Dear Diagnosis · Issue #003 · May 2026
Dear Diagnosis is a weekly letter by me, Lea, 32, navigating breast cancer — and writing about all of it.
Issue #003 is the phone call: the Friday afternoon Lea's gynaecologist called with her biopsy results, the first people she told, and the days she spent trying to keep her life normal while everything had already changed. If you're new here, start with Issue #001 — the scan that started everything.
ISSUE #003 · May, 31th 2026
The phone call that split my life in two
She had the word in her mouth and couldn't find it.
| The phone call where I found out I had breast cancer
We were staying that week at Clara's house — a friend who'd lent us her place while she and her family were on holiday in the south of France. Marc and I were working from the same room.
I was eating lunch quickly so I could get back to work. I saw an unknown number calling. I answered.
It was my gynaecologist. She sounded confused, sorry, searching for words. I understood immediately. I started to cry. Marc was at his desk right next to me. He understood.
The gynaecologist apologised — she hadn't known she'd be receiving biopsy results. She asked if I had questions. I didn't know what to say. I was in shock, doing my best to keep my head up. I held it together. It took her a long time to say the words breast cancer. She didn’t needed to say it for me to understand but to hear it, it made it reel. I remember exactly how she said it. She told me after maybe 10 minutes of talking « you understand that it means that you have breast cancer, right? ».
She asked me more questions: where did I live? Where would I prefer to be treated — Paris, or in the suburbs? I said in the suburbs, to be close to my parents.
She told me she'd call back shortly with the next steps.
I cried a lot on the phone. She tried to hold me and reassure me, but everything was blurry. The only things I retained were: I had breast cancer, and we needed to act fast.
I hung up. I told Marc. He started crying too.
I was left without a lot of explanation and with a doctor whose voice was trembling and sorry for me. It didn’t reassure me.
About five minutes later, the gynaecologist called back. She told me she'd arranged an appointment the following Tuesday with Dr. Martin, head of the senology department — a highly competent doctor.
I was reassured that the appointment had been arranged so quickly. She told me I'd had some luck: there'd been a cancellation.
I hung up again. I immediately sent a message to my sister Noemie. She called me as soon as she saw the message. She was very calm, very composed, and she explained the next steps clearly. She is a doctor so she knows. She gave me everything I needed to share with Dr. Martin at my consultation. She told me not to go alone — it was going to be a difficult conversation. And to take my day off to give me some time to process whatever I will be able to process after the consultation.
After her call, I was a little more settled compared to my call earlier with the gynecologist. She'd been calm, practical. That was what I needed.
Then I had an online team meeting at work. I went to it anyway. I wanted to keep going as if nothing had happened for just a little while longer. Marc, sitting next to me, was in tears and couldn't calm down.
After the meeting, I'd planned to visit a flat to rent in the suburbs. I decided to keep that appointment too. It was a small place, a bit damp, not very bright. We didn’t take the appartment but it felt nice to pretend my life hasn’t change during the time we visited the appartment.
The next day, we were invited to a barbecue at my sister Sophie with cousins. I'd planned some games for the day. With Marc, we spent the whole evening preparing the games. It helped us forget. We concentrated on something joyful.
| Telling my family I had breast cancer: the first days
The following day we arrived a little earlier at Sophie’s to help with the shopping and the barbecue. Sophie didn't know yet. I didn't want to tell her everything at once — not in front of the cousins.
But she asked me directly if I'd had the results. I told her. Very calmly. We were preparing vegetables. We didn't look at each other when I said it.
She replied very calmly too. No visible emotion. Sophie's daughter Lila was there with us, cutting fake vegetables to keep her busy. My other sister Noémie, who'd arrived with her husband, came over. I told her them that I didn't want to say anything to the cousins that day.
We ate. The meat was burnt. I didn't say anything and I ate it anyway even though we say that eating burn can cause cancer. We did play the games we prepared. It was fun but ran a little long. It made me forget about cancer for a little while.
The next day I went to my parents' to take them grocery shopping. My aunt was there. My mother asked if I'd received the results. I lied. I didn't stay long. I decided to go home quickly. We agreed with my sister to not tell my mom yet. Not until I have my appointment with Dr Martin because right now we didn’t have much information about the next steps so it would’ve been too stressful for my mom.
| How I told my mother about my breast cancer diagnosis
Back at Clara's, she asked if I'd had the results. I told her through voice messages so she could hear that I was ok. She took a while to reply. She was worried. She told me she cried when she heard the news.
In the days that followed, I was still at Clara's. I remember crying in the mornings, because I was alone — Marc wasn't awake yet — and there was no one to hold me.
I mentioned it at work. I had wet eyes. But I needed to say it immediately, so I could plan my absence.
We decided to move back to my parents' house to be closer to the hospital.
Tuesday: My breast cancer first appointment with Dr. Martin, my new oncologist. We waited a long time. Marc was there with me.
To be continued next Sunday.
Lea
The French non-profit Ligue contre le Cancer has a free guide on talking to loved ones about a cancer diagnosis — what to say, what not to say, and how to handle the silences. It's practical and honest. ligue-cancer.net
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What is Dear Diagnosis?
Dear Diagnosis is a weekly newsletter written by Lea, a 32-year-old woman living with breast cancer. One honest letter a week, every Sunday. Raw, personal, and free. It's not medical advice. It's what a friend would say if she were going through it and wasn't too scared to tell you the truth.
Who is Dear Diagnosis for?
For women who just found out, who had or is still fighting against their breast cancer. For women six months into treatment who need to hear that someone else is going through it. For the partners and sisters and best friends who don’t know what to say. For anyone still needs to process what happened. For everyone who feels alone during this difficult time. Join the community and let’s help each other all around the world.
What happens in Issue #003?
Issue #003 is the phone call. On a Friday afternoon, Léa's gynaecologist called with her biopsy results. She was eating lunch. Her partner Marc was sitting next to her at his desk. This issue follows the next 72 hours: the first people she told, the barbecue she went to anyway, and the appointment with Dr. Martin she was waiting for.
I just got my breast cancer diagnosis. What are the very first steps I should take?
The first hours after a breast cancer diagnosis are disorienting — and you don't need to do everything at once. In my case, my gynaecologist called back within minutes with a concrete next step: an appointment with a specialist in senology (a breast cancer specialist). That's the only real priority in the first 48 hours — get your first specialist appointment booked, as quickly as possible. If your doctor doesn't proactively arrange it, call back and ask. Don't wait. Having an expert's answer is reassuring and keeps you away from unrealistic scenarios you might create in your head.
How do I tell my family I have breast cancer?
There's no perfect script. In Issue #003, Lea shares how she told her partner, her sisters, and her mother — each conversation different, none of them easy. The Ligue contre le Cancer (ligue-cancer.net) also has a free practical guide on talking to loved ones about a diagnosis.
Is Dear Diagnosis written by a doctor?
No. Lea is not a doctor. Dear Diagnosis is a personal account, not medical advice. If you've just been diagnosed, please speak with your oncologist. If you're looking for peer support, you can write to Lea by replying to the newsletter, or look for patient organisations near you.
How do I subscribe to Dear Diagnosis?
You can subscribe for free at deardiagnosis.co. A new letter arrives every Sunday.