I'm taking part in the Pink Ribbon Walks for the nine women diagnosed with breast cancer each day in New Zealand. And for myself and my loved ones

Breast cancer is the most common cancer in Kiwi women. 1 in 10 women will be diagnosed with it in their lifetime. And 650 women in Aotearoa die from the disease every year.

That’s why I’m taking part in the Pink Ribbon Walk this year, to help change that.

Please donate to raise funds for life-saving education, life-changing patient support and ground-breaking medical research. And bring us closer to a day when there are zero deaths from breast cancer.

My Story

At the beginning of this year, I went to see my GP to get a referral to the North Shore Breast Clinic at North Shore Hospital because I had found a lump in my left breast. To be honest, I wasn't overly worried. I'd been through this process a few times before, so I assumed it would be another routine check and that everything would be fine.

After a bit of a wait, I finally got my appointment for a mammogram. In the past, the process had always been fairly straightforward: a mammogram followed by an ultrasound. This time felt different, though. For reasons I still can't explain, my husband came with me. Looking back now, I'm incredibly grateful he did.

The mammogram led to another mammogram. The team had spotted something in my right breast that concerned them. Then came the ultrasound. It was during that appointment that the doctor told me she wanted to do three biopsies: one on the lump in my left breast, one on a lesion in my right breast, and one on some calcification they had seen in the right breast.

That moment was frightening.

Three biopsies. Three separate concerns. My mind immediately went to the worst places.

Unfortunately, I'm one of the rare people for whom local anaesthetic simply doesn't work, despite being administered correctly. Because of that, I was referred to breast surgeon Dr Sue Gerrard. I had met Sue several times before and she had already performed two previous surgeries on me, so seeing a familiar face brought some comfort during a very uncertain time.

Sue suggested we do an MRI first, hoping it would give a clearer picture of what was happening. Thankfully, the MRI cleared the concerns in my right breast. In the end, the decision was made to remove only the lump in my left breast, which measured about 21mm on the imaging.

I had surgery on 7 July.

On 22 July, my husband and I attended my follow-up appointment.

That was the day we heard the word that nobody ever wants to hear.

Cancer.

I still remember the exact moment. It felt as though my brain simply stopped functioning. Everything around me seemed to pause. Oddly enough, my ears still worked. Every time my husband asked a question, I could repeat almost word for word what the doctor had just said. But none of it was truly sinking in.

I was overwhelmed.

My husband was struggling too.

No matter how clearly the doctor explained things, nothing really made sense in that moment.

Thankfully, she was already one step ahead. She had proactively scheduled my next surgery and gently began explaining everything again.

What they had found was Ductal Carcinoma In Situ (DCIS), a non-invasive form of cancer. Stage 0.

It's a strange thing to hear.

I have cancer... but I don't.

There are cancer cells present, but they have not become invasive. I have cancer in my breast, but not invasive breast cancer.

The plan is to remove the abnormal areas now to prevent them from ever becoming something more serious in the future. After surgery, my case will be reassessed to determine whether radiation treatment is necessary.

My next surgery was scheduled for 4 August.

After receiving the diagnosis, the hardest part wasn't the appointments or the upcoming surgery.

It was telling the people I love.

Before I could tell anyone, I needed a few hours to sit quietly and read through all the information the hospital had given me. I needed to understand what DCIS actually was and what the treatment involved. I had to teach my own brain to separate the emotion from the reality.

The news wasn't good.

But it wasn't bad, either.

Most importantly, I was lucky.

One of the first people I told was a friend and colleague from work. I managed to hold it together for the most part, although a few tears escaped. Then I told my boss, and somehow that conversation felt a little easier.

With every conversation, the words became less frightening.

With every person I told, my understanding of DCIS grew stronger.

And by the time I sat down with my children, four days after hearing the diagnosis myself, I was able to tell them with a smile on my face, hope in my heart, and a genuinely positive outlook. I could be there for them, answer their questions, and help them understand.

Even now, there are moments when my brain suddenly flashes a giant neon sign:

"I've got cancer!"

For a second, fear takes over.

But then logic gently steps back in.

It's Stage 0.

It's non-invasive.

It was found early.

It is treatable.

I am going to live.

And above all else, I am incredibly lucky.

What this experience has taught me is that life can change in a single conversation, but so can perspective. While this journey wasn't one I expected to be on, I am grateful for the people standing beside me, for the medical team caring for me, and for the fact that this was found when it was. There are still steps ahead, and there is still uncertainty, but there is also hope. And right now, hope is what I'm holding onto most. ❤️