Breast cancer exposed the lack of care I receive for Long COVID

Cancer has a sadly well-worn path. It showed me that I deserve dignity and support for Long COVID.

A graphic shows a white woman in a high quality mask on the subway. She wears a glasses, hoops, and has a short hair. Overlaid over the black and white photo are various shades of pink circles. — Heather Hogan / The Sick Times. Source: Pexels

If you asked me two years ago what Long COVID took from me, I would have said words, the ability to walk up hills and carry groceries without needing an inhaler, and the previously unappreciated freedom to move about society without masking and fear of reinfection.

But late afternoon on December 24, 2024, my gynecologist called to break some unexpected news. The results of the second mammogram were not good. I needed to make a biopsy appointment ASAP.

I had no family history of breast cancer. I had no symptoms. I was sure the second mammogram had just been another extra test, a precautionary waste of time to confirm everything was fine. Apparently not. My first reaction to the news was, “Are you fucking kidding me? Cancer on top of everything else?” After hanging up, the question quickly turned to “How?”

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t consider COVID-19 and Long COVID in connection to this seemingly random cancer diagnosis. Some research suggests that a SARS-CoV-2 infection can increase the risk of cancer or worsen it for those with a cancer history. A 2025 study published in Nature found that SARS-CoV-2 and influenza can awaken metastatic breast cancer cells in lungs.

On social media, the algorithm had immersed me in personal stories of Long COVID and cancer, and it felt like there was too much crossover to be purely coincidental.

But I dismissed the thought almost immediately. Considering if it was connected wasn’t going to help me find the right treatment for the cancer. That rabbit hole didn’t lead to recovery. And, perhaps more telling, I didn’t want to be that person who shouts “COVID” at every new diagnosis. So I moved on. Cancer was the priority and singular concern.

I was angry and a little scared, but mostly I dreaded telling my family and closest friends, those who had spent the previous couple of years supporting me through Long COVID — the doctors’ appointments and tests and canceled plans, the roller coaster of “this is it” treatments followed by the fall to reality of another failed attempt. How could I put them through more? And could I navigate breast cancer in my already depleted condition?

Before the cancer diagnosis, I sought answers to my Long COVID symptoms. I was privileged to access various specialists and undergo many tests. I collected a lot of data with no answers or measurable improvement. Mostly on my own, I attempted to manufacture some kind of plan amid so much medical uncertainty.

Cancer, though, didn’t need me to chart my own course, questioning each step. Cancer has a sadly well-worn path. For me: Biopsy. More imaging. Another biopsy. Blood work. Surgery. Radiation. Monthly shots. Oral medication for five years. Medication to combat the bone-eating side effect of the first medication. Regular follow-ups.

Following that established protocol would show me a new way to approach my Long COVID care, too.

I thrived, at least mentally: navigated the system with confidence, fought the insurance company with conviction, rested and recovered without guilt. It was a new experience, this illness that wasn’t endless and my self-assured attack of it. After years of wandering frustrated and embarrassed through the medical system, cancer showed me a new way. And it overflowed into my personal and professional life, too.

I didn’t hesitate to tell work that I needed time off and why. I said no to invitations without feeling guilty or “less than.” I had surgery and spent time in bed and on the couch. Nobody questioned me, and I didn’t beat myself up about it.

Here is the necessary disclaimer: My tumor was caught extremely early on and was small. My cancer was not particularly aggressive, and we confirmed soon after surgery that it had not spread. I was unbelievably lucky. I already knew I was lucky with Long COVID. After all, so many people are so much worse. I can still work full-time. I can function, even if not the way I would like. I’m lucky to have insurance.

So, breast cancer didn’t teach me I was lucky, nor did it ease the guilt I feel over all that luck. But it did teach me how Long COVID was impacting my life in a way I hadn’t considered before. I was ashamed, and I carried an unrelenting uncertainty, a questioning of myself — maybe I could push harder, maybe it was in my head — and a feeling of hopelessness, all previously unacknowledged.

The biggest thing Long COVID had taken from me was control. No one would describe me as Type A — my pre-COVID organizational skills were middling at best; my Long COVID organizational skills are comically lacking. But, while navigating cancer, suddenly I had a plan and control over my own life and health, despite struggling with multiple medical issues.

My cancer experience wasn’t without setbacks or issues — but there was no unknown, and no one questioned its legitimacy. No doctor suggested the cancer was “in my head.” No medical personnel nodded empathetically before acknowledging they didn’t know exactly what was causing my weight loss or fatigue or joint pain.

My cancer experience wasn’t without setbacks or issues — but there was no unknown, and no one questioned its legitimacy. No doctor suggested the cancer was “in my head.”

While my waxing and waning cognitive issues made managing the process difficult at times, the logistics of cancer were a breeze comparatively. On the first day, the surgeon’s office actually gave me a book. A book! Part of their CANCER101 program. The 171-page Roadmap to Wellness planner included definitive steps to take, questions to ask, the correct medical people to see, and in what order. It addressed the financial, physical, and emotional toll of the disease.

When making appointments related to my cancer, I didn’t accept delays or people being rude or dismissive or lacking urgency. I wasn’t apologetic. I needed and deserved appropriate medical care. But when I call doctors about Long COVID issues, I don’t push for an appointment or stress the impact of my symptoms. I don’t feel like I deserve the doctor’s time or as if anything would come out of it anyway.

For years, I thought the most severe judgment I felt from chronic illness — which I lived with for decades before COVID-19 struck, thanks to a post-viral autoimmune condition — was coming from others. But the cancer diagnosis and treatment showed me that the biggest problem was that I bought into the judgment and doubt.

I am embarrassed of having Long COVID. Stronger people recovered fully. I did not. I can’t walk as fast as I used to on Manhattan streets. I can’t take weekend road trips and feel well at the start of the workweek. I often don’t have the energy to make dinner after a day of work or running a few errands. And I am constantly apologizing for these and many other limitations.

Some people who receive a cancer diagnosis profess some kind of life-altering epiphany. I have seen it repeatedly in interviews with celebrities and social media posts from strangers. They have a new perspective on life. They will simultaneously slow down and seize every day. I am definitely not seizing every day.

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When my cancer was gone, I still faced Long COVID — but I am now trying to address it in a new way.

I now create control where I can. I seek specific answers or focus on one symptom at a time, one doctor, one test — but only if the results from that test are going to lead to some kind of action. Want me to spend $700 for bloodwork just to gain more data, not create a treatment plan? I am out. I don’t need more information without action.

Through Long COVID and my previous autoimmune issues, the hardest part has always been not blaming myself. Now, I’m working on a renewed self-acceptance, on finding the assuredness that I deserve care and am not lesser for needing rest. That was cancer’s gift to me.

Would I feel the same way if I was currently in my second or third round of chemotherapy? If instead of remission, heading toward officially cancer-free in five years, I was facing repeated debilitating treatments and a possibility of dying? I don’t know. I can’t know. For now, I can only say what I’ve learned and what I am doing about it.

It turned out that Long COVID stole my control and confidence along with my breath. It took the hope for a healthier future with each inaccessible word. It brought me unshakable shame with every canceled plan and physical crash. Cancer clarified that for me. And one very small step at a time, within whatever limits I must accept, I am taking back that control and the hope that comes with it.

One very small step at a time, within whatever limits I must accept, I am taking back that control and the hope that comes with it.

Kara Yorio has been a reporter and editor for the last 30 years, covering sports, entertainment, health, and education. She lives in New Jersey with her husband, daughter, and dog.

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