From Chords to Chemo and Back Again: Rediscovering My Inner Harmony

Surviving Breast Cancer
Jan 2
8 min read

By Elizabeth Borowsky

Listen to Elizabeth on the SBC podcast, Breast Cancer Conversations:

Breast Cancer Stopped My Life—Music and Meditation Helped Me Breathe Again

I was 41 when I was diagnosed with breast cancer — grade 3, ER/PR-positive, HER2-negative. My tumor measured 3.1 cm, and genetic testing revealed a CHEK2 mutation, even though I have no family history of breast cancer.

It started with what I assumed would be a routine screening in November 2024 — my first mammogram after turning 40, though I didn’t actually get around to scheduling it until age 41. A few days later, I got a call to come back for additional images because of dense breast tissue. I wasn’t especially worried; I knew callbacks were common. After the second mammogram and an ultrasound, they recommended a biopsy “just to be safe.”

Even then, I didn’t think there was any real chance that this would be my story. I was healthy, active, and had no family history of breast cancer. When the results came back positive for breast cancer, it was completely unexpected — one of those moments that divides life into “before” and “after.”

At the time, I was living a full, active life as a pianist, composer, and educator. My schedule revolved around students, concerts, and planning summer music programs. When I got the diagnosis, everything changed.

Friends often asked about my staging, especially when they first heard my diagnosis. Interestingly, my stage was never mentioned by my provider or included in my medical reports. I finally asked my oncologist and learned that in my case, staging would be determined after surgery based on several factors.

In the very beginning, before receiving some of my test results, I’d quietly hoped for something like stage 0 (also known as ductal carcinoma in situ, or DCIS), as a friend of mine had experienced and shared with me in hopes of encouragement. By the time I asked, I knew that wasn’t realistic, but hearing that I was likely stage IIB or even stage III (depending on lymph node involvement) brought me to inconsolable tears. My oncologist explained that staging criteria have changed in recent years and reminded me not to fixate on the number—it does not tell the whole story. Ultimately, after surgery, my official stage—reflecting the significantly reduced tumor size—would be IIA.

A few days after my diagnosis, a large book arrived in the mail: The Breast Cancer Survivorship Handbook. It was thoughtful and comprehensive — but also completely overwhelming. I remember sitting at home flipping through page after page of potential side effects, risks, and complications. I was completely devastated. It wasn’t just the medical information — it was the realization of how many decisions would have to be made, how few real choices there sometimes are, and how much of this journey I had never even imagined until that moment.

Treatment Path

My treatment began with five months of ACT chemotherapy: doxorubicin (Adriamycin), cyclophosphamide (Cytoxan), and paclitaxel (Taxol). At my first Taxol infusion, I had a mild allergic reaction, and at the second, a stronger one, so my oncologist switched me to nab-paclitaxel (Abraxane), which I tolerated much better.

AC chemotherapy was particularly challenging for me (especially on/after treatment days), but it was manageable with good support. I stayed active when possible, focused on hydration and nutrition, and celebrated small victories—like going for a walk with a friend, doing some photography, or helping my partner with a house project, which felt oddly empowering with the power tools! I counted down the days to being done, and a couple of weeks later, I celebrated with a “tour de friends,” spending an entire week visiting friends in my home state of Maryland whom I hadn’t seen for months.

I continued my work teaching all through chemo (I had a substitute on infusion days). I asked families to be mindful of my compromised immune system and not to come in person if anyone in their household was sick.

In July, I underwent a lumpectomy. Pathology showed that the tumor had shrunk from 3.1 cm to 6 mm, and all three lymph nodes that were biopsied were clear. After healing from surgery, I completed 20 sessions of radiation therapy, finishing on October 13, 2025.

Facing Fears and Finding Support

From the start, I had a lot of fears about breast cancer treatment: nerve damage (neuropathy), lymphedema, and fatigue that might affect my ability to perform and teach piano. Thankfully, my care team was proactive about preventing side effects, and most of these risks were managed well. I took vitamin B12 and L-glutamine during treatment (as recommended by the pharmacist on my oncology team), and used cold mitts on my hands and feet. I was constantly thirsty and drank a lot of water.

One of the most valuable parts of my experience was the support I received from friends, family, and colleagues. People near and far reached out with prayers, messages, and dropped off meals. Friends volunteered to drive me to chemo — something I would recommend to others. Having company during those infusion sessions turned a stressful experience into something almost social and grounding.

That network of care — which was both local and long-distance — was essential. It reminded me that even when things feel uncertain, I wasn’t going through it alone.

Inner Harmony: Healing Through Music and Meditation

During treatment, I reconnected with my friend and mindfulness teacher, Jesika Harmon. Together, we began exploring how meditation and music could work hand in hand to support healing. Each week, Jesika led a guided meditation while I improvised at the piano — letting sound respond to words, breath, and emotion.

Those sessions became the foundation for our album Inner Harmony, which we released on October 25, 2025. Each track reflects a different stage of emotional healing and perspective during my treatment.

Track Overview

I Am More Than My Body Explores how we can meet physical change — from illness, aging, or transition — with curiosity rather than resistance. Like the changing seasons, our bodies transform, revealing new strength and beauty.
I Can’t Do This Alone, But I Am Not Alone A reminder that support often arrives quietly: in gestures, glances, or words we may have overlooked. By noticing these small acts, we reconnect with the unseen network of care surrounding us.
The Only Way Forward Is Through Embraces emotions such as anger, grief, or frustration as essential to healing. By allowing these feelings to move through us, we make room for acceptance, hope, and peace.
There Is More to This Than I Can See Shifts the focus from “why me?” to “what can I learn from this?” — helping transform pain into meaning and gratitude.
There Is Plenty of Time Invites stillness, self-compassion, and trust. It encourages us to slow down, accept help, and release the urgency to do everything at once.
Mantras and Affirmations for Perspective and Transformation Offers phrases to anchor the mind during challenging moments — not to escape pain, but to face it with steadiness and presence.
Evening Relaxation for Mind and Body A closing meditation that allows both body and mind to rest, easing the transition from thought to calm.

What I’ve Learned

If I could offer one message to anyone newly diagnosed, it would be this: you don’t have to do this alone. Let people help. It brings comfort to you and meaning to them.

Also, take information in manageable pieces. That 300-page handbook had its place, but what helped most was focusing on one step at a time: the next appointment, the next meal, the next nap.

Healing isn’t just about finishing treatment — it’s about learning how to live well through and after it. For me, that includes managing a few lingering side effects such as stiffness in my feet, dry mouth and eyes, and some sleep issues. But they’re small reminders of everything my body has overcome.

More importantly, I’ve realized that many of the personal challenges that surfaced during this time were not new — they had simply been waiting beneath the surface. Cancer didn’t create them, but it brought them into sharper focus. Through this experience, I’ve learned tools and practices to navigate them with more awareness and resilience — lessons that extend far beyond cancer.

Some other recurring themes in my experience include:

The constant stream of advice — from well-meaning friends, strangers who noticed I was going through chemo, and soon enough (thanks to all the Google searches) targeted Facebook and Instagram ads — was overwhelming. Everyone wanted to help or offer a “solution,” but it often sent me down rabbit holes trying to figure out whether there was any real data behind the claims. Instead of clarity, I ended up confused and doubting whether I was making the right decisions about my treatment. At times, it even made me wonder if any of this was somehow my fault — if I hadn’t consumed wine or alcohol, if I had eaten a more plant-based diet, or if I had worked on reducing my stress... would this have happened?
I struggled to find other classical musicians who had gone through breast cancer and could share how treatment affected their playing. My providers warned me about potential side effects that could be truly debilitating for a musician. They understood my concerns, but they couldn’t offer much reassurance — and it was terrifying to realize that even my arms and fingers could be affected.
Letters from the hospital and my insurance were another source of anxiety. Every time I saw one of those envelopes, my blood pressure went up. And as a self-employed musician who had been paying for my own insurance for years but hardly ever used it, I kept wondering: had I made the right choices?
I kept thinking about my dear friend and mentor, the adult closest to me besides my mom, who had breast cancer in her early 40s, experienced a recurrence, and passed away in 2021. The irony and heartbreak — that she was the person I most wanted to talk to about all of this — was not lost on me.
I learned firsthand how uniquely complex each case is. When people say “everyone’s cancer is different,” I hadn’t truly understood it until now. I also realized that even people who know a lot don’t necessarily know a lot about my situation — specialists in one medical field may not know much at all about breast cancer.

Moving Forward

I’ve returned to performing and teaching, with a deeper appreciation for balance and self-care. My music and teaching now carry an added layer of empathy and mindfulness.

Inner Harmony is available on Spotify, iTunes, and YouTube. It’s my hope that these meditations and piano works offer comfort, grounding, and a sense of connection to anyone navigating their own challenges — medical or otherwise.

About the author:

Elizabeth Borowsky is a pianist, composer, and educator whose work celebrates music as a source of connection, healing, and storytelling — a reflection of our shared humanity. She has performed in more than 30 countries — from Carnegie Hall and The Kennedy Center to festivals across Europe and Asia — earning acclaim for her expressive playing and ability to connect deeply with audiences.

Contact: eborowsky@gmail.com

More on Inner Harmony (with links to listen/watch) here: https://www.elizabethborowsky.com/inner-harmony