47 www.ReadMPM.com | www.MountPleasantMagazine.com | www.MountPleasantPodcast.com “It’s cancer.” Two words that no one ever wants to hear. No one plans for it. And no one understands. Until it’s you. Sept. 16 of 2025, I got ready for bed the way I always do. Showered. Put on pajamas. Washed my face. Brushed my teeth. And curled up on my left side with my hands tucked under my pillow. But this night instantly became different. The way my arm curled under my body left me with an uneasy feeling. Something in my left chest didn’t feel right. I sat up and inspected. There was certainly a lump. In the stillness of the night, my faith quieted my restless spirit. God whispered to my heart reminding me of his nearness, asking me to glorify him … even if. In that moment, I knew it was cancer. I knew I was called to glorify him even if it was cancer. Admittedly, I haven’t lived out my faith perfectly, but I do know that we can’t glorify the God of the universe if our mouths are shut. So I’m opening mine to share my story about breast cancer. Even as I share, my heart is burdened knowing that all stories are different. For anyone reading this whose breast cancer exprience is dotted with grief or loss or fear, I wish I could reach out and hug you and carry even just an ounce of the weight you are carrying. You were never meant to walk through these things alone, and I pray you find community to support you through your journey. The next few weeks were littered with scans, biopsies, prayers, appointments, questions and then, finally, results. Invasive ductal carcinoma. Stage 2b. An aggressive cancer that had quickly spread from my breast into my lymph nodes but ultimately was contained beyond that. I want to take a moment to speak to the confidence I have in my medical team. My oncologist is a mom at our children’s school; someone I knew before sitting in her office. My breast surgeon, Dr. Autumn Shobe, came highly recommended, and after meeting her for the first time, I knew why. Both doctors truly care for their patients. They calmly answered all our questions and confidently provided a treatment plan to cure my body from cancer. They, along with my village of family, neighbors, friends and church community, have literally and figuratively held my hand throughout this process. I can’t imagine life without faith or community. Oct. 23, 2025. Chemo began. I sat in an infusion chair for nearly six hours as cancer-fighting medicine dripped through my body. This was the first of six treatments before surgery, and frankly, this wasn’t the hardest part of my journey. Yes, these treatments made me feel exhausted and yucky in the days that followed, but the hardest pill to swallow came on my husband’s birthday two weeks later. My hair started falling out. Not in strands or pieces on the floor, but in handfuls. With every brushstroke, fistfuls fell out. And no matter how strong I had been in the weeks leading up to this moment, it was here crouching on my bathroom floor that the reality of the disease sank in. A disease that takes more from you than most people realize. It takes hold of your calendar and your time. It takes hold of your body and even your relationships. It changes things in your mind that are virtually impossible to describe. For this very reason, I quit wearing a watch. I was suddenly hyper-aware of every moment. As those moments compiled into days and weeks, I continued to lean heavily on my faith and my people – even if that meant wearing a headscarf. And I’m not finished with my journey – yet. Six rounds of chemo (October 2025-February 2026) Unilateral mastectomy (March 2026) Physical therapy (April 2026-present) Even If A local mom’s journey battling breast cancer BY KATIE FINCH Katie Finch. health & wellness
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