, and for nearly a year, it went beautifully. But when she was 11 months old, my supply suddenly dropped. I took a pregnancy test—and to our surprise, we were expecting again! Our second daughter, Briella, arrived in August 2016, and suddenly, we were navigating life with two girls under two.
About a year and a half later, we discovered we were expecting a third little girl. Mia was born in January 2019, completing our family in the most perfect way. I began breastfeeding her, feeling confident after my previous experiences. The bond it created between us was magical. But in May 2019, I noticed a lump in my right breast. At first, I assumed it was a clogged duct—a familiar issue I’d dealt with before—but it didn’t go away.
After a week of trying to nurse and pump it out, I called my OBGYN. He prescribed antibiotics, thinking it might be an infection. But as the ninth day approached, I hadn’t seen any improvement. I was scheduled for an ultrasound the following week. I went in feeling calm, even enjoying a quiet moment in my car beforehand. That calm shattered when the ultrasound tech excused herself and returned with the radiologist, who silently examined the mass and suggested a biopsy. My heart sank, but I clung to hope. My mom reminded me that nearly 80% of lumps are benign, and I tried to believe her.
Two weeks later, I had the biopsy. When I called to check results, they were sent for further testing. By Monday, I still hadn’t heard anything, and I had developed a severe infection from the biopsy. I assumed it was mastitis and told my husband, “This must be the worst mastitis ever.” But when I went to my OBGYN, the nurse practitioner returned with a look I’ll never forget. She said, “Jena, you need to sit down. I don’t know how to say this, but it’s malignant. You have breast cancer.” Her tears mirrored my own as I struggled to comprehend the words. My first thought wasn’t even about myself—it was for my daughters. How could I leave them without a mother? I drove home in a haze and collapsed into my husband’s arms, surrounded by family in the driveway.
The days that followed were surreal. I removed my IUD and received words of encouragement from my OB, a cancer survivor himself, reminding me to keep faith. Soon after, I met a phenomenal breast surgeon who diagnosed me with stage 2 estrogen-positive breast cancer and recommended a lumpectomy. On June 28, 2019, I underwent the procedure, followed by a sentinel node biopsy. A week later, my surgeon informed me the cancer had spread to my lymph nodes—I would need chemotherapy.
Finding an oncologist felt overwhelming, but a friend connected me with Dr. Chunduri, who would become my lifeline. His warmth and reassurance, along with a familiar hug from a school friend in his office, reminded me I was not alone. Pathology revealed my diagnosis was triple-negative breast cancer—the most aggressive type. A precise plan was laid out: a port, four rounds of AC chemo (“the red devil”), four rounds of dose-dense Taxol, and later, axillary dissection to remove lymph nodes.
Chemo began on July 23, 2019. The side effects were brutal—red-colored urine and tears, nausea, fatigue, migraines, neuropathy, and infections—but I kept pushing forward for my girls. I preserved their innocence, telling them Mommy’s hair was being cut because she wasn’t taking care of it, and framing hospital visits as playdates. Their laughter and hugs were my motivation.
Through 16 weeks of chemo, I faced infections, blood clots, and countless GI issues, but I made it to surgery for lymph node removal. Two days later, my oncologist confirmed the lymph nodes were clear, and I cried tears of relief and gratitude. The sacrifices—stopping breastfeeding, losing my hair, missing time with my children—had been worth it. Radiation followed, and within months, I could finally breathe again. Today, almost a year and a half out from active treatment, I feel strong, healthy, and hopeful.
Before my diagnosis, I never imagined someone my age could get breast cancer. Now, I use my story to advocate for young women, raising awareness about early detection and triple-negative breast cancer. If my journey can help even one person speak up when something feels off or seek support, it’s worth sharing. My advice: know your body, trust your instincts, and don’t hesitate to reach out to your doctors. Cancer tried to take me, but I chose to fight—and I am here, thriving, and holding my three beautiful daughters close.
