Support for Rebecca

I was thirty-three years old when I learned a new phrase I never wanted to know: triple-positive breast cancer. It arrived without permission, without mercy, and without any concern for plans already in progress. One day life was measured in birthdays, porch projects, family dinners, and dreams still unfolding. The next, it was measured in scans, pathology reports, appointments, and words spoken in careful voices by doctors who had delivered this news too many times. I learned that courage rarely feels like courage. Most days it felt like showing up when I wanted to hide. It felt like answering another phone call, signing another form, sitting through another appointment, and smiling at people I loved so they would worry just a little less. Cancer tried to shrink the world down to a single word. But I refused. Cancer was part of the story. It was not the whole story. Then came the date that circled itself in red across every calendar and every heartbeat. August 18. A double mastectomy. A day that carried fear, grief, hope, and determination all at once. This isn’t the end of my chapter with cancer, it’s another part of the story and process. Any form of support during the weeks after surgery will be greatly appreciated!