puras underwent a lumpectomy and insisted the tumour be sent to pathology. the diagnosis: breast cancer, specifically a non-invasive ductal carcinoma.
the resulting treatment, which included radiation and a year of intensive hormone therapy requiring regular injections and frequent hospital visits, was gruelling. “that was the part,” she says, “that really kicked my butt.”
five years later, at 30, the cancer returned. this time, it was invasive. though it had not spread beyond the breast, her oncologist recommended an immediate double mastectomy. “i felt i didn’t have a choice,” puras says.
the surgery and the recovery that followed fundamentally changed her understanding of cancer care. at one point, she was unable to get out of bed without help. “my husband had to carry me to the bathroom,” she says.
even after the physical healing, the effects lingered. “i was exhausted for a year,” she says. “my body just wasn’t catching up.”
as she worked to regain mobility, manage pain and cope with ongoing fatigue, puras’ understanding of what it means to live well began to shift.
in oncology, “quality of life” generally refers to a person’s physical, emotional and social well-being, including their ability to maintain relationships, participate in daily activities and feel mentally and physically well. but as puras discovered, those priorities are deeply personal and can shift dramatically after a diagnosis.
before cancer, she says, she hadn’t given much thought to quality of life. then cancer disrupted nearly every part of hers.
beyond the physical and psychological impact of losing a body part, there were quieter, compounding challenges: the isolation of being decades younger than most patients in the waiting room; navigating care designed primarily for older, post-menopausal women; and hesitating to speak up about side effects or emotional strain for fear of being dismissed.