Too Young for Cancer? My Fight to Be Heard.
By Breanna Jones
My name is Breanna Jones, and as of June 23, 2025, I am officially three years cancer-free.
That sentence still feels surreal to say—because for so long, I wasn’t sure I’d get to say it at all.
Where My Story Really Began
My breast cancer journey didn’t start with a diagnosis. It started with not being believed.
In January 2020, at just 20 years old, I found a small lump in my chest—about the size of a dime. Something in my gut told me it wasn’t right.
Cancer had already cast a shadow over my life. When I was seven years old, I lost my mom to breast cancer. My little sister, Olivia, was still a baby. That kind of loss burrows deep—it becomes part of your DNA. Your instincts. Your fears.
So when I found that lump, I went searching for answers.
What I got instead was a fight I should’ve never had to take on.
“You’re Too Young”
Over nearly two years, I cycled through walk-in clinics, family practices, and ERs across New Brunswick. Again and again, I explained my family history, the changes in my body, my fears.
And again and again, I was met with the same dismissive lines:
“You’re too young.”
“It’s just a cyst.”
“Come back if it gets worse.”
Well—it was getting worse. My tumour kept growing, until it was the size of a softball, visibly pushing against my chest. And still—I was dismissed.
The lowest point came in the ER. Exhausted, terrified, and desperate to be taken seriously, I pleaded for help. Instead, I was kicked out.
A healthcare worker looked me in the eye and said:
“You’re going to be the reason someone dies today. Because instead of helping them, we’re here with you.”
I was told I was wasting their time.
That day broke something in me. But it also lit a fire.
Finally, Someone Listened
In December 2021—almost two years after I first felt that lump—I finally met a nurse practitioner who didn’t dismiss me. She listened. She ordered the biopsy I had been begging for.
On December 20, 2021, I got the call:
Stage 3 breast cancer. At 21 years old.
It was terrifying—but it was also the first time in years that I felt clarity. I wasn’t crazy. I wasn’t hormonal. I was sick. And now I could finally fight the real enemy.
The Answers I Never Wanted
After my diagnosis, genetic testing revealed I carry a rare mutation called TP53—a mutation that significantly raises the risk of early-onset cancers.
I hadn’t known. But suddenly, everything made sense. My mother’s death. My own diagnosis. The pattern was heartbreakingly clear.
It was a full-circle moment I wish I never had to face.
The Fight
Treatment was brutal: chemo, surgery, pain, fear, isolation. Cancer tested every part of me—body, mind, and spirit.
But I made it through.
Three Years Later
Now, three years later, I’m here. I’m alive. I’m healthy. But let me tell you: surviving cancer and healing from cancer are not the same thing.
Survival is about getting through. Healing is about reclaiming.
Reclaiming my body.
Reclaiming my identity.
Reclaiming my peace.
Three years ago, I was a 21-year-old begging to be believed.
Today, I’m a 25-year-old flying halfway across a continent to take back what cancer tried to steal.
This Is Healing.
This is what it means to step back into my power. To not just live—but to own my life.
✨ This is healing.
✨ This is power.
✨ This is mine.
👉 If you’re reading this and you’ve ever been told you’re “too young,” let my story be your reminder: trust yourself. Keep fighting. Demand answers. Your life is worth it.
✨ Help spread the word.
💬 Know someone who needs to hear this story? Share this post. It might save a life.
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