I Was 41 and Running 5Ks When I Was Diagnosed With Terminal Cancer
Fast-forward a year: I was now 41 and had yet to get a mammogram. (Editor’s note: The American Cancer Society says women have the option to start screening for breast cancer at 40.) So on the morning of my ninth wedding anniversary, I finally went in; that night I put on a cute dress, lipstick, and heels, and went to dinner with my husband. In a matter of days I would be asked to return for an ultrasound and then a biopsy.
I tried not to worry, but I knew the biopsy results would come in while my family and I were on a trip to New York, my favorite city in the world. I remember going to breakfast with my husband, then walking around and taking a ton of pictures. These could be the last pictures of me not having cancer, I thought.
The call from my ob-gyn came later that day: I had breast cancer in my right breast, and it had spread to my right lymph node. He gave me the name of a surgeon at UCLA and encouraged me to leave NYC immediately and get back home to L.A.
When we were at the airport, on our way home, I told my husband that our children are my legacy, and he had to take good care of them and teach them to remember me. I thought I was dying that day.
My husband was a rock. I never saw him break once—until he had to call his parents and say out loud, “Eva has breast cancer.” It took him a long time to be able to say those words without crying.
I knew then that I wanted to document my experience. I wanted to make sure my kids would know me. I wanted a visual reminder of what I was about to go through. I didn’t want to forget. I didn’t want to be one of those people who goes through breast cancer and then forgets the hard times, so I decided to start filming every step of my journey for a documentary.
I was recovering from my first surgery when I got a call from my oncologist. The cancer had metastasized up and down my spine and into my liver. It was stage IV breast cancer—also known as metastatic breast cancer—which is considered terminal. I remember lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, while my husband started making calls to our friends and family members. I didn’t just have cancer; I had incurable cancer.
