Nat Lauzon is one of Montreal’s most familiar voices, a seasoned broadcaster on The Beat and voice artist whose warmth and humor have been part of people’s daily lives for years. Beyond her work, she’s someone who brings people together, tells the truth with a wink, and finds light even in the heaviest moments. This year she’s opening up about her experience with breast cancer, not just to share medical details but to remind us that even in the scariest chapters, family, friendship, and perspective are what carry us through.
Earlier this year, Nat was diagnosed with DCIS, an early form of breast cancer. Like many women, she faced a maze of decisions and uncertainty, but she also found strength in research, in medical advances, and in the people who stood beside her. With the support of her doctors, her family, and close friends, she was able to navigate treatment in a way that fit her life and celebrate the incredible relief of hearing that her risk was as low as it could possibly be. Through it all she has kept her sense of gratitude, her humor, and her belief in living life with joy, second chances, and the people she loves most.
Interview Questions
You’ve always had a special connection with your audience. What made you decide to share this part of your life publicly?
I knew that once I told my story, I couldn’t put that genie back in the bottle so I needed to be sure it was what I wanted. In the end, it was. And my reasons were twofold.
First, I feel that with my platform comes a responsibility to do things that matter. What better way to serve people than by sharing my own experience, so that the next woman might not feel so alone? DCIS, or Stage 0 breast cancer, is a very treatable, non-invasive form of cancer though it carries the potential to become invasive, which is where much of the fear lies. If I could help ease some of that fear for women in the future, or raise awareness of the importance of screening (since DCIS is usually only detected on a mammogram), then I knew it was worth telling my story. After I posted about it, several people booked their long overdue (or even first) mammos.
Second, I didn’t personally know anyone who had been through this type of breast cancer or at least, I thought I didn’t. By sharing, I was also seeking support. A couple of my friends with different types of breast cancer were there for me immediately, but I realized very quickly that I needed community. When women began reaching out with their own diagnoses and stories, they helped take away so much of the fear of the unknown. Even if our cancers and treatments were different, there was always overlap in the mental and emotional toll. They validated my fears and feelings, and made it clear that I could reach out anytime. They left the proverbial door open for me. And that kindness is something I will always be grateful for.
What surprised you the most about the messages and support you received once you opened up?
The support was an instant tsunami. I mean, wow. So many messages of support. And women began reaching out to me to tell me they were 5 years out, 15 years out, 20 years out. It’s very odd to speak to a person you don’t know and just skip the social etiquette and go right to boobs. I didn’t know if they had kids or husbands or what they did for a living, but I knew intimate details about what was arguably one of the most challenging times of their lives. Their vulnerability gave me courage. And relief.
Many people talk about breast cancer as a wake-up call. How has this changed your outlook on life?
I loved life before, but I love life now. People always say experiences like this change you and oh my god, they do! I can’t speak for everyone, but I found myself shifting into a new perspective. I started to prioritize what truly matters.
Now I think more about what lights me up and how I can make a positive impact on others with the me that I am. I’m leaning into mindfulness practices that keep my mind in a good state, taking even better care of my body, and pushing myself to step outside my comfort zone and try new things.
It’s unfortunate that for many of us, it takes a dramatic event to shift course. But I’ve chosen to accept the gifts that come with it and to try and live from that place.
You’ve been so honest about fear and relief. What helped you cope on the hard days?
I leaned on my boyfriend a lot. He was there every time I needed him at every appointment, talking things through with me, listening, and educating himself so he could truly walk the walk. He showed up 100% of the time.
I also held onto the knowledge that my cancer was very treatable, and that treatments continue to evolve in ways that give people not only long lives, but good quality of life. I feel deeply grateful to be a patient at the Cedars Cancer Institute at the MUHC, a leading research hospital and one of the best in the country.
But honestly sometimes I just needed to be alone and have a good cry.
What role did your family and friends play in helping you get through this?
My immediate family lives far away, so I knew this was difficult for them. At the same time, they trusted that I was in very skilled hands and had local support. Their emotional support meant so much, and they also helped me financially when I needed it since I was on leave for a time and later changed jobs. It’s something we don’t often hear much about because of universal health care, but financial burden is very real. Even though my surgical recoveries (two lumpectomies) were relatively straightforward, being on a limited, single income added worry. Groceries still need buying, mortgages still need paying. I can’t imagine how overwhelming this must be for those supporting a family while going through treatment.
As far as friends go, your truest and bluest will always understand the assignment. I had a couple of key close friends that kept checking in. They’d join me for walks or talks and just let me get out of my head. It’s really important to not let the C-word permeate your every hour.
How do you balance acknowledging what you’ve been through with wanting to get back to normal life?
I’m still working on that one, to be honest. I want to not think about this anymore. People say, “Oh, you must be so happy it’s over” and yes, I am. But I’ll always wonder about it coming back.
It’s not easy to suddenly be told “you’re done,” to be thrust back into the world and somehow untether yourself from something that has consumed your life for so long. I believe time will help. Doing things I enjoy will help. But I’ll never be exactly the person I was before diagnosis day and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. The best I can answer your question is this: There is no normal life. Even when you think you have a normal life. At a certain point you’ll have to acknowledge that our time here is limited. Whether or not you want that revelation to be on your death bed, is your decision.
What do you want women listening to this to know, whether they’re facing a diagnosis or supporting someone who is?
I’d like them to just stop and breathe. Don’t be like me and rabbithole to the ends of the internet for every possible case scenario of your diagnosis. At the outset, I was very high fear and anxiety and in the end – my case was really basic and did not even involve all the drama I thought it would and so I put myself through the emotional ringer for nothing.
Now that many thousands of women – MILLIONS even – have walked this path before you and felt the same things. And now, at this time in history, we have even more access to knowledge and medical advances that you may not even be aware of. So, slow your roll. Breathe. And make informed decisions based on science, research and your gut.
And if you’re supporting someone who is going through this, please don’t say: “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out.” That puts the burden back on the person who is already anxious, exhausted, grieving their “old” life, and maybe even in physical pain. They are most likely not in a state to organize support or ask for help.
If you truly want to support them, step up. Don’t assume they’re okay. Send a simple text. Drop off a meal. Offer something concrete like walking their dog, doing a grocery run, or picking up their kids. Thoughtful action goes so much further than vague offers, it shows you see them, and that they’re not alone.
What are the small, everyday things you now appreciate more than ever?
My breath. My backyard. A solid sleep. Laughter. My body that moves without pain.
You’ve spoken about the importance of better, more personalized care for women. What changes would you love to see in the way breast cancer is treated and talked about?
II can only speak from my experience with DCIS. Historically, DCIS has often been overtreated, with approaches nearly identical to those used for invasive breast cancer. While DCIS can progress to invasive disease, for many women it does not. That means aggressive treatment isn’t always warranted.
Right now, there’s important research underway to identify which women might safely avoid certain treatments such as radiation or hormone blockers and in some cases even consider active surveillance. But the key is that every woman’s case is unique, shaped by her clinical features and even her tumor biology. No one-size-fits-all approach should be assumed.
I chose to participate in a long-term clinical trial, which will follow me for the next 10 years. As part of this trial, my cancer cells were analyzed with a genomic test called Oncotype DX DCIS, which measures whether radiation is more likely to provide benefit or pose risk. This testing is costly and not always covered by insurance, so many women never even learn it’s an option. I would love to see this kind of personalized testing become standard of care in the future so that women can make decisions based not on fear, but on the true biology of their cancer.
When you think about this chapter of your life, what word or phrase best describes how you feel today?
Awakening.
