As told to Britt Julious

I found it. I knew something wasn’t right. I told my wife Alex over and over and over and over again. I continued to pester her: Go see the doctor. When she finally made an appointment, [they thought] it was nothing. My daughter was 11 months at the time, [and my wife] was still breastfeeding. She was 31 years old at the time, so when we first found the lump, nobody thought it was cancer. The doctor said that it was probably a clogged milk duct. But it wasn’t. She was diagnosed with stage II triple-negative breast cancer.

Because Alex would have to go through chemotherapy, we did preemptive IVF. Later, she did 16 rounds of chemotherapy, the AC, and then she got into a clinical trial with the drug Keytruda. Almost every Monday for 4 to 6 months, we were at the University of Chicago all day. She ultimately had a bilateral mastectomy.

I handled this whole situation very much like a business. For better or worse, right or wrong, I compartmentalized everything. When I was [at work], I focused on work. When I was home, I focused on being home. I kind of turned into a robot. I didn’t know any other way to get through it.

I became an advocate for my wife. I’d ask questions; I got a lot of answers I wasn’t comfortable with. I did my own research, and we still missed things. I shudder to think what people who are less educated, can’t speak the language, or don’t have the financial means have to go through. We’re not the experts, but that doesn’t mean they know all the answers, either.

That didn’t allow me any time to deal with the emotional stuff that came along with it. Once you get done with the treatment, you’re only just beginning. It’s a work in progress. We’re trying to get back to where we were, but it’s never going to be the same.

After the fact, I discovered Imerman Angels, and I decided I was going to become a mentor. I have three or four guys that are my age going through a very similar experience to mine. I know that it helps. And somewhat selfishly, I have a group of guys I can talk to about stuff my friends or brothers or parents don’t understand.