When I first heard Stacy’s story, what stayed with me wasn’t just her diagnosis—it was her openness. 

Stacy has spent her life helping others feel less alone. As the Executive Director at SixDegrees.org, her work is rooted in the belief that we are all connected, and that even small acts of humanity can create meaningful change. Storytelling, for her, has always been a way to build empathy and move people to action. 

So, when she was diagnosed with breast cancer this past December, she found herself facing a deeply personal decision: whether to keep it private or let others into such a vulnerable moment of her life. 

“To live a life centered around service and connection requires vulnerability,” she shared with me. “I knew that if I shared what I was going through, it could help someone else.” 

And that’s exactly what she chose to do. 

Listening to Her Body 

Stacy’s story didn’t begin with panic or alarm—it began quietly, in the way so many health journeys do. 

She scheduled a visit with her OB-GYN because something just felt… off. A strange, painless spasm in her lower abdomen that she couldn’t quite explain. Around the same time, she mentioned some tenderness in her right breast—something she had experienced before because of a cyst. 

Nothing about it felt urgent. But it was enough to speak up. 

Her doctor listened and, out of an abundance of caution, ordered both an ultrasound and a mammogram. 

What happened next was unexpected. The abdominal concern turned out to be nothing. But the imaging revealed a subtle change in her breast tissue—something small, but different from the year before. 

The Follow-Up That Made the Difference 

Stacy went in for her routine mammogram at the end of October. Because of her medical history, additional imaging was standard for her, and at first, nothing felt out of the ordinary. 

Then came a call asking her to come back. 

Like many of us, she didn’t rush to schedule it. Life was full. Work was demanding. There wasn’t a clear sense of urgency. 

Then the phone rang again. 

That second call shifted something. 

Looking back, it’s hard not to see it as a turning point—the moment that nudged her to pause, to follow up, to listen. 

At that next appointment, the radiologist reviewed her scans while she was still there and recommended a biopsy. A week later, she had the procedure. 

And then came the waiting. 

Receiving the Diagnosis 

The call came on Christmas Eve. 

There’s something especially heavy about receiving life-changing news during a time that’s meant to feel joyful. Stacy described the moment as surreal—the words were clinical, unfamiliar, and delivered without much emotion. 

But on the other end of the phone, everything changed. 

Her heart dropped. 

She didn’t fully understand the medical terminology, but she understood enough to know this was serious. And like so many parents, her thoughts immediately went to her children. 

What would this mean for them? 
Would she be okay? 
Would she be here to watch them grow up? 

In moments like that, fear can feel overwhelming. And yet, alongside that fear, Stacy also felt a quiet sense of clarity—she needed to take the next step, find the right doctors, and keep moving forward. 

How Early Detection Changed Her Path 

One of the most powerful parts of Stacy’s story is this: her cancer was caught early. 

Stage 0. 

Those two words made all the difference. 

Early detection didn’t erase the fear or the weight of the diagnosis—but it gave her something incredibly important: time. Time to breathe. Time to ask questions. Time to make a decision that felt right for her life and her future. 

She was presented with options—paths that looked very different from one another. After careful thought, and with the support of her care team, Stacy chose to undergo a bilateral mastectomy to significantly reduce her risk moving forward. 

It was not an easy decision. It was deeply personal. 

But it was hers. 

And because her cancer was caught early, she was able to make that decision without the added urgency of more aggressive treatment. She avoided chemotherapy and radiation—something she holds with immense gratitude. 

Treatment, Recovery, and Community Support 

Stacy’s surgery—a mastectomy with immediate reconstruction—was both physically and emotionally significant. 

Recovery, as she describes it, was a process of both healing and learning to slow down. 

There were moments that didn’t go as planned. At one point, her surgery was unexpectedly delayed while she was already in pre-op. After months of preparing, that moment felt incredibly heavy. 

And yet, even in that setback, there was grace. The delay gave her time to rest, reset, and walk into surgery the next day with a bit more peace. 

In the weeks that followed, she focused on healing—gradually regaining strength, returning to movement, and setting small goals for herself, like getting back on the tennis court. 

But what carried her through most was the support around her. 

Family, friends, neighbors—people showed up. 

Meals were delivered. Kids were cared for. Messages, flowers, and small gestures poured in. 

“It felt like a life raft in the middle of a storm,” she told me. 

And perhaps just as importantly, she allowed herself to receive that support. 

Because as she reflected, people can’t show up if they don’t know what you’re going through. 

Advocacy and Being Heard 

Through it all, Stacy remained grounded in something she believes deeply: the importance of advocating for yourself. 

From early on, she was clear about wanting to explore a more aggressive surgical option. She was fortunate to have a doctor who listened to and supported her—but she’s aware that not everyone has that experience. 

In talking with other women, she’s seen how often people feel dismissed or uncertain in medical spaces. 

Her message is gentle but firm: your voice matters. 

“Doctors are essential partners,” she shared, “but they have to see you—your fears, your priorities, your life.” 

Every diagnosis is personal. Every path forward is, too. 

And everyone deserves to feel heard while navigating it. 

Turning Experience into Purpose 

In the days leading up to her surgery, Stacy described a quiet but powerful shift within herself. 

Amid uncertainty, she felt a sense of clarity—an urge to share what she was going through, not because she had all the answers, but because she knew someone else might need to hear it. 

When she opened up, the response was immediate and deeply personal. 

Messages came in from women who had walked a similar path, some sharing stories they had never spoken out loud before. Others admitted they had been putting off their own screenings—and were now making appointments. 

It was a reminder that you never fully know who might be listening, or how much your story might matter to someone else. 

For Stacy, it reaffirmed something she has long believed: so many people are carrying things we cannot see. And in those moments, even the smallest act of honesty, care, or connection can make someone feel a little less alone.