SOAR Above the Crows – Life Following Male Breast Cancer

Surviving Breast Cancer
19 hours ago
6 min read

By Vic Clevenger

A crow is one of the only birds with the audacity to attack and annoy an eagle. They don’t just dive-bomb the eagle to keep it away from its nest or food. They will actually climb on top of the eagle and begin pecking at it. This majestic eagle will be in flight minding its own business doing eagle stuff and along comes this crow attempting to oppress, discourage and basically keep the eagle down on its level. What it hopes to accomplish is a mystery other than just keeping the eagle from doing what the eagle was meant to do.

If I were the eagle, and some smaller bird tried to aggravate me, holding me back, I’d flip around like an F-16 fighter jet, grab the crow with my enormous talons and then eat it. I would turn this little annoyance into an in-flight meal and then be on my way looking for my prey two miles away or head back to my nest. But not the eagle, they don’t waste their energy fighting the crow, they keep doing what they were meant to do, fly.

As they continue their flight, they soar higher, reaching altitudes far beyond the capabilities of the crow. The higher the eagle ascends the thinner the air becomes and the crow begins to gasp for air. Struggling to get the needed oxygen, the crow’s grip on the eagle loosens then begins to fall off the eagle, descending back to an altitude with which they are more comfortable. The eagle doesn’t allow the crow to hinder its purpose. They know the annoyance is there trying to keep them down, but the eagle doesn’t waste the energy on the crow. This impressive bird just does what it does, continuing to do what it was created to do, SOAR.

I’ve encountered many crows in my life as I attempted to soar to greater heights but found myself often just flying by the seat of my pants. Crows come in all shapes and sizes from people telling you why you can’t or shouldn’t to the voices in your own head telling you why you can’t or shouldn’t. I think of that line from Pretty Woman where Julia Roberts’ character says, “People put you down enough, you start to believe it.” Followed by, “The bad stuff is easier to believe, you ever notice that?” Those are some huge crows to deal with.

For me, however, one of the biggest crows I have dealt with in my life was being diagnosed with male breast cancer in January 2023. When other people get cancer your sympathy comes out and you think, “Aww, that’s terrible.” But when it’s you, hearing the words “You have male breast cancer” is quite devastating. When I first heard about it, I was flabbergasted. Isn’t that a disease only women get? Guys don’t get breast cancer! Do they? Well, spoiler alert, men do get breast cancer, because we also have breast tissue.

My Male Breast Cancer Story

My story actually begins in the fall of 1998 when my mom was first diagnosed with breast cancer. My dad’s sisters had it, too… but this was my mom, how could this be? My family doesn’t get sick. There was no history, as far as we knew, of breast cancer on her side of the family, but here we were nonetheless. After discussing what laid in store as far as treatment was concerned, she began to cry. Not for herself, but she was worried that the new baby, my daughter, would meet her grandmother without hair because of the chemotherapy she would endure.

Fast forward to 2010, and these two were as thick as thieves bonding over their love of cooking, especially baking. As they made a mess of my kitchen, I snapped a photo of the two of them laughing it up as a cloud of flour swirled. My mom spent the entire next year searching for just the right apron to put this photo on as a gift for her granddaughter. On Christmas Eve 2011, I’m not sure who was happier, my mom or my daughter when she opened her gift. Little did we know, in three weeks this little girl would be telling her grandmother goodbye.

Fast forward once again to Thanksgiving week 2022, and my then-girlfriend (now wife) pointed out that I must’ve dripped coffee on my white shirt. As I looked down, I found it strange that I dribbled coffee on the right side of my chest. But I’m a guy and could easily make a mess on the back of my shirt for that matter. As I went to the bathroom intending to change my shirt because we were having guests over for dinner, my nipple felt wet. Did I splash water on myself as I washed my hands?

As I rubbed, the “water” wouldn’t go away, so I started doing a little feeling around and more came out. So I did what most guys do, I suppose: I faced the mirror and squeezed it. Fluid and blood came right out of my nipple, covering the mirror. It’s at this time I called my girlfriend to check out this “cyst” or weird pimple right on my boob. She knew right away it was neither and in a couple days, we headed to the emergency room.

It was here the word “cancer” was brought up for the first time, as the radiologist took me in for a CAT scan. His words were startling yet his tone comforting as he said, “You know, men can get breast cancer too. Peter Criss from KISS had it. I’m not saying you do, but just wanted you to know.” The scan showed something and I was advised to see my doctor.

Having no insurance (a story for another time), I was bounced around with one county doctor telling me, “Ehh, it’s most likely not cancer. That would be rare.” But my girlfriend wasn’t settling for “probably.” She wanted to know—and to be honest, I did too, because I was getting kind of concerned.

Her persistence in calling person after person finally got me to Libby’s Legacy, an agency who helps people in my situation. Through them I was connected with the Women’s Center for Radiology, where I had a mammogram and a biopsy. Less than a week later, I was given the news. I had male breast cancer. Libby’s Legacy helped connect me with a doctor in just a few days and I was off to the races, as they say.

The doctor confirmed I indeed had male breast cancer, explained how it occurred and made her suggestion: a double mastectomy. One would remove the cancer from my right side and the other would prevent it from coming back in my other breast. I agreed and the preparation began. I’d never had a surgery before. Shoot, I barely took medicine for a headache, so this was foreign territory for me, and if I am to be totally honest, I was a bit scared.

Tuesday morning, February 14, 2023, Valentine’s Day, I walked into uncharted territory holding my girlfriend’s hand. On a day when I should’ve been planning a romantic dinner, buying flowers and chocolate, here we were in the hospital so I could have a double mastectomy for male breast cancer. The surgery went well, so they told me. I woke up asking to see my girlfriend and for some tequila (only one of which was accommodated). That evening, I was home on the couch with two drain hoses coming out of my chest attached to what I called plastic hand grenades pinned to my shirt… and no chocolate. Needless to say, Valentine’s Day has a whole new significance to us now.

Follow-up visits and radiation were in my future. It’s here I learned that male breast cancer is about endurance. I still see my oncologist every six months and take a pill every night. Having male breast cancer is like a cross-country marathon race. There’s doctors, ups and downs with a wide range of emotions to contend with and a unique journey that lasts for years. A crow, if you will, trying to keep me down.

Through it all, I’ve rediscovered my purpose. I’m a speaker with over 30 years of experience and a writer who is also a male breast cancer survivor. This renewal of focus has led me to write and speak on the subject of male breast cancer and the essential value of early detection. I’m not sure how many men have gotten checked because of my story, but my brother did, and he tested positive for the BRCA2 gene mutation.

Having male breast cancer has taught me persistence, endurance and purpose in living my best life. These three lessons I carry with me in every aspect of living, at least I try. There’s no giving up because this, as with life itself, is a long journey, one I will complete on top because I am a survivor. There are places to see, grandkids in Ireland to take fishing and family in South Africa to braai (grill) with. There’s life to live and I plan on living every bit of it, soaring above the crows.