In the summer of 2022, Julie Joyal was sitting in a sterile, cold waiting room in a Boston hospital with several other women—all there for follow-up breast imaging, waiting for the nurse to call their name.
“It was a very quiet room—no one made eye contact or small talk,” she said. “We were all terrified they would find one of those lump bump shadow things.”
At a routine mammogram—her first after a few years of COVID-related delays—doctors had spotted one of those “lump bump shadow things” and sent her for additional imaging. But, her doctor assured her, it was probably nothing.
But as the nurse called her back for more and more images on the same breast, Julie—a mom of two grown children, four stepchildren, and four grandchildren—realized that she had breast cancer.
“I was still completely shocked,” she said. “I was terrified. I did not want chemo. It really scared me.”
Julie was diagnosed with stage 1b breast cancer and underwent a lumpectomy and radiation in the fall. She tried recurrence risk–reducing hormone therapy but had to stop because of debilitating side effects. Though she’s anxious when she goes for her annual mammogram now, she’s grateful to have had far-less-invasive treatment and have breast cancer behind her.
“I live my life differently after this. I didn’t know it while I was going through treatment how lucky I was to have caught it early,” she said. “I’m so glad I didn’t have to do chemo. My kids would not have done well seeing me bald and weak. I know I would have done chemo and been fine if I had to, but research prevented me from having to go through that. I’m just so grateful.”
Julie also can’t help but think about the other women in the waiting room that day. After her diagnosis, Julie, who is white, had the social capital and knowledge to get the best care and navigate the healthcare system.
The other women in that room? They were all women of color, who—regardless of income and education and other social determinants—often face worse outcomes after breast cancer. In fact: Black women are 40 percent more likely to die from breast cancer than white women despite being diagnosed at slightly lower rates.
As the founding executive director of Harvard Medical School MEDscience, a nonprofit that inspires the next generation of diverse scientists, Julie is well-versed on racial disparities and social determinants of health. She thinks about those other women even now: Did they have delays in treatment? Were they diagnosed at later stages?
“I have to use my power to help others,” she said. “So many people don’t have the access that many of us do. With cancer, time and access matters. We can and we must do better; everyone deserves to be lucky.”
Julie has long supported BCRF, not only because she has known many people who have been impacted by the disease but because of the Foundation’s commitment to ending disparities.
Last spring at BCRF’s Boston Hot Pink Party, Julie honored her friend Nancy Adams with the Foundation’s The Roslyn and Leslie Goldstein Unsung Hero Award, giving a passionate speech about the power of friendship and research.
“I truly believe that because of BCRF research I am doing well, and with continued research and ample funding, I have faith that I and others with a breast cancer diagnosis will be able to live our best lives,” she said.
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