Amal, Egypt

In early 2025, while I was breastfeeding my twin girls, I discovered a lump in my left breast. At first, I dismissed it; it didn’t hurt, so I thought it was nothing. But my sister, a nurse, insisted I get it checked. Following her advice, I headed to Baheya Foundation, which turned out to be one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I was diagnosed with stage II breast cancer.

My treatment plan was intense: a total mastectomy, followed by four cycles of "white" chemotherapy and four cycles of "red" chemotherapy. I am now facing my very last chemo session before beginning radiation.

Explaining my hair loss to my toddlers was heartbreaking. I simply told them mommy was sick but would be okay soon. My mother and siblings were my pillars of strength, standing by me through every step.

However, the hardest blow didn’t come from the disease, but from my marriage. My husband supported me at first, but eventually, he decided he could no longer handle the reality of my illness. Despite my best efforts to keep our home running and care for our children while exhausted, he asked me to leave and move in with my mother. He simply couldn't endure the journey anymore.

This rejection changed me completely. Before cancer, I gave my heart and my energy to everyone without limits. Now, I have learned to set boundaries. I treat people exactly as they deserve to be treated. When I started choosing myself, many people who couldn't handle the "new me" walked away.

I realized something profound: If I was brave enough to cut a part of my own body to survive, I am certainly brave enough to cut toxic people out of my life. If they don't deserve a place in my journey, they no longer have one. This is my new nature, and it is far stronger than the person I was before.

Today, I am looking toward the future. I want to volunteer in the Psychosocial Support Department at Baheya to transfer my experience to other fighters, helping them navigate this stage of their lives with the same resilience I discovered within myself.

Cancer took a part of me, but it gave me my dignity and my voice back.