By Katie O’Brien

In August of 2023, at the age of 40, I had my first mammogram. I’d signed up a month prior because my employer was hosting a special event. Honestly, I was in it for the free mug.

The day after the mammogram, the MyChart results were in, containing some concerning language.No matter how many different ways I googled it, the information was not looking good.

The world shrank as I contemplated death or treatment. What would my days look like moving forward? Logistics were going to be tricky, I knew. How would I mother my 3-year-old toddler? How would I manage my house, my job? How would I maintain my employment (and keep our insurance) while fighting a terminal illness?

It would be two agonizing weeks of waiting before I got my official diagnosis: breast cancer. Before long, I was on a treatment path. I went through a bilateral mastectomy, four months of chemotherapy, and a month of radiation. I am now in long-term treatment to prevent recurrence, which consists of ovarian suppression coupled with daily medication. The medical stuff sucked. It still sucks. Chemo was terrible, obviously. The long-term treatment sucks. I lost my fertility; we were trying to have another child before the diagnosis, and for personal reasons opted not to save embryos. I lost my hair, my breasts, and my way of life - so much of this ordeal has been loss. *Enter: Cancer friends.*

Aside from being a cancer survivor, I’m also a former drunk. A big part of sobriety for me is sharing with other sober friends, so it did not take me long to find a cancer support group in my area. In fact, I lobbied our local Gilda’s Club to give me a one-on-one orientation so I would be allowed to attend their upcoming breast cancer support group—just six days after diagnosis. I also found, through my tenacious googling, the Bright Spot Network (BSN). I signed up for everything–including an art kit from Bright Spot Network–and started participating in local groups. I was motivated to find people going through similar challenges, just like I had during my path to sobriety.

In the first support groups I attended I found that folks that could commiserate about the medical stuff but the day-to-day challenges I faced? I felt even more isolated, at times, after attending local groups. My priorities, my everything—my entire approach to my treatment and my own healing—were and are all so wildly different because of my little boy. When other cancer patients championed rest and relaxation, I sank back into my chair and wondered where I’d fit that into my day.

When I found out I would need extensive treatment including chemotherapy and radiation, I attended one of the Bright Spot Network monthly groups for parents. 

And I found my people.

These were people going through what I was going through. After attending a few groups, I enrolled in a six-week support group specific to parents in active treatment. It would be a closed group, meaning I’d see the same faces each week. They became my support as I walked through chemo and radiation, my friends as I entered survivorship. We shared tips, stories, and challenges. We laughed and cried and cried more. We celebrated each other’s good fortunes.

No other friends of mine can truly understand this path we’ve been on. Cancer does a number, doesn’t it? Our lives, our families, forever changed. We still meet twice a month, when we can, to talk and share stories, share challenges. I’m watching our hair grow back and I’m glad we can watch our kids grow up, and there’s beauty in hardship, I think, when we can discover ourselves and our place with a community—however temporary and permanent. I’m so grateful I found these friends through Bright Spot Network.

The Bright Spot Network has been a beacon of hope and support for me during my cancer ordeal. Their incredible social workers, the specific groups tailored to parents in active treatment, and the community they foster have been invaluable. BSN has provided not just support but also a sense of belonging and understanding that I couldn't find elsewhere. They have been my rock through the toughest times, and for that, I am eternally grateful.

Katie O'Brien lives with her son Shay and husband Cody in Madison, Wisconsin. After her breast cancer diagnosis on September 1, 2023, she embraced watercolor painting as part of her healing journey and she shares her art and reflections on Instagram. She's undergone a bilateral mastectomy, chemotherapy, and radiation, with reconstruction surgery (DIEP flap) planned for November 2024.