A phone call that says “bring someone with you” can split a life in two. Stacey’s did—while she was pregnant. What unfolds from there isn’t a tragedy arc; it’s a masterclass in practical courage: an early induction so doctors can scan, a rare inflammatory breast cancer diagnosis that demands speed, Thursdays in the chemo chair marked by bright clothes and small talk, and a mastectomy followed by radiation that she times between school runs and family milestones.

We go right back to Kulak to understand the spine behind the story—standing your ground as a kid, hiding a pregnancy at sixteen, and the deep imprint of her nanny’s illness and loss. That early fear of cancer stalked her for years, then showed up in the most vulnerable season. Stacey refused to let panic run the house. She built a routine instead: boundaries at the door, help that actually helps, and a promise to keep life as normal as possible for a newborn and two twelve-year-olds navigating their own worries. She talks openly about hair loss without heartbreak, the shock of not recognising your body, and the nurses waiting for a breakdown that never came because motion was her medicine.

A year later, reconstruction with her own tissue gave back shape and confidence—painful weeks that paid off in a body she can live in, not tiptoe around. Along the way, Stephen drops the mask, quits drink, and becomes the kind of partner you lean on without asking. Stacey stops whispering past hospitals, unfollows the doom scroll, and trades fear for gratitude. Her advice is simple and hard: eat when you don’t want to, get out of bed even for an hour, protect your head from stories that aren’t yours, and keep your eyes on the life you’re building, not the illness you’re treating.

If this story moved you, follow and subscribe for more real conversations, share it with someone who needs a lift, and leave a review to help others find us. Your words help bring these voices to more ears.

Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.