My breast cancer journey did not start with a routine mammogram. It began when my youngest daughter and I were on our way to my grandson’s soccer tournament. What started out as a beautiful morning took a quick and harrowing turn. We were involved in a terrible car accident on the interstate with an 18-wheel tractor-trailer. One moment, we were careening across the highway, and the next, we found ourselves in the emergency room with severe injuries. I was diagnosed with a burst fracture in my back, and my daughter suffered a traumatic brain injury.

You can’t fully imagine the horror of being in a car wreck until it actually happens to you. I can still taste the tin-like smoke that filled my lungs as I sat wounded and dazed against the imploded airbag. Sirens from the distant fire engines and the voices of EMS workers made the unimaginable a reality as they scrambled to extract me from my car. My left side took a severe hit from the cement barrier, leaving me in a back brace and unthinkable pain. 

Months later when I went to the salvage yard where my car had been towed, the gentleman there asked me when and where the accident occurred. When I told him, he looked at me long and hard, then said he was the one who removed my car from the scene and didn’t think either one of us would survive. “You must have someone up there looking out for you,” he said as he shook his head in disbelief. Little did I know how true that statement would be until I had a follow-up appointment with my family physician.

While sitting in his office, my doctor pulled down the emergency room records, and after looking them over, he turned towards me and said they saw something unusual in my lymph node during the X-rays and CT scans. He said he didn’t want to alarm me but strongly suggested I go for a 3D mammogram. Initially, I blew him off and chalked whatever he saw up to another complication from the accident. Weary from all the physical therapy and doctor appointments, I only wanted to get on with my life. Thankfully, my doctor knew me all too well, and if he hadn’t called a few weeks later to remind me where I needed to go for the mammogram, I might never have gone.

I met with Dr. Wolfe, my breast care doctor, and she performed a biopsy on my left breast. A few days later, I received a call while at work that it was cancer. I immediately went to my friend’s cubicle and broke down. Soon after, my doctor scheduled me for a biopsy of a lymph node after noticing something suspicious there, too. That also came back as cancer. I had a biopsy to remove the lump and all the lymph nodes on my left side. I only had cancer in one lymph node, but I ended up having to wear a drain for three weeks, and I hated every minute of it.

Then came my MammaPrint score. A MammaPrint test analyzes how likely cancerous tumors will grow and spread and is used to help make treatment decisions. Mine indicated that I needed chemotherapy. My oncologist gave me two options, and I chose to go with the more aggressive treatment to ensure that there was no trace left. Before my first round of chemo, I cut my long hair to my shoulders. The hardest thing about chemo besides the unknown is losing your hair. I am not an especially vain woman, but once my hair started falling out, I would cry myself to sleep at night. I had purchased several wigs, and by the end of the second week, most of my hair had completely fallen out. I started wearing wigs to work and prayed no one would notice.

Only my friends and managers at work knew what I was going through. With all the attention from the car accident, I needed a break from the spotlight. On my last day of chemo, I finally decided to post a video about my diagnosis on Facebook. I was blown away by the outpouring of love and kindness I received. Friends I didn’t know who had breast cancer messaged me and offered their support. I needed that before beginning six weeks of radiation, which totaled 30 sessions. Fortunately, I finished up a week before COVID closed the world down.

Everyone always asks how I handled everything in such a short space of time—a fractured back, my daughter’s brain injury, and being diagnosed with breast cancer all within a month. My answer is simple—perspective. As it turned out, around that time, I had a very dear friend who was going through treatment for Glioblastoma, a brain cancer. Spending as much time with her as possible helped take my mind off my situation. Besides, my cancer was curable; hers wasn’t. She passed away within a year of her diagnosis.

Ironically, my ex-boyfriend was diagnosed with HPV throat cancer right after I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I had ended things with him after my car accident, but we remained friends and supported each other through our treatment. I was so fortunate to have been surrounded by such a strong support system. I have two amazingly kind and conscientious daughters. My youngest one made the drive from college in Rhode Island to Pennsylvania for all except one of my chemo treatments. She, along with my aunt and cousin, were at my surgery, bell ringing ceremony, and my last radiation treatment.

My job was also very understanding and allowed me to work from home when needed. I made a point not to miss any work except on treatment days. It was important for me to try to live as normal a life as possible. There were days when my body was so drained I could barely move, but I forced myself to walk on breaks so I wouldn’t waste away, physically or mentally. My cousin connected me with a breast cancer survivor who was a source of inspiration for me. When I suffered extreme back pain after my first chemo treatment, she encouraged me not to suffer in silence but to reach out to my oncologist. She was always there to patiently guide me when life became too overwhelming. I could never express how much that meant to me.

Today, I am 4 years cancer-free. Every year, when it’s time for my mammogram, I worry until I get the results. I don’t know if that will ever get any easier. I am in year four of my five years of Anastrozole. I have had my final surgery, which removed my ovaries and fallopian tubes. And thankfully, I no longer have to endure monthly Zoladex shots in my stomach!

Through it all, I am still trying to remain positive. Cancer has changed my life—body, mind, and soul. Hearing I had cancer blindsided me because there was no family history, and genetic testing showed no markers, which underscores the importance of routine mammogram screenings. I am slowly losing the weight I gained from treatment and menopause. My hair has grown back, still blonde but curly.

Midlife threw my world into a tailspin, but through it all, I’ve learned not to take life for granted. These days, I make it a point to find the silver lining in every situation. I had some losses—my friend with Glioblastoma and my ex, but in the same breath, I’ve had so many wins. I survived a car wreck and beat breast cancer. I also gained a new love and respect for my family and friends who lifted me up and held my hand when I needed them most. I am eternally grateful to them.

As part of my healing, I now volunteer with the Pennsylvania Breast Cancer Coalition. I am committed to helping other women through this journey and sharing the hope, knowledge, and resources that saw me through my darkest hours. There are days when I struggle with excruciating back pain and images of the crash still haunt me, but I have found purpose in my pain and graciously count my many blessings—accidental and otherwise.

Lisa Aungst is a breast cancer survivor passionate about helping other women traveling on this journey. Aside from volunteering at the Pennsylvania Breast Cancer Coalition, she is a lifelong software developer who loves to write, enjoy life to the fullest, and make lasting memories with family and friends.