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Beyoncé and Biopsies
Justin’s birthday was a blast, but the next morning, not so much.
Justin turned 42 on May 7th, and we celebrated with pit tickets to Beyoncé that same night.
(Please send a belated Happy Birthday if you haven’t!)
Not to brag (okay, maybe a little), but I once met the Queen in person in a casual setting. She was genuinely the sweetest human being. For those fleeting moments, she made us feel like friends. No airs, no ego—just a down-to-earth Houston girl.
So, standing 20 feet from her again, in a crowd of thousands, it hit me: she’s not just a person. She’s a moment. She becomes something larger than life when she’s on that stage. You can feel it in your bones.
Although it was not the same, it also made me certain that I could become the person I needed to be to handle this extraordinary journey.
I left SoFi Stadium feeling overwhelmed with gratitude—grateful for my life, this wild city, the incredible people around me I get to share these moments with. Grateful that I get to experience moments at all like standing in the Buckin’ Honey Pit, something I wouldn’t have imagined for myself not long ago.
We took a long walk back to the car, and I couldn’t help but gaze at the moon most of the way. It wasn’t a full moon, but it was getting close. I could see it from inside SoFi, and it was radiating when we stepped outside. We were walking as a group, and I was completely distracted by it the entire time.
Justin told me when we got home that it was his best birthday, and I genuinely felt it in that moment — not just empty words. I felt his happiness, and it filled me with so much joy. I truly enjoy making others smile; it fills me with purpose.
Then came the morning after…
I woke up to another email with test results. That familiar, cold jolt. I hadn’t had any new bloodwork, so it was odd.
I was seeing a specialist at City of Hope in Duarte the following Tuesday (5/13). Apparently, he’d reviewed my lab results and has upgraded one of the samples from Gleason 3+3 to Gleason 3+4.
A Gleason score is a grading system used to assess the aggressiveness of prostate cancer based on the appearance of cancer cells under a microscope. It comprises two numbers, each ranging from 1 to 5, and operates as follows:
The initial number represents the primary pattern & the second signifies the second most common pattern of cancer cells.
Both numbers indicate the extent to which the cancer tissue resembles normal prostate tissue:
1-2: Almost normal (rarely used in modern times)
3: Moderately abnormal
4: More abnormal, starting to lose structure
5: Very abnormal, aggressive, and lacking in structure
So:
3+3 = 6 → Grade Group 1 (low risk)
3+4 = 7 → Grade Group 2 (more concerning) ← This is me… now, J. Lo.
4+3 = 7 → Grade Group 3 (even more aggressive)
Anything 8–10 = Grade Groups 4 and 5 (high risk)
It’s a lot to take in. Especially with my (separate) genetic high-risk markers in the mix.
I had my first consult with the surgical oncologist at City of Hope. Not surprisingly, he recommends surgery—surgeons gonna surgeon.
Next up: I’ll be meeting with both a radiation oncologist and a medical oncologist (they handle hormone therapies). I’m also getting more in-depth genetic testing done.
After these appointments, we’ll begin the process again at UCLA to determine which team of doctors I’m most comfortable with.
23 appointments down, and the journey continues.