Making magical memories on purpose after metastatic breast cancer

“I found it myself,” she says. “And even when doctors told me the odds were low, I knew it needed to be checked.”

In November 2021, Jenny learned she had breast cancer. A few weeks later, further scans showed a lesion on her liver. From the start, her cancer was metastatic.

A registered nurse and lactation consultant, Jenny had done everything she was “supposed” to do. She had regular care, no family history, and a mammogram the year before that showed nothing concerning.

She was 41 years old, raising three children, and now living with metastatic breast cancer.

A magical move in fast forward

At first, the shock was overwhelming. Jenny had just finished a graduate degree and started teaching nursing students. Her children were young. The future she imagined suddenly felt fragile.

“When I found out it was stage IV, I went through all of it,” she says. “Fear. Anger. Grief. I know the statistics. I’m a nurse.”

But once the initial shock passed, something else took over.

“I realized I couldn’t change the diagnosis,” she says. “But I could choose how we lived.”

That realization shaped every decision that followed.

Before her diagnosis, Jenny and her husband had already been planning a move. Afterward, the question became not if they would move, but where and why.

As a family, they loved Disney. It had always been their place to unplug, laugh, and be together. Jenny began to imagine what it would mean to live closer to those experiences.

“I said to my husband, ‘What if we stop waiting?’” she says. “‘What if we make memories now, instead of someday?’”

They sold their home in New Jersey and moved to Florida in 2022 after Jenny completed surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation. Today, they live about 25 minutes from Walt Disney World Resort.

Disney was never about escape. It was about ease. Living nearby meant they didn’t have to plan far ahead or wait for the “right” moment. Some days, it was a short visit. Other days, it was walking through the parks, watching her kids choose what felt fun or familiar.

Disney worked with the family to shape the experience around their children, giving them time, photos, and moments Jenny knows they’ll return to time and again.

“We don’t save the good days,” she says. “If it’s a bad day, we go. If it’s a good day, we go. The point is being together.”

Parenting with honesty

Telling her children that she had metastatic breast cancer was one of the hardest moments of Jenny’s life.

Her daughters were young when she was diagnosed. Her youngest son is autistic, which shapes how he understands and processes her illness. Jenny made a choice early on to be honest without overwhelming them.

“I tell them the truth in ways they can handle,” she says. “If I’m worried, they can worry. If I’m not, they don’t need to be.”

She keeps routines as steady as possible: taking them to Irish step dancing, making sure they don’t miss Girl Scouts, and ensuring they attend as many school events as possible.

“Cancer doesn’t get to be the only thing they know,” she says. “They still get to be kids.”

This philosophy is crucial, she says, especially on days when treatment is hard and emotions run high. Routine gives her children something steady to hold onto.

Jenny also documents everything, snapping photos and videos of Disney trips, holidays, and everyday moments with family and friends. She’s also writing letters for her kids to read in the future.

“These memories matter,” she says. “They’ll carry them long after I’m gone.”

A complicated medical road

For Jenny, now 46, treatment has changed many times.

Her cancer has shifted types more than once, changing how it behaves and how it can be treated. Over time, doctors identified a second breast cancer alongside her original metastatic diagnosis, each responding differently to treatment.

Some treatments slowed the cancer at first, only to stop working months later. Others caused serious side effects that forced her to pause or change course. Each shift meant new scans, new decisions, and learning to live with uncertainty all over again.

In early 2023, while on HER2-targeted therapy, Jenny began feeling short of breath. Despite raising concerns, testing was delayed. By the time she sought emergency care, her heart function had dropped below 20%, putting her at risk of life-threatening complications.

“I took myself to the hospital,” she says. “If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

She switched her care to Moffitt Cancer Center in Florida, where a cardio-oncology team helped stabilize her heart. Since then, she has navigated bone fractures, liver failure, brain metastases, and multiple rounds of radiation.

“I’ve almost died twice,” she says. “And I’m still here.”

Advocacy saved her life

Jenny credits her nursing background with helping her speak up, but she believes every patient deserves the same respect.

“You know your body,” she says. “If something feels wrong, it probably is.”

She encourages others to ask questions, push for answers, and seek second opinions when needed.

“Advocacy saved my life,” she says. “That shouldn’t be rare.”

A life of intention

Since moving to Florida, Jenny and her family have built a new community. Her children participate in Camp Kesem, which supports kids whose parents have cancer. Jenny has also served as an advocate with Living Beyond Breast Cancer, sharing her story to help others feel less alone.

“Connection matters,” she says. “For patients and for families.”

Jenny describes herself as grounded. Not because this is easy, but because she has accepted uncertainty.

“I live in the ‘metavivor’ space of faith over fear,” she says. “I don’t know how long I have. None of us do.”

That faith helps her focus on the present moments that matter. For Jenny, faith is not about denial. It’s about staying present and making choices rooted in love rather than fear.

Recently, Jenny and her husband renewed their vows at Disneyland in California, surrounded by their children. For her, it was less about the ceremony and more about creating something tangible her kids could hold onto.

“This wasn’t about a wedding,” she says. “It was about giving my kids something beautiful to remember.”

Today, Jenny continues treatment, two weeks of infusions with one week off in between. She’s lost her hair for the fourth time, and is managing fatigue, nausea, and neuropathy. Some days are easier than others, and on those days they visit their happy place at Disney.

Jenny is realistic about the road ahead, but she does not see her story as one of waiting or loss.

“We didn’t sit at home and let cancer take everything,” she says. “We lived.”

And that, she hopes, is what her children will remember most.