A few years ago my friend was on the tireless pursuit of what seemed to be ailing her. Bess was 32 years old with a 10 month old and constantly exhausted. “Surely it’s just the fresh throws of motherhood” we had told her. But she reassured, this…this was something else. Something deeper. She had felt this way before her daughter, and even long before pregnancy. Blood tests, physicals, and a string of specialized medical professionals had only led her to a dead end. The holidays were around the corner, and the air was a buzz with the hopes and possibilities of a new year ahead. I was 8 months pregnant and beaming with excitement for what’s to come. Our other college roommate was in town just shy of my baby shower the following week so we decided to meet for an early celebratory brunch. “I’M PREGNANT!” Lo tearfully announced. The three of us screamed with excitement. Two babies on the way and a healthy baby girl in Bess’s arms, what could possibly go wrong?? We were three friends on top of the world. As the check was delivered, Bess casually mentioned she thought she “maybe found a lump?” It almost sounded like a question. “Hard to say, but honestly, if it’s cancer, at least I have an answer,” she joked. She was visiting her doctor in a couple of days. Later that week, somewhere between work and RSVPS, I realized I had missed 5 calls…and I knew. I was fussing with cookie orders and a baby registry while my best friend was being diagnosed with Stage 3 hormone positive breast cancer. At the time, this seemed downright impossible to me. Breast cancer was something you didn’t have to worry about until your 50’s right? Or was it 40’s? What’s stage 3 anyway? How many stages are there again? Chemo fixes it? Or was it radiation? I knew nothing. What I did know, was my friend wasn’t going to go through this alone. I went into early labor, and in January, delivered a health baby girl. A week later, I got a text. “Cold capping isn’t worth the trouble so I’m shaving my head this weekend.” I thought of Bess. Beautiful long blonde hair. A new mom. Terrified. She was about to embark on a journey that would be so isolating…but I could take the first few steps with her. What’s hair anyway? So there we were, in her kitchen, with a diaper on myself, a newborn in my arms, and clippers in a friend’s hand. We shaved our heads together and two years later, we built an organization in hopes that our daughters will never have to worry about doing the same. I now know far more than I ever wanted to know about this terrible disease and the hard truth is, it’s not something to worry about in your 40’s and 50’s. Younger and younger women are being diagnosed every single day. Young women who deserve to hope and dream about the possibilities of a new year, and every year after that.