When Kia Toye discovered an 11-centimeter mass in her left breast at age 39, she was living downtown, thriving at work, and, like many women under 40, wasn’t yet on a mammography schedule. Finding the lump showering set off a cascade: urgent imaging, a biopsy, and a diagnosis of invasive ductal carcinoma (ER/PR-negative, HER2-positive) at the height of COVID-19.
In her panic, Kia turned to research, determined to find the best care possible. That search led her to The George Washington University Cancer Center, where she learned about Christine Teal, MD, a breast surgeon who had undergone her own preventative mastectomy, and led her treatment team. Both were featured in Washingtonian magazine’s “Top Doctors” list, and their collaboration and compassion immediately resonated. Before she was even officially diagnosed, Kia called Dr. Teal’s office and said, “I think I’m about to be diagnosed with breast cancer. I want to be treated at your facility.”
When her biopsy confirmed her fears, she called again — and within days, she was sitting across from Dr. Teal, whose calm strength anchored her through the storm. Kia began chemotherapy and leaned on support groups to navigate treatment. The week after her first infusion, her mother, the anchor of her care, died suddenly; weeks later, a medical emergency led to a 36-day hospitalization for diverticulitis and an ostomy. Still, she kept going: radiation, a mastectomy, more chemo. She rang the bell in 2022, then faced a metastatic recurrence to her bones and brain later that year. Multiple orthopedic surgeries eventually relieved severe pain, and today, Kia focuses on living fully, sustained by faith, mental-health care, family support, and a fierce commitment to self-advocacy. Some days are overwhelming, days when scary test results or treatment side effects make it difficult to know what to do. That’s when Kia leans on scripture and lessons learned from support groups. She calls it doing “the next right thing.”
You found your tumor through self-examination rather than a scheduled screening. What moved you to act when you did, and how do you think your story challenges current screening guidelines for women under 40?
I’ve always done self-checks in the shower, just as doctors recommend. This time, I knew something was wrong. My grandmother survived breast cancer twice, so when I felt that lump, I couldn’t ignore it. I was scared, couldn’t sleep, and started researching immediately.
Because I was under 40, I worried I might not be taken seriously, or that I’d face barriers to getting screened. Thankfully, my primary care doctor listened, ordered the tests, and referred me to GW. From the start, I felt heard and supported.
I believe my story — and the stories of countless young women I’ve met — challenge the current guidelines. There are far too many of us in our 20s and 30s being diagnosed. Screening standards must evolve to reflect that reality. It shouldn’t take turning 40 for your concerns to be validated.
Your treatment journey was complicated by both personal loss and medical emergencies. How did you find the strength to keep moving forward through those overlapping challenges?
My first chemotherapy infusion was in January 2021. The following week, I was admitted to GW Hospital for observation. The next morning, when I was waiting for my mother to take me home, I got a call from my sister telling me that she had passed away suddenly. I just broke down and cried. She was my rock. She was the one who held it all together. Now what was I going to do? How was I going to do this without her?
Losing my mother while facing cancer felt unbearable. Weeks later, I developed severe chest pain and was rushed back to GW, where I was hospitalized for more than a month with diverticulitis. Because chemo had to pause during this treatment, I knew the cancer risk was rising — but my doctors explained, step by step, why healing had to come first. Their honesty and care helped me hold on.
Through it all, I leaned on my therapist, psychiatrist, and social workers at GW, as well as the Smith Center for Healing and the Arts, where my mom also found caregiver support. I learned a saying in 12-step recovery that became my mantra: do the next right thing. Sometimes that meant another round of chemo. Sometimes it meant resting, praying, or just breathing.
I told myself my mother’s death couldn’t be in vain. Everything she poured into me had to mean something. I had to keep going.
After your recurrence, you faced a new reality with Stage IV metastatic breast cancer. What has changed most in how you approach your health, your relationships, and your goals?
When the pain returned, scans revealed that my cancer had spread to my bones and brain. My oncologist, Dr. Sunil Adige, and my entire GW team sprang into action, coordinating radiation and systemic therapy. They were straightforward but compassionate, giving me the information I needed to make the best choices about my care. I worked with an orthopedic surgeon at Washington Hospital Center who implanted an antibiotic hip spacer to help relieve the pain I was experiencing. Since then, I’ve had a total hip replacement.
Living with metastatic cancer has made me more intentional about everything. I stay on top of every scan, lab, and vaccine. I treat my health like a full-time job, because it is. I listen to my body, rest when I need to, and communicate openly with my care team.
After complex orthopedic surgeries and radiation, I can walk again without constant pain. I’ve transitioned to home hospice care through Capital Caring Health, but I’m not giving up. I’m living. I moved in with my dad, back into the house I grew up in. The support I get from my therapist, my family, support groups, and my medical team keeps me grounded.
Now that my pain is under control, I’m focused on advocacy: raising awareness about early detection, the unique challenges facing young women with cancer — especially women from underserved communities, and the urgent need for more research funding for metastatic disease.
You’ve spoken openly about faith and emotional healing as vital parts of your recovery. How have spirituality and mental-health care worked together to sustain you?
Faith has been my foundation. My days begin and end with prayer, and when anxiety hits, I turn to music. My Uplifting Spiritual playlist started as an exercise from a support group at the Smith Center and has grown to four hours of gospel and soul. These are the songs I cry to. Listening to them helps me to release and recharge.
Mental health care is equally important. I’ve worked with the same therapist since 2012, and she’s been with me through everything: diagnosis, grief, recovery. GW’s oncology social workers and chaplains have also been incredible sources of comfort. When I feel myself unraveling, I raise the white flag and reach out. Sometimes it’s as simple as a text: “I need help.”
Faith steadies my heart. Therapy and medication steady my mind. Together, they remind me that I’m still here. And still moving forward, one step at a time.
Where are you now?
Life is good! I’m still metastatic and in active treatment. Every three months, I have follow-up scans — and based on my scans in April and August of this year, the disease is dormant or NEAD (No Evidence of Active Disease). I’m waiting for my doctors to clear me for breast reconstruction.
I recently completed he training modules to become a mentor with Imerman Angels, a non-profit organization that created a peer-to-peer support community. I’m also an Angel Advocate with the Tigerlily Foundation. I help women in early diagnosis get through the darkness and step into the light on the other side of treatment. In this role, I advocate for my community, doing the important work of transforming outcomes for Black and Brown women. Every little bit counts!
Looking back, what lessons do you hope other young women, and especially those in under-screened communities, take from your journey as both a survivor and an advocate?
Research everything. When you notice something off, look up specialists — find out where they went to school, where they did their residencies and fellowships — learn everything you can about them. Gather your records, and prepare your questions. Before my diagnosis was even official, I had already chosen my care team at GW, because I trusted their expertise. That research changed my life.
- Build support. The GW Cancer Center connected me with incredible resources, including the Smith Center and a network of metastatic people under 45. I found Facebook groups dedicated to breast cancer — these women have become my sisters in survivorship. They’ve sent care packages, shared advice, and helped me navigate the hardest days. Sara Richman, one of the social workers, helped me decipher all the complexities of the resources that are out there to support cancer patients. There are a lot — and they can be very complicated.
- Use your voice. If something doesn’t feel right, speak up. Ask for second opinions. Find doctors who listen. My GW team has always treated me as a partner in my care. That’s how it should be for every patient.
- Push for change. We need better screening access for younger women and more research dedicated to metastatic breast cancer. Only 3% of breast cancer research funding goes to metastatic disease, even though it’s what ultimately claims lives. That has to change.
Every day, I remind myself: Do the next right thing. Whether it’s trusting my doctors, advocating for others, or simply taking time to rest, each small act is a victory. And I’ll keep doing the next right thing, again, tomorrow.
