I Overmoisturized and Felt a Tiny Pimple—Then Came a Devastating Diagnosis

Newsweek

31-05-2025

Newsweek AI is in beta. Translations may contain inaccuracies—please refer to the original content.
Getting out of the shower one day, I had poured far too much lotion into my hands. I'd already rubbed my arms, legs, and entire body, and I didn't know where else to put it—I was completely covered. So, I applied the excess to my breasts.
As I was massaging the cream in, I felt the tiniest little lump behind my right nipple. It felt like when you have a pimple developing under your face, right before it breaks the surface.
I thank God that my hands were lubricated because I don't know if I would have felt that lump with dry skin. At first, I thought it might just be premenstrual—after all, we get cysts and bumps around that time.
But I trusted my intuition and, for peace of mind, I went to a world-renowned cancer research and treatment center for a checkup. Unfortunately, I was already too familiar with the hospital: my mom had been through breast cancer at 34 and again at 37. I think that's why I was so wary.
An image showing Nicole and her sister Monica cuddling their mom as she underwent Cancer treatment.
An image showing Nicole and her sister Monica cuddling their mom as she underwent Cancer treatment.
Nicole Mikhael/Nicole Mikhael
The doctor examined the lump, and I asked, "What are the chances of this being cancer?" At 26, she told me I was young and healthy, so it was pretty much out of the question. I really didn't think it was anything serious, but I decided to have a lumpectomy anyway. The mass was right behind the nipple and close enough to the skin for me to feel it, and my logic was that I didn't want it to get any larger and leave a bigger indentation in my breast.
The surgery was easy, and the recovery was quick. I was left with a tiny, paper-cut-sized mark beside my nipple. I went in on December 29, 2016, and I was ready to start the new year with the whole thing behind me. I was a graduate from the University of Southern California and was studying for the Law School Admission Test. I was on my way to becoming a lawyer.
But then, on January 3—a date that will forever be engraved in my soul—I had a routine follow-up to check that the incision was healing. As soon as the doctor walked in, I felt the energy in the room shift. I just knew she was going to say something unpleasant. When I looked at her, I could tell she was fighting back tears.
They'd received the pathology report on the lump. She told me I had Stage I breast cancer.
I didn't cry. I didn't even react. I was in shock. I just asked, "What's the plan? Where do we go from here?"
If you had told me I'd be in that situation, I would have assumed I'd break down in tears. But I felt nothing—those emotions came later.
My sister Monica and my dad, Ben, were on the other side of the curtain, I could hear them sobbing.
The crazy part is that, just months earlier, in July, my mom had done the most recent round of genetic testing. Everything came back negative. I didn't carry the BRCA gene, a mutation that increases the risk of breast and ovarian cancer. The hospital was stunned. People were confused—they didn't understand how this had happened. My mom and I had two completely different types of breast cancer and two different treatment plans.
Once my doctor gave me the news, I didn't waste any time. From the day they told me to the day I had my double mastectomy, it was only two weeks.
It's the strangest feeling to know there is something cancerous in your body. I just wanted it out. I wanted to move on with my life.
I knew I had to have both breasts removed, and it was terrifying. I had naturally large breasts—I was a DD. People used to assume I'd had a boob job because I had such a petite frame. I was scared to lose that part of me, that part of how I looked. Questions rushed through my head: What are my clothes going to look like? What am I going to look like?
A photo of Nicole before her double mastectomy.
A photo of Nicole before her double mastectomy.
Nicole Mikhael/Nicole Mikhael
While my girlfriends were getting engaged and pregnant, I was over here deciding whether to keep or remove my nipple.
I didn't even know you could remove your nipple.
But I had to. The cancer was right behind it. If I'd done the double mastectomy and kept the right nipple, the cancer could have remained. I didn't want to return to the doctor every three months, living with uncertainty. I wanted peace of mind.
I also opted to remove both breasts because I didn't want to live with the paranoia of waking up each day and wondering about every bump. Given my mom's history, I didn't want to risk it progressing to Stage III or IV and live with the regret of not having taken it all out when I had the chance.
Nicole, Monica and their mom fundraising for a Cancer charity.
Nicole, Monica and their mom fundraising for a Cancer charity.
Nicole Mikhael/Nicole Mikhael
On January 19, 2017, I went in for the double mastectomy. Honestly, I nearly walked out. I felt like I wasn't ready. Maybe I needed therapy—but no amount of therapy could have prepared me for that moment.
Crying in the hospital bed, my dad wiped the tears from my face with a tissue. My nurse, Elizabeth—a fellow breast-cancer survivor who had also had a double mastectomy—turned to me and said: "We've all been through it. We've survived it. This will be another adventure in your life. And guess what? You have a life ahead of you. OK, we gotta do this. We gotta do this and get it over with and behind you."
I recently shared her words from almost a decade ago on TikTok, and they resonated with so many women and nurses. The video reached more than 4 million people.
The hospital had recommended support groups, but I couldn't relate to the women in them—they were mostly in their mid- to late-40s with life partners. It was hard to find someone in my shoes. I was in my 20s and single. I didn't know how I'd ever tell a future partner about the scarring.
I woke up from surgery and had never felt pain like it. I realized how many simple things I used my chest muscles for—things I had taken for granted. Even pressing down on a soap dispenser hurt. They removed the lymph nodes, so I couldn't raise my arms or put on a shirt.
A split image showing Nicole after her surgery and during her recovery.
A split image showing Nicole after her surgery and during her recovery.
Nicole Mikhael/Nicole Mikhael
People would always say, "Oh, you're getting a free boob job," but that's such a misconception. Essentially, you're having your chest amputated from the inside—it's just not as visible. When you see someone who has lost an arm or a leg, it's obvious. With breast reconstruction, the lines get blurred.
Of course, I signed the forms acknowledging the risk of postsurgery infection. But after everything I'd already been through, I didn't think it would happen to me.
At a follow-up appointment, the doctor discovered a full-blown infection on the right side—even though I had no symptoms. I was rushed into emergency surgery. It was a huge setback for reconstruction.
When I saw myself for the first time after that surgery, I had a "what the f***?" moment. I couldn't believe anyone's chest could look the way mine did. One implant was tiny and high up near my collarbone. The other was larger and had dropped. I was completely lopsided. I hid behind baggy clothes. I grew my hair even longer because I knew people would look at my chest first. My hair became a shield.
Before, I was the girl with big DDs everyone thought were fake. Now, I had a double mastectomy and uneven implants. That was my breaking point.
The pain didn't end there. Nurses came to my house every other day to administer meds through a PICC [peripherally inserted central catheter] line, a long catheter inserted into a vein for long-term medication. The meds were so strong that I could taste metal in my mouth, and I was constantly nauseous.
At that point, I was nowhere near happy with my reconstruction. It looked like I'd had a double mastectomy—nothing more. I didn't know how I was going to wear my clothes again, or date.
Eventually, I found a new plastic surgeon in Beverly Hills, Dr Charles Galanis. He changed my life. I even used his handwriting for my survivor tattoo.
Nicole's survivor tattoo written in her surgeon's handwriting.
Nicole's survivor tattoo written in her surgeon's handwriting.
Nicole Mikhael/Nicole Mikhael
Insurance didn't cover the surgeries because they were considered cosmetic. I had to pay out of my own pocket.
Even after everything, people still assume I'm just another girl in LA with implants. There are so many stereotypes and stigmas about what a cancer patient looks like—bald, weak, sickly. But I had hair all the way down to my butt. People never thought I was the one who had breast cancer.
Cancer doesn't discriminate. It doesn't care who you are, what you look like, or where you live. In any language, "cancer" is a terrifying word.
One year later, my sister threw me a surprise one-year cancer-free party. My new neighbors came over to celebrate.
They had a son named Mason, who knew about the girl next door who had beaten cancer.
Our paths crossed over a year later at a July 4 barbecue. As soon as I saw him, I thought, "This guy cannot live next door to me. This is going to be a problem."
I'm such a homebody, and I have a lot of animals. My girlfriends always teased me: "Nicole, you never leave the house. You think someone's just going to show up at your door?" The joke ended up being that he moved next door.
He was a bit caught off guard because he only knew me as the "cancer girl." You couldn't tell I was sick just by looking at me. It worked out for me, though—I didn't have to have that conversation about having had cancer.
But, when we got into a relationship, I thought: How am I going to tell him about the scars? When do I say that?
For the longest time, I'd shower with the lights off. I couldn't look at myself. I always locked the door. Eventually, there was a moment when I had to tell him. I had to admit my insecurities to him, and I'm so grateful I did, because he couldn't care less about my scars, he reminded me of the strength behind them and relieved me of the shame I felt as feeling less than.
And now, five years later, although we are not together anymore, any confidence cancer took away, Mason gave back to me and I'm forever thankful for role he playing in my healing.
Now, people can't tell at all—they just assume I had an augmentation.
During my recovery, everyone started bringing me crystals. Honestly, I didn't understand them at first. But then I began planting succulents inside crystals as a therapeutic little project that I would gift to my family and friends who woud come to see me. That small hobby ended up turning into a full-blown business: crystalz cacti.
We were doing incredibly well, and for the first time in a while, I felt like I was taking back control of my life—financially, emotionally, and creatively. It was surreal when even the Kardashians had some of my crystals.
Khloe coincidentally posted to me the night before my surgery, and ultimately ended up paying for the procedure given how much my sales skyrocketed afterwards.
Unfortunately, in 2020, when the world shut down, I could no longer import crystals from Brazil, and I had to shut the business down. But I didn't stop there.
Last year, I launched a new business, called Mikhael. The first product is a luxury, multifunctional pet bottle, with a crystal, inspired by my deep love for animals and the comfort they gave me through animal therapy during recovery.
A photo of Nicole having pet therapy with a dog after her procedure.
A photo of Nicole having pet therapy with a dog after her procedure.
Nicole Mikhael/Nicole Mikhael
Now, 35, I feel called to advocate for other women not to be afraid, but to check themselves. And if something feels off, trust your instinct. Don't wait. Don't brush it off. Early detection can literally save your life. If I had waited until I was 30 or 40 to get a mammogram, my cancer could have been Stage IV by then.
And remember—life goes on. Your circumstances don't define your destiny. This is just a chapter in your story, not the whole book.