Meet the Models: Maureen Quill

When Maureen first learned she had breast cancer, the news didn’t come from a doctor’s voice—it came from a portal notification.

“I got a pop-up on my phone on my way to pick up my son. It said I had a new message. I opened it, and there it was: Invasive Ductal Carcinoma. I was in a daze. But I told myself, ‘OK, I’ve got to go get Joe.’ He got in the car, and I tried to act so normal.”

Her husband, a firefighter, was on a 24-hour shift. Her daughters were away at college. Alone in the house that night, Maureen texted a screenshot of her diagnosis to her closest friends—nurses who were like family. Then she called her husband, laid down, and went to bed. The next morning, she went to work.

“I showed my charge nurse the message. She asked, ‘Do you want to go home?’ I said no—I’ll be needing time off soon, and I can’t waste PTO now.”

What followed was a steady stream of action: appointments scheduled, FMLA paperwork filed, and—perhaps most importantly—a night out with her nurse friends to “debrief.”

“I kept saying, ‘This isn’t a thing. We’re not making this a thing.’ And they were like, ‘Maureen... it is a thing.’ Just then, my husband walked into the bar, hugged me, and cried. I said it again—‘We’re not making this a thing.’ I was focused on tasks. The waiting was the hardest part.”

Maureen tackled everything head-on. She never cried. She just kept moving forward.

And her people? They showed up.

“My husband bought me a recliner before my double mastectomy and slept next to me on the couch the whole recovery. He did everything—drains, meds, water. My friends brought food for months. Flowers, blankets, books, socks, pajamas—one even brought me an eye massager!”

Even though her daughters were away at school, they FaceTimed daily. Her son, brave but understandably scared, showed his love in the sweetest way.

“He brought me cupcakes the day of my mastectomy that said, ‘Out with the old, in with the new.’”

But Maureen’s journey wasn’t without unexpected challenges. The side effects of long-term medication blindsided her more than surgery did.

“The joint pain, bone pain—it was awful. I had six surgeries, and they were easier than the meds I’m now on for 5–7 years. That surprised me. But I was never alone.”

She also learned to advocate for herself, especially when her first oncologist dismissed her side effects.

“My legs were so swollen I couldn’t walk, and he didn’t listen. So I found a new oncologist who immediately changed my meds and treated me like a person. That made all the difference.”

Some of Maureen’s most treasured moments came from the people who simply showed up without being asked—like her friend who came to every appointment, took notes, and recapped everything over lunch. Or the Cinco de Mayo party her friends brought to her living room, complete with sombreros, ponchos, tacos, tequila, and margaritas.

“Another friend sends me four books a month. People were so clever and generous. I was lucky. So many people showed up for me.”

Her advice is simple and solid:

“Breast cancer is not a death sentence. There are so many treatments now. But you have to advocate for yourself.”

And to anyone supporting someone with cancer:

“Just show up. Don’t wait for them to reach out. Be there.”

At Runway for Recovery, we celebrate Maureen’s unwavering strength, her humor, her practicality, and the love that met her at every step. Her story is proof that while cancer may challenge the body, it also reveals the extraordinary resilience of the heart—and the joy that community can bring, even during the hardest chapters.