Most people are familiar with the “telephone game,” where a message is passed from one person to another, often resulting in significant changes to the original message.
When I suspected I had breast cancer and was in the thick of my appointments, biopsies, MRIs, and more, I felt like I was trapped in a bad telephone game. I needed to know my family’s medical history, yet was faced with a cultural silence or misremembering of facts.
In many Latinx families, cancer and illness isn’t discussed openly. It is often discussed in vague stories, or not spoken about at all. For a Latina trying to advocate for herself in a health care system that already overlooks women of color, that miscommunication can be dangerous.
The Hidden Cost of Silence
Medical history is a critical part of understanding your risk and shaping your treatment. But when no one in your family really knows the full story, piecing together your health history can be a struggle.
I didn’t know if breast cancer ran in my extended family. I didn’t know who had it, at what age, or what treatment they had. I didn’t know if anyone had been tested for BRCA or other genetic factors.
I knew my aunts died from cancer, but wasn’t sure what type. I turned to my cousin who is a nurse for information. She had the most detailed health history and I was grateful. I also made a decision to start keeping a journal of all the details to have in case anyone else in my family ever needed it.
Opening the Lines of Communication
Once I received my breast cancer diagnosis, I had to take on another role: messenger.
Another bad version of the telephone game had started. I kept my immediate family, including my parents informed. I realized that my cousins were getting different versions from their parents. I needed to be in control of the message.
I started a private group message via Facebook where I shared updates directly with all my cousins.
It wasn’t about oversharing. It was about making sure people heard it from me, in my own words. I could set the tone, provide facts, and even ask for help if needed.
It also created an opportunity to normalize conversations around cancer. I didn’t shy away from saying the word cancer. I talked about surgeries, medications, side effects, recovery, and scans. I made it clear that this was not something to whisper about or ignore — it was real, and it was happening to me.
Rewriting the Narrative
Latinx culture is deeply rooted in strength, resilience, and love—but also in tradition.
Breaking the silence around illness may feel like breaking a rule, but it’s actually an act of care.
When we talk about our medical history, we protect future generations. When we share our experiences, we make space for others to do the same.
Moving Forward Together
Having cancer as a Latina means navigating your diagnosis and treatment while also confronting family norms. It means becoming an advocate — not just for your body, but for open conversation, accurate information, and generational health.
If you’re in this position, you’re not alone. You’re part of a growing wave of Latinas who are saying: we deserve to know our histories.
We deserve the best possible care. And we deserve to be heard—fully, loudly, and clearly.
