As a 47-year-old woman in medicine, I am accustomed to the balancing act we perform regarding our families, careers, and our well-being. In March 2024, I was planning my next six months, as we typically do in emergency medicine. I was accepted into a part-time master’s degree program at Georgetown University. I was looking forward to my mother’s birthday cruise to Alaska, and was gearing up for my 14th medical mission trip, this time to Malawi.

I had my mammogram on a Friday afternoon and by Monday morning, I was called with the report of a spiculated mass in my right breast. That word just stuck in my head—spiculated.

I quickly scheduled an ultrasound, which also revealed the mass. The radiologist awkwardly delivered the news to me, without making eye contact. The ultrasound technician shooed her out and explained that I needed an ultrasound-guided biopsy. I had to wait two weeks before getting the definitive diagnosis, and during this time, I did not tell anyone what was happening. I researched breast cancer programs in the area and looked up everything I could about breast cancer diagnosis, treatment, and prognosis while waiting for the biopsy.

I also marveled at how burdensome it was for people with less flexible schedules to make these appointments. After the biopsy confirmed ductal carcinoma in situ, I was determined to get through this and back to my life.

Starting Treatment

I finally told my husband, who went with me to my breast surgeon appointment. He is not in the medical field but was there for support and a second set of ears. The plan was to get a lumpectomy with lymph node biopsy at the end of May 2024, after my mother’s birthday cruise. I told my boss, who was amazing in getting my schedule cleared for surgery and recovery. I had physical therapy, medical oncology, lymphedema clinic, and radiation oncology appointments to schedule. The day after my surgery, I finally told my immediate family and close friends. I was overwhelmed by the number of people who confessed to skipping their routine mammograms because they didn’t have the time.

I was prepared to cancel my mission trip to Malawi, but with the blessing of my radiation oncologist, I was able to reschedule my radiation therapy. Unfortunately, my treatments were scheduled to coincide with my first classes at Georgetown. The radiation was scheduled at 7:45 a.m., every weekday for three and a half weeks. I would wake up, drive to my radiation treatment, and on class days, immediately drive one and a half hours to campus. On workdays, I would go home to nap and then work my shift. It was exhausting. In mid-September, I completed my radiation treatments and rang the bell.

Teri Penn, MD, FACEP, rings the bell after completing radiation treatment for breast cancer. (Click to enlarge.)

Sharing My Story

I planned to keep up with my appointments, take the daily tamoxifen for the next five years, and get back to my life as it was before. However, the knowledge that I changed the minds of two close acquaintances and encouraged them to get their screening mammograms was not lost on me. I wanted to tell no one—I told my boss that if someone came up to me at work with a sad look on their face, acting sorry for me, I would quit. I had to reframe my thinking: If I could change two minds within my tight personal circle of friends and family, how many more could I change by stepping out of my comfort zone and sharing my story?

So here I am, more than one year later, already in my second semester, and looking forward to my mission trips to Peru and Nepal. I am back to my normal self, with more insight and gratitude. This is only because I was able to catch my cancer early. There is a chance of recurrence, but I know that I beat it once, and if I need to face breast cancer again, I can triumph once more. I’m asking all of you to remember to take care of yourselves as much as you care for your patients and loved ones.

I am reminded of one of my patients. She was 56 when I diagnosed her with stage IV metastatic breast cancer in the emergency department. When I asked her the last time she had a mammogram, she joked about how it was probably before I was born. She had a good job and great health insurance. I can’t help but imagine how her life would have been different had she just kept up with her screening. I wish I had the opportunity to have told her my story before our fateful meeting when I looked her in the eyes to tell her that she had cancer.

Dr. Penn is an attending physician for MedStar Medical Group and director of quality and education at the Good Samaritan Hospital Department of Emergency Medicine in Baltimore, Md.