In June 2008, I got the news no one ever wants to hear: “You have breast cancer.” At first, they said Stage 2 but later I learned it was Stage 3. That truth hit me harder than anything else. But there was no time to fall apart. I had to fight. And like so many women, I felt this unspoken pressure to smile, to stay calm, to trust the experts, and to accept what I was told.
– Surgery
– Chemotherapy
– Radiation
– Recovery
I bulldozed through it all. But I didn’t leave my fate in anyone else’s hands. I asked questions. I challenged every assumption. It was terrifying. But I survived. And I thought that chapter was over.
And then, years later, I found myself back in the storm, but this time, it wasn’t about me. It was my daughter. She was only 35. I remember the way she looked at me when she told me her news. Her eyes didn’t blink. She just said it like someone asking for a glass of water, but I saw her fear.
Watching her go through the same grueling treatments I had endured was a new kind of pain. A mother’s pain. Then came the delays. Her chemotherapy was pushed back. Not by a few days, but for almost six weeks. During that time, her tumor grew, and her pain worsened. I watched her curl up on her bed, holding her breast.
And her oncologist? Detached. When I asked, no, begged for the same growth factor drug that had helped me during neutropenia, she brushed me off. Like I didn’t know what I was talking about.
That delay wasn’t just an error. It was a violation. The healthcare system, with all its protocols and busy doctors, wasn’t prepared to fight for her the way a mother would. When solutions were scarce and time was slipping away, I realized I had to go to war. Again!
Strategy as Survival
When you go through cancer, you learn two separate truths. First, the disease is brutal. Second, the system is full of cracks you can fall through. That said, I developed a plan like my life depended on it. Hers did.
I used what I knew from business: structure, systems, persistence. Every appointment went into the LOTSA app. I had binders, yes, literal binders full of lab results, doctor notes, medical research, and questions we still needed answers to.
Every medication was logged, side effects tracked, dosage times noted. It sounds clinical, but honestly? It gave me something to hold onto when everything else felt like it was spinning out of control. Sadly no app or binder could fix the parts of this fight that existed outside medicine.
The Bias That Blocks Access
I can’t shake the feeling that part of the problem was that my daughter was on a government-assisted medical. But what they didn’t know and never bothered to ask was that she was on the program because she had spent years of her life giving back, teaching in Africa, helping others.
Still, people saw the government-assisted medical; they made assumptions: that we couldn’t pay or wouldn’t try. Financial assistance, payment plans, even treatment scholarships, none of it was mentioned until I pushed. It always came up as an afterthought. That kind of silence is rooted in bias. It assumes limitations without ever knowing the story.
Who wouldn’t do whatever it takes for their child? I paid cash many times just to keep her treatments going when insurance fell short. But navigating that system shouldn’t fall on patients and families. That’s the system’s job.
Sisterhood: The Real Medicine
When fear felt too heavy for me, my community carried us. My mother, sister, and aunts flew in from across states. They cooked meals. They cleaned our home. Their presence was healing. But it was my sisters who spread across Atlanta, California, Texas, and Vegas who truly stepped up in a way a family alone couldn’t.
They gave rides to chemo appointments when I was working or collapsing into sleep. They brought laughter when tears were about to drown us. They prayed, they baked, they listened, they held space. They didn’t just say they were with us. They showed up. And in doing so, they helped us not just survive but reclaim our strength.
A Call to Every Woman
This story isn’t mine alone. It’s a warning. Because so many voices are ignored. And if we don’t do something, silence becomes acceptance.
To every woman listening:
1. Ask again. If that first answer doesn’t sound right, press harder.
2. Seek a second opinion. Or a third. Or fourth.
3. Find your squad. Build that village: friends, sisters, mentors, survivors, people who will fight with you.
4. Trust your gut. No one knows your body like you do.
5. Use your power. Never let anyone silence it.
We don’t have to take what we’re given. We don’t have to stay quiet. We deserve better: more options, more respect, more care, no matter where we get it or what we look like.
Because here’s the bottom line: cancer may threaten to take our bodies, but bias, indifference, and assumptions threaten our lives every bit as much. And if we don’t speak up, who will? We owe it to ourselves, to our daughters.
Speak up. Fight hard. Keep going. Silence is no longer safe.
Name: Dr. Connie Bell
Professional Title: Svp Of Security Risk / Professor And Doctoral Chair / Academic Author
Bio: Dr. Connie Bell Is A Breast Cancer Survivor, Advocate, And Academic Published Author. Her Personal Journey And Professional Insight Drive Her Mission To Fight For Healthcare Equity, Amplify Unheard Voices, And Challenge Systemic Barriers In Medicine, All While Navigating The Roles Of Survivor, Caregiver, And Mother.
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