I never thought breast cancer was going to be part of my life story for the next 28 years or so, at least.
As a secretary and a PR specialist at a life insurance company, I was responsible for writing data analysis and research reports on the topic of critical illnesses. In the reports, breast cancer was always highlighted as a leading cause of death. But it was just numbers for me—until one evening, after my shower, I noticed a hard lump in my left breast.
It did not hurt. It was stationary. However it was there.
I kept telling myself that it was probably nothing. Maybe stress. Maybe a cyst. However, after two months, that peanut-sized lump had turned into a size of a lima bean.
The Doctor’s Visit (And the Awkwardness That Came With It)
To get a breast check-up as a young, unmarried woman in China is a… weird experience. My first problem? The doctor was a man in his midlife.
While he was feeling the lump, I had to raise my shirt. His face didn’t show anything.
“Doesn’t seem like a regular cyst,” he said. “You better have an ultrasound.”
The ultrasound was set to take place a week later. As usual. Because nothing in the healthcare system moves quickly.
The technician’s face looked unhappy when I got the scan done. “This image doesn’t provide you with good news. BI-RADS 4A.”
I looked it up later.
BI-RADS 4A indicates a 2-10% chance of the mass being malignant.
The following action? The biopsy.
The Needle, the Fear, and the Worst Waiting Game of My Life
I already had the biopsy worse than the actual one. When the huge needle was plunged into my breast, I was lying there, half-bare, and I was trying hard not to get scared.
Seven days. That’s how long it took me to receive my biopsy results.
Seven days to ponder: What if I have cancer? How much will treatment cost? Will my insurance cover it? How much time do I have left?
The Real Problem Wasn’t the Tumor—It Was My Job
While I was waiting, I realized that My job was killing me.
For five years, I had been a secretary of a female CEO who treated me like her personal assistant—no, more like her servant.
- Brewing her special “health teas” every morning
- Ordering her lunch, cleaning up after her
- Staying late as she liked the office “quiet” after hours
- Dealing with creepy male coworkers who “accidentally” touched me or sent inappropriate messages
And the worst? My boss didn’t care.
Once I shared with her my sleepless nights (caused by stress), she laughed. “Weak.”
Once I told her about harassment, she dismissed it. “You’re making it up.”
The Moment I Finally Quit
The biopsy result was benign. Just a fibroadenoma—but it was quite large, so surgery was recommended.
After my surgery, I took two weeks off for recovery. Not one message from my boss.
That’s when I lost it.
I went to my manager’s office, threw my resignation letter on his desk, and left.
His face was priceless.
“You can’t just quit!”
“How about I do it?”
Life After the Toxic Job
Three months later, I found myself lying on the desert sands of Gansu, looking up at the sky, and feeling my freedom at last.
Gone were the 14-hour workdays, the times I was treated like a doormat and the times I had to push my health aside for a company that didn’t care about me.
That tumor? It was not cancer. But it was a wake-up call.
Sometimes, your body knows before your mind does: You’re worth more than this.
If you are in a job that drains your soul and you can’t get out, then it is my advice that you quit immediately.
Your health and your future self will be grateful to you for making that decision.
