By Jerilyn Young My body is a vessel Navigating ocean waves Pushing Pulling Flowing sensations of unknown Preparing for rough seas ahead No land in sight No anchor to drop I must become the waves ~ Living in their movement Their swells Their surges I pray to rest in the breeze of their ripples Washing away the internal sludge Only to be morphed back into the surf Rising Falling Embracing the current I become a wavelet ~ Gently tossed to shore I feel my hands grasp tightly What wasn’t there Solid ground My existence About Jerilyn: I was diagnosed with triple negative breast cancer (TNBC) in April 2022. I wrote this poem in the throes of my chemo treatment in the summer of 2022. I took this photo the year before I was diagnosed. Little did I know how symbolic that picture became. Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetups Free Events

By Joanna Kreisel I thought I couldn’t bear any more Then I expand Time slips away, slowly Awake with grief I dig deeper, heart heavy Mine, scars His, wounds Lean on me, I will take you through I tighten my grip, but it continues to take A strength stronger than before I wish I didn’t need to be Moments of deep despair We share tears You are home, where I need to be I am yours I long for before or after But there is only now About Joanna: I am a breast cancer survivor and caregiver to my partner who is undergoing treatment for a rare kidney cancer. Connect with Joanna on Instagram Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetups Free Events

By Dania Francis Read Dania’s breast cancer story: Thoughts on October: Breast Cancer “All Too Aware” Month Every morning for 5 weeks. I park my car, walk down the long path, check in while patients much older than me can’t help but stare, and I smile as I stick out my right wrist to get my ID band placed by the nice front desk staff. I walk down the hall. The first day I was a bit lost with each turn, but now I know exactly where to go. I find my locker, lucky number 23, and I grab my XXL gown and get changed. I take the same seat every morning and look around the waiting room. Some women are reading, some are there for the first time, and some are almost done. I smile at whoever is looking, and make a connection. A 41-year-old woman just like me with the same diagnosis of triple negative breast cancer (TNBC), she’s from Italy originally and has a beautiful accent. We talk about our Italian culture and how hard this has all been. We exchange numbers and offer each other comfort and good wishes for the day. We are on the same schedule and will end our radiation within two days of one another. She is struggling with knee pain from immunotherapy and I offer her some advice to talk to her doctor about. A 35-year-old woman is holding a big tub of chocolate biscotti to give to the radiation team, because she heard that’s what you should do. I tell her I’m a nurse and that we always appreciate that. We smile at each other and I learn that she is halfway through her treatment for triple positive breast cancer. I wish her luck as the tech calls my name. An 85-year-old woman is here for her first day of treatment for HR+ breast cancer. She is nervous and unsteady on her feet. Her daughter comes back with her to help her get into her gown. She sits down next to me. I smile at her and tell her everything will be okay. She smiles at me and I can tell she feels sorry I am so young. She reaches her hand to my arm and squeezes gently. The tech calls her name and I wish her luck. I look forward to seeing her tomorrow. I only have five more mornings in this waiting room after today... and I will remember the connections I made forever. Maybe it’s the nurse in me, or the desire to connect with others on this path. The waiting room is a special place for me. About the author: Dania is 41 and lives in NY with her husband and two small children. She is a Family Nurse Practitioner, Yoga teacher, and certified Reiki healer. She is a stage 2 Triple Negative Breast Cancer Thriver. Read More: Thoughts on October: Breast Cancer “All Too Aware” Month Different Types of Breast Cancer Breast Cancer in Young Women: Common Questions Answered On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations Radiation Therapy: What Every Breast Cancer Thriver Needs To Know Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetups Free Events

By Olivia Smith Content warning: death and dying Read part 1 of Olivia’s story: The Last Thing I Told My Mom Was a Lie (Part 1) My sister met me in South Carolina and we drove with my 2-month-old puppy down to Florida, stopping for the night along the way. The time is still such a fog; it seemed so quick, and it felt like I was moving through a vat of honey all at once, almost as if life was happening to me and I wasn’t in my body. I was terrified to get there and see how she looked. Before this round of cancer, she was always very fit and healthy, enjoying the gym. For much of her life, she was ripped. Over the past 11 months, she had shrunk over 3 inches from the tumors along her spine and compression fractures from the cancer. She was a bit hunched over and had lost a lot of weight. She refused to look at herself in the mirror, which broke my heart. She was beautiful, but had spent her 56 years on this Earth having a bad relationship with her body, including eating disorders. The changes the cancer made to her body exacerbated her low body image and this was a big struggle for her. On my previous trip down, two weeks prior, her weight loss and new height were pretty evident. But it was still a shock to see her only two weeks later, so very frail and her complexion looking a grayish yellow. She came outside to see us, so excited we were there, and my stomach dropped seeing the changes, making it feel real. I tried to mask the shock from my face so she wouldn’t notice. As our mom, she was already more afraid of the effect her death would have on her daughters than her fear of death itself. The next few days passed in a blur; the hospice care team finally came to do an intake on Friday. By then, my mom’s speech was a bit slurred. She also left with her husband Friday to complete her will. In her 11 months with this cancer, she had yet to do that until the last possible minute. I spent the days with her and my sister while she was awake, playing with my puppy while trying to keep his high energy from bothering my mom. We tried our best to make her laugh, keep her comfortable, and be there for her, but we had no clue how much longer she had left. I spent the nights sobbing on the floor in their bathroom by myself before I took a shower. I was so afraid of what was to come and how I could survive it. I tried to keep my pain and fear to myself, even though we were all experiencing it. That Saturday, my sister and I were lying by my mom’s pool while she rested, and I decided to read the hospice pamphlet. The back of it had signs of coming death to look for, grouping it by how soon death was to be anticipated. One sign that meant death was coming very quickly was swelling and discoloration of the feet and ankles. Later that day, I noticed that her feet and ankles were swollen and discolored. I looked at my sister and asked if she’d read that pamphlet. “Yup,” she said. “Did you see Mom’s feet?” I asked. “Yup,” she said. And we just nodded and sighed, knowing it was coming soon. This was all happening in August, but we were thinking ahead to Thanksgiving, as it was my mom’s favorite holiday. We had planned to go down that Thanksgiving to spend it with her in case it was her last, and to celebrate my sister’s master’s degree graduation, but we didn’t make it. At the suggestion of one of my best friends, we decided we would do Thanksgiving for my mom that Sunday and invited a few close people to celebrate with her. By the time Sunday came, my mom was barely leaving the hospice bed, except to try to use the restroom. That morning, my mom’s husband told us that she told him she didn’t know how much time she had left, and we took it as a sign of goodbye. Later, my mom asked for my sister and me. She told us she loved us very much and was proud of us. We then knew she was definitely saying goodbye. I asked her if she was scared, hoping she would tell me no and that she was at peace and ready to go to set my mind at ease. But she wasn’t. She barely got the words out, “Yes, I’m scared,” and it broke my heart. I hugged her and tried to keep myself together. Just as my step sister and family friends were arriving, I left her room and cried while mashing potatoes for Thanksgiving dinner. I wasn’t ready for this. My mom wasn’t well enough to sit and eat with us. Right before dinner, she had her first hospice nurse visit. The nurse told us she was at the five-day or less timeline, gave us some emergency medicine, and gave my mom an anxiety and pain pill. We sat down and tried to enjoy Thanksgiving dinner with the door from my mom's room open right next to us. She started groaning while we ate, and one of us at a time would go in and sit with her. Just before dessert, my sister called for me to come in. “It’s time,” she said. I stood by my mom, brushing her hair with my hand and telling her I loved her. I kissed her forehead while she groaned and cried when I felt her cool skin, knowing it really was coming. I had to get a chair to sit on because I was shaking. My step brother was supposed to be leaving for the airport but couldn’t because my mom was actively dying. We all sat around her for what felt like hours as she groaned and moaned, and her breathing slowed. We all lied to her, telling her it’s okay, she could let go, and we would be okay. My sister and I told her she raised us well and we would be okay without her, but even I didn’t believe myself. I didn’t want to say those lies; she taught me not to lie. “Honesty is the best policy,” she had said, but I had to lie to let her go, to get out of pain. I had watched my mom suffer for 11 months, and I couldn’t ask her to suffer for one more moment. It wasn’t okay, though. I didn’t believe I would be okay. At one point, she groaned, “Help me.” I lost it and started sobbing; my big sister motioned to my step brother and pointed to me as if to say, “Take care of her.” He immediately stepped over and hugged me, and I spent the rest of the time she was dying sobbing into his stomach. What do you do when your dying mother says “Help me” and you can’t? That was the most painful part of all for me. I had never watched anyone die before; I wasn’t prepared. My only expectation was seeing “so-and-so died peacefully surrounded by family” in obituaries. But this was far from peaceful; she cried for help! Would she be okay? Would she find peace? As someone who doesn’t handle not having all of the answers well, this tore me apart. After a painful 11 months with cancer, I just needed to know she was at peace and out of pain at the end, and I didn’t know how to trust that after watching her painful death. Her breathing continued to slow, and eventually her groaning became quieter and quieter. Her husband noticed she had wet herself and asked us to change her. We moved her body from the hospice bed to her bed. My sister and I helped take off her nightgown while my step sister cleaned the hospice bed and got new sheets. We moved her back, covering her dying, naked body with a blanket. Soon after that, her breathing stopped altogether. She was gone. We said goodbye, and we all left the room, calling our partners and trying to process the news. I spent the majority of that evening crying. My sister and step sister went back into the room after calling the funeral home to come pick up her body. They let her dogs sniff her dead body so they would know what happened. Together, they picked out an outfit and shoes to dress my mom in so she could look beautiful and have dignity as her body was cremated. My sister even applied my mom’s favorite beauty item, mascara, to her eyelashes. I am forever grateful my sister could do this for my mom. I wasn’t strong enough to see her again. I stayed outside when they came to remove her body, too. I couldn’t take seeing her lifeless body another time. That evening, after she was gone, all of us kids spent time in her pool, laughing and crying over memories of her. She was gone. I still didn’t know how I would move on, how I would forget the feeling of her cool skin, forget the lies I told her, forget her last words begging for help. It’s been six months now, and although I get flashbacks and nightmares about her death less frequently, they still come. I don’t know if they’ll ever go away. The pain it brings me is hard to explain. I wish I could take away her pain, take away her death. Sometimes, I forget she’s not still alive and well in Florida, riding on a motorcycle and enjoying the warm weather. I still don’t know how to get over a lot of it. Sometimes my brain can’t comprehend that it happened, even though I watched the life leave her pale cold body that was once a strong, warm place to seek safety. Sometimes I have a thought cross my brain of a question I need to ask her, or something funny to tell her before I realize that’s not possible, and the pain comes flooding back again. I have to constantly re-remember that she’s dead, that this is real life and not some terrible nightmare I will wake from, which oftentimes means reliving her suffering and death. Sometimes my sister and I are forced to relive her death through nightmares and spend the next day in a fog. But I’m in therapy to process it, and the waves of grief come less and less frequently. And sometimes I can remember fond moments with her now, and make fun of her annoying tendencies with my sister. Sometimes we also make other people uncomfortable with dark humor, and sometimes we eat what we call “dead mom cheesecake” and mope. Dead mom cheesecake got its name from my sister. One day at work, shortly after our mom died, one of her coworkers brought in a cheesecake that their wife had made for my sister. My sister was tired of people being awkward about our mom’s death and not knowing how to act around her. So, when she took the cheesecake out to eat it, she asked everyone if they would like to eat some “dead mom cheesecake” with her. Her dark humor worked and broke the ice with her coworkers, putting them at ease. They felt more comfortable around her and enjoyed “dead mom cheesecake” with her. Using dark humor may not be for everyone, but it has been a coping mechanism my sister and I appreciate. Sometimes it makes others uncomfortable, but sometimes it can help break the ice to put people at ease. When it’s just her and I, it can help make things more bearable and allow us to laugh alongside the pain. Nothing could’ve prepared me for my mom dying. But it wasn’t until I read a memoir about a woman who lost her mom to cancer, who said her mom’s last word was “pain” that I felt seen and like I wasn’t alone in experiencing such a painful death. It felt comforting to know that my mom wasn’t alone, that maybe it was more common than I thought. That maybe she is okay now somewhere, playing with my childhood dog and looking after me in another way. People don’t talk about death often; it’s not a fun thing. I often feel isolated by it, wishing people would talk about her more, even if it brings up some sad feelings. It feels good to talk about her, to remember her, that she mattered. Death is inevitable for all of us. Through her death, I have found a passion for advocating and fundraising for breast cancer organization funding and research. I dream of a world where nobody will have to experience what my mom did. Where no loved ones will have to experience what my sister and I did. I have been hesitant to talk much about her death, for many reasons. It isn’t easy to talk about. I wrote most of this in tears, having to relive a really traumatizing experience. Talking about death makes most people uncomfortable, and who likes to make people uncomfortable? Also, since being more involved in the breast cancer community, I see so many stories of hope and beating the odds. So many women working so incredibly hard to rid their bodies of cancer, like the one that killed my mom. Those stories bring me and so many others such a heart-warming sense of hope and happiness. I am afraid to share my experience with her death because I don’t want to bring fear to anyone experiencing breast cancer. Everyone’s cancer experience is unique, and thankfully many don’t end in death. There have been so many advancements in the last decade, improving statistics. However, death is the one thing that is guaranteed in life, we will all experience it at some point, hopefully in a more peaceful way than my mom did. Sharing my experience isn’t easy. I’d prefer to keep it to myself and shield people from the harsh death we witnessed. However, the more people I’ve shared my experience with, the more I’ve felt not alone. I’ve heard others suffering quietly in their own bubble, afraid to talk about what they saw. Writing it down and sharing it has helped me, and if this brings at least one person some comfort and to feel a little less alone, then it was worth the pain that came with writing this. My sister and I did what we could to bring our mom comfort when her time came, even though it caused us pain, including telling her one last lie. I can only hope that the lie brought her some peace in her last moments and that she’s proud of us and who we are becoming in her absence. If you are searching for someone who understands or have questions, feel free to reach out to me at @gingers_breasties on Instagram or at gingers.breasties@gmail.com. Read More: Navigating Grief: Understanding the Stages of Loss and Healing Breaking the Silence on End-of-Life: What is a Death Doula? Newly Diagnosed with Metastatic Breast Cancer Living with MBC Metastatic Breast Cancer: Understanding the Significance of Stage IV Supporting Loved Ones with Breast Cancer: How to Offer Meaningful Help Thursday Night Support Groups On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations Breaking the Silence on End-of-Life Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetups Free Events

By Lourdes D. Heras These six-letter dreadful words I hear In solitude’s embrace, in the shadow of darkness, I battle unseen, unheard. Cancer you said? This cruel touch, a relentless and silent one, has come into my temple. Starting today after hearing the word, my nights and days are devoid of light, my heart, my heart, my mind. I wage a war, obscured from sight. No hand to hold, no comforting embrace, no I love you, No WE will beat this fight or be OK. All I hear... is just whispered prayers in this empty space. In the depths of isolation, many fears in silence cross my mind. I dare not say, I dare not think of what it would be if … I pick myself up and fight. I love ME, I love YOU body. In solitude, I become a soldier in the darkest of nights, keeping watch. You will be okay, I promise that! Albeit, the endless nights, I walk this path alone. My voice still echoes, a quiet drone. You will be okay, I promise that! For in my struggle, I raise a plea, a cry for awareness, for all to see. Again, can you see, can you please comfort me? In this solitude, I scream and cry inside my mind. All I need is a listening ear, a shoulder to cry on. Nothing more, nothing less. Someone to tell me: You will be okay! In the absence of you, my voice echoes, a quiet drone. You will be okay, I promise that! Cancer knows no boundaries, one in eight; it strikes without warning, fulfilling its cruel greed. So let us stand united, hand in hand, to fight this foe, to make a stand. No one deserves to be in solitude. Finally, I am not alone. SBC brings forth the light. That gentle touch, that love you yearn for, an ear that listens and gives bear hugs. For in solidarity, we find our strength and together, we will go to any length. You will be okay, I promise that! As for you Yes, YOU If these cruel six-letter words strike your beloved, be the love, the warm and light in the darkness. Whisper these words: You will be okay, WE will be okay – I got your back! Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetups Free Events

By Brookshire McDonald After the death of my husband in 1996, I waited the suggested year and moved from Mandeville, Louisiana to my birth city of Raleigh, N.C. Two of my five children had asked if they could get married, and I replied, “If I’m not moving the week of your weddings!” Back in Raleigh, I fell from a ladder while hanging wreaths outside on my windows. Who would have thought my rescuer would be an exterminator who kills bugs and fleas! I had emergency surgery on my shattered knee, followed by a second and third surgery, a blood clot, and a month in a nursing home followed by six months of live-in care at home. I was due for a mammogram, but was told it could not be performed in a wheelchair (which was false). When I finally could stand, I had my mammogram and was called to their office during their lunch hour. The nurse, seeing me on crutches, blurted, “Oh, you have that, too!” The doctor verified I had breast cancer. I was denied a double mastectomy, and instead had a single mastectomy. My surgeon informed me if my lymph nodes were clear, I would not need chemo. My oncologist did order chemo after seeing the pathology report. The pathology report showed that my cancer was estrogen negative, progesterone positive, and HER2/neu positive. I always thought he prescribed chemo because of that, but I never really knew. Two years to the day later, I was diagnosed with breast cancer in the remaining breast. I changed surgeons and had my second mastectomy, followed by treatment with an aromatase inhibitor for five years. As a widow, I hated to part with my 36 DD, which I thought was my only asset! I later found many new assets! Experiencing humor along my journey was MOST helpful! Examples: My grandson yelling to his older brother after seeing my wig in my hand, “Come quick, GeeGee has just take-ed her hair right off the top of her head!” Poking a hole in my post-surgery drain while pinning it to my gown and having to call my doctor at 10:30 p.m., receiving instructions to DUCT TAPE it! Another survivor saying she didn’t want implants because she would rather put her prosthesis on the shelf at night and opt for a different size every morning! I had two mastectomies, reconstruction, areola tattoos, a hysterectomy, hip replacement, and three surgeries on my knee: 10 surgeries in nine years. Keep moving forward and explore new interests. Mine were performing hearing tests on newborns, signing (not singing!) the national anthem at the Miracle League baseball games for special needs children, and involvement with adult day care. Find humor on your journey, be your own advocate and follow your heart. On August 8, 2024 I will celebrate 20 years of Thrivership! P.S. AFTER being diagnosed, I discovered I had five aunts who had breast cancer, but the “C” word was never said back then. My cancers were two primaries, and my middle daughter was diagnosed during the Covid-19 pandemic with lobular breast cancer. Each of us was negative for the BRCA gene mutation. I love my sisters I’ve gained (even though my mother said I would never have a sister), and wish each of you well. Love and hugs, Your Patron Saint Read More: Different Types of Breast Cancer Understanding Your Pathology Report: A Comprehensive Step-By-Step Guide Understanding Genetic Testing for BRCA1 and BRCA2 Mutations On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations Granting Wishes Brings Joy with Elesha Snyder & Jan Hillman Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetups Free Events

(my tiny love story) By Sara Kandler Unpacking the shopping bag from Marshalls, my husband sits a chrome cruet on our kitchen countertop. He has a thing for olive oil. Its bold ticket — marked “Oil Can” — tickles me. “Let’s see how much American culture you’ve assimilated over the years!” I tease, and grab the oil can, stiffen my body, grit my teeth and screech, “Oil can, oil can…” “Wizard of Oz!” he shouts, proudly. I also know a thing or two about his homeland, like how first cold press is an absolute must, and the age-old olive trees shimmer like silvery fish on the breezy hills above Fez. Connect with Sara: https://medium.com/@sarakandler Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetups Free Events

By Olivia Smith Content warning: death and dying “I have some news to share with you girls. I went to the doctor because I have been having concerns with my breast. I found out that I have inflammatory breast cancer. I don’t have all of the details yet, but I know it’s a very aggressive cancer, but I’m going to fight it. This isn’t a death sentence.” – Michelle “Ginger” Griswold, 11 months before she passed. My mom and I didn’t have a perfect relationship. She did a lot of things that stressed me out, made me upset, annoyed me, and, frankly, hurt me. But I loved her; she was my one and only mom, and although we didn’t get along perfectly, she was a good person with a lot of love to give. I spent the last 11 months of her life taking time from work and visiting her when I could. I tried to push past the moments she upset me or stressed me out, and instead spend time working to understand her more and accept her for who she was. We’re all flawed individuals trying to enjoy this thing called life while we have the privilege to. I knew time was fleeting with her now more than ever, and we truly made some memories that year that I will cherish forever. One of my favorites was when I extended a work trip to Orlando and surprised her with a stay at the Princess Castle Hotel. When she heard I was going to Orlando for work, she mentioned how she hadn’t been yet and had always wanted to—my mom’s way of telling me it would really be cool if we explored Orlando together. We walked around Disney Springs while she had the energy, her with a margarita in hand, enjoying the scenery. We just spent the weekend exploring and hanging out together, just the two of us, and it became some of my favorite moments of that year, being able to provide her with love, support, laughter, and new experiences. Ever since the day my mom told us she had cancer on the phone, my sister Stephanie and I both get anxious when anyone asks us to jump on a three-way call. We had to take many more three-way calls together in the following 11 months, none of them with good news. The purpose of this piece isn’t to document those 11 months but to talk about the last month. This wasn’t our mom’s first experience with cancer. She had stage 1 invasive ductal carcinoma about seven years prior and had been in remission, doing well. This wasn’t our first cancer rodeo. Of course I understood it was a much more aggressive and severe cancer, but why should the outcome be any different? We would fight it, and she would be okay, just like last time. For my mom, that diagnosis did end up being a death sentence. One that came much sooner than any of us had prepared or hoped for, with a lot of highs and extreme lows throughout. The last three-way call we were on with our mom, she told us from the oncology hospital that she wasn’t responding to the third round of treatment that they had hoped would be a miracle drug for her, after she quickly stopped responding to the first two treatment plans. I remember sitting at a red light while receiving this call, feeling like the wind was knocked out of me while feeling numb in the same instant. After an agonizing 11 months with metastatic breast cancer, she had told me a few weeks prior that if this treatment didn’t work, she didn’t think she wanted to put her body or mind through any more. As tough as it was to hear, my sister and I assured her we supported whatever she chose for her body and her quality of life. As much as I selfishly wanted her to try everything and stay with us as long as she could, I respected her decision and could never ask her to suffer longer for us. The following day, I decided to stay home from a work trip I had been planning and looking forward to all year, as we still didn’t have a full picture of what my mom’s newest health update meant. We knew it didn’t look good, but we still had no timeline. I felt dramatic for canceling because my mom was in the hospital and not doing well. It wasn’t like she was going to die that day, so why did I cancel this work trip that was important to me? Thankfully, I had a wonderful boss who allowed me to have a flexible schedule while my mom was sick and spend as much time with her as I could when I wanted. However, I still carried that guilt for not showing up every day with 100% of myself that year. A few hours later, I was sitting on the couch in my living room when my mom attempted another three-way call with my sister and I. This time, my sister wasn’t able to answer immediately. When I answered, my mom was on the other end of the line crying and apologizing because there was nothing left they could do. “The cancer has almost completely destroyed my liver and other organs. I’m in 83% liver failure. I have days to weeks to months left. I’m going to go home with hospice; I’m so sorry,” my mom tearfully told me. “Don’t apologize, I will be there soon,” I said. I sat on the couch in shock, fear, anger, and disbelief. I knew this outcome was possible, I had googled all the statistics. I knew this day would come eventually, breast cancer or not, but I thought we had so much more time together. The 5-year life expectancy of her cancer was 19%. My mind believed that she was so strong, always had been so strong, she would be one of those 19%, she had to be. And if she wasn’t part of that 19%, well then surely we would at least have close to another five years after diagnosis, right? I live near Charlotte, NC and my sister was living in Roanoke, VA from the time my mom was diagnosed until her death. I called my sister and we made arrangements to visit our mom. I sobbed into my husband’s arms when he came home from work. I cuddled my dog. I booked hotels for my sister and me to stay in on our way down and back up, splitting up the long drive, hoping she wouldn’t die on that trip. Partially because I still hoped she’d defy the odds, that they were wrong, she had more time, the medicine just needed a few more days to kick in. And partly, selfishly, because I didn’t want to watch her die. How could I possibly handle watching the woman who brought me onto this earth leave it? How could I ever manage that and be okay afterward? How could I watch my mom take her last breath? We hadn’t even really discussed her death yet, and what she wanted. She told my sister what she wanted for a funeral, but that was it. She hadn’t signed a will yet, hadn’t told me what she wanted from me. We hadn’t had those conversations I wanted to have, knowing I forgive her for the things she carried guilt for throughout her time as my mother. I wasn’t ready for those conversations yet, and I didn’t feel like bringing them up. I told myself I was giving her the space to talk to me about it when she was ready. But in reality, I was afraid to have those conversations with her because that meant the end was inevitable. Continue Reading: The Last Thing I Told My Mom Was a Lie (Part 2) Read More: Newly Diagnosed with Metastatic Breast Cancer Living with MBC Metastatic Breast Cancer: Understanding the Significance of Stage IV Breaking the Silence on End-of-Life: What is a Death Doula? Supporting Loved Ones with Breast Cancer: How to Offer Meaningful Help Thursday Night Support Groups On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations A Caregivers Guide to Cancer Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetups Free Events

By Brookshire McDonald, “Patron Saint” SurvivingBreastCancer.org has enabled us To become friends really fast. My hope is that all our friendships Will last and last. Our boobs have brought us together As our stories we do share Over states and even countries We come from almost everywhere. Boobs of ours Measured A, B, C, or D; And one of you even claimed To have been a G! Plastic surgeons try to match them up The best they can do. Mine don’t match at all; I don’t know about you. With a breast cancer diagnosis Many options come your way — Lumpectomy, mastectomy, reconstruction, tattoos Or flat to stay. Having fallen from a ladder My journey did endure Three leg surgeries, a blood clot, then two primary breast cancers And many prayers for sure. I admire each of you As through breast cancer you go. Your struggles, courage, and strengths Really do show. On top of that road You are traveling today COVID-19 has thrown A wrench into play. Dealing with just one issue Was a master feat. Each of you now Has additional obstacles to beat. I can laugh with you, And I can cry with you But I can’t really imagine All you’re going through. As you travel this journey — Not a choice you did choose, You are reaffirming my faith That I didn’t lose. You awakened my awareness Of how blessed I have been; And to have you as my cancer sisters Has introduced a special kin. You may not realize it As your journey you do fight, But each positive gesture of yours Brings to someone a promising light. Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetups Free Events

By Trudy Trybulski In 2016, I was 63 and not long retired. I noticed a change in the shape of my left breast and went to see my doctor, who quickly referred me to the hospital where I had a mammogram and biopsy. Three weeks later, it was confirmed that I had breast cancer. Tissue samples showed I had stage 3, grade 3 invasive ductal carcinoma (breast cancer). I received the treatment that goes along with this sort of diagnosis: lumpectomy, three cycles of FEC (fluorouracil, epirubicin hydrochloride, and cyclophosphamide) chemotherapy, three cycles of docetaxel chemotherapy,  three weeks of radiotherapy, Herceptin targeted therapy, and letrozole hormone therapy. I began to walk about the hospitals like a professional cancer patient. Five years later, in 2021, I was diagnosed with a recurrence of the same cancer in the same breast which was also stage 3, grade 3. My oncologist recommended a left breast mastectomy, but I made a case to have a double mastectomy as I knew I would not cope very well with one large breast. I turned down chemotherapy and Herceptin, but agreed to zoledronic acid infusions and letrozole following the double mastectomy. I have no regrets at all about the double mastectomy. I knew that mentally I would not cope well with one breast, implants, or any reconstruction. Three years post-mastectomy, I have an amazing tattoo covering my missing breasts and scars. I’d never had a tattoo before. At age 70 I am now converted and love my new upper body. It has given me confidence and joy. I designed the tattoo myself working alongside an amazing tattooist. He created something inspiring that tells a unique story about the threads of my life. My experience with cancer has actually enhanced my life. I’ve made changes to who I live with, developing my own home into a safe peaceful sanctuary. I have surrounded myself with amazing friends and neighbors. My family supported me, but also we have developed our already strong and caring relationship, I would say with a deeper love and understanding of our importance to each other. I have left people on the wayside too, people who wanted to drain my positivity or offered me more stress. I am currently struggling with the side effects of the drugs, particularly letrozole. It is having an effect on my joints and muscles. Constant pain is hard to live with, so it’s time to up my resistance. My plan is to get back into the gym and do more weight-bearing exercises. I want to get that feel-good factor back in my body. I’ve decided to let my hair grow, show off my tattoos, and let myself flourish—well that’s the plan, anyway! Luckily I love sports and swimming, but also chocolate and wine! Breast cancer or any cancer doesn’t have to mean the end of a fulfilling life. Yes, it can cause difficulties and tough endings for some. I suppose it’s about making the most of what you have and who you are, and celebrating the good things in your life. I know this sounds like a cliché, but as a person affected by cancer, I feel I have the right to say it. I’ve had many say to me things like, “You could get run over by a bus,” or, “We all have to die sometime.” These statements are really not helpful, because the bus is right in front of my face. I’ve learnt to understand the fear that others have around cancer, allowing them to voice that fear to me. As I watch the rain, typing this with my wrists aching from carpal tunnel syndrome, I wonder at the beauty of it. I’m looking forward to the spring and what delights that will bring. Read More: Exploring Breast Reconstruction Surgery: Pros and Cons Navigating Relationships After a Breast Cancer Diagnosis The Choice to Go Flat On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations Building a Strong Relationship Between Patients and Their Medical Team Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetups Free Events

By Jayita Chatterjee I learnt to live, I learnt to stay A voice inside me told me to pray To give thanks and stay the way, And not to think of what’s beyond today. When I was weak… each day was hard I could tell no days apart. My body was battered... it wept, it cried It wanted to break away and die. But my spirit held strong and wouldn't let me give up. The ravaged spirit wouldn’t give up. I despised how I wasn’t strong I felt I didn’t belong I needed help with little things I had to learn it wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t wrong, and I wasn’t weak It was a sign of respecting my new limits And loving myself enough to accept the treat. The treat that is the love of others… Who wanted to help and truly felt my needs. The body bore the trauma, but the spirit grew stronger. I hope to live... to live much longer. Those dark days when my mind would spiral On lonely nights and rage a storm Deep breaths and visions of happier days Would lift me up and bring me home. And so I gave thanks, and so I prayed. And I lived and I stayed. Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetups Free Events

How can we optimize anti-cancer therapies to ensure we are receiving the full potential of the drug without significantly compromising quality of life?  In the realm of cancer treatment, finding the right dose is paramount. It's a delicate balance between delivering enough medication to combat the disease effectively while minimizing adverse effects on the patient's overall health. Let's delve into the nuances of dosing in cancer therapy and explore how patients can be their best advocates when asking about dosage and how oncologists navigate this crucial aspect of treatment. Understanding Dose Selection In 2021, Stefanie Groenland and team published “The Right Dose: From Phase I to Clinical Practice” where they explored ways for optimizing the right dose. While drug labels will typically state what the maximum dose is, it may not be optimal for the specific patient, noting that the majority of patients may be receiving excessive doses of therapies which result in increased toxicity.  More recently, in the 2024 article, The Right Dose: Results of a Patient Advocate–Led Survey of Individuals With Metastatic Breast Cancer Regarding Treatment-Related Side Effects and Views About Dosage Assessment to Optimize Quality of Life researchers suggest that patient-physician discussions may facilitate the identification of the most favorable dose for each patient, and that the majority of patients would be receptive to this conversation. The process of determining the right dose for cancer treatment involves several key considerations and conversations between the patient and the medical physicians. Factors to consider include the type and stage of cancer, the one’s overall health and tolerance to medications, the specific drugs being used, and any previous treatments or therapies the patient has undergone. Oncologists rely on a combination of clinical guidelines, research data, and personalized assessments to tailor the dose to each individual's needs. Factors Influencing Dosing: Body Weight and Surface Area: In many cases, medications are dosed based on a patient's body weight or surface area to ensure optimal efficacy and safety. This approach helps account for variations in drug metabolism and distribution among different individuals. Kidney and Liver Function: The functioning of vital organs like the kidneys and liver plays a crucial role in drug clearance and metabolism. Oncologists may adjust doses accordingly for patients with impaired organ function to prevent toxicity or suboptimal treatment. Genetic Factors: Advances in pharmacogenomics have highlighted the impact of genetic variations on drug response. Genetic testing may inform dose adjustments or help identify patients who are more likely to benefit from certain medications. Adverse Effects: Monitoring and managing treatment-related side effects are essential in dose optimization. Adjustments may be necessary if patients experience significant toxicity or if initial doses are not well-tolerated. Treatment Goals: The intended goals of cancer treatment also influence dose selection. For curative intent, higher doses or combination therapies may be appropriate, whereas palliative care focuses on symptom management and quality of life with potentially lower doses. Side Effect History: Understanding how one has tolerated other drugs and if we can learn about a patient’s experience on a former line of treatment, it may help us to understand the possible side effects on the new drug. Tailoring Doses for Individual Patients Personalized medicine has revolutionized cancer care by allowing oncologists to tailor treatments to each patient's unique characteristics. This includes adjusting doses based on genetic markers, biomarkers indicating treatment response, and ongoing monitoring of patient outcomes. The goal is to work with the person to achieve the best possible therapeutic outcome while minimizing the risk of adverse effects. The Patient-Centered Dosing Initiative calls into question the practice of treating people living with metastatic breast cancer with the highest possible dose. Once a patient experiences significant side effects from breast cancer treatment, patients and their medical care team should have conversations around dosage. Perhaps there is an opportunity to lower the dose, or change the frequency of the treatment. After all, medicine is just as much of a science as it is an art. As research and technology continue to advance, the landscape of cancer dosing is expected to evolve further. Precision medicine, targeted therapies, and innovative drug delivery methods hold promise for refining dose selection and enhancing treatment outcomes. Collaboration among oncologists, researchers, and pharmaceutical companies remains crucial in driving these advancements and improving cancer care globally. Finding the right dose in cancer treatment requires a multidimensional approach that considers patient factors, treatment goals, and emerging scientific insights. By optimizing dosing strategies, oncologists strive to maximize the effectiveness of therapies while ensuring patient safety and quality of life. The ongoing pursuit of precision medicine heralds a future where customized cancer treatments based on individual needs become increasingly attainable.

By Mary Montefinese It came into my life; abrupt it was No, I didn’t invite it; it must leave It thinks it will interrupt; I’ll fight its flaws My strength, my resolve, I believe It will be cut off at its claws My design will be changed My look, my health; oh abrupt it will be It may take long but I’ll have VICTORY. Connect with Mary: Instagram https://themodernlifewithcancer.wordpress.com/ https://meagermodernpoetry.wordpress.com/ Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetups Free Events

By Laura Carfang What is Lymphedema? Lymphedema is a chronic condition characterized by the accumulation of lymph fluid in the tissues, leading to swelling, discomfort, and sometimes pain. It typically occurs when the lymphatic system is damaged or impaired, hindering the proper drainage of lymph fluid from the affected area. Understanding Lymph Fluid: Lymph fluid is a vital component of the lymphatic system, which plays a crucial role in the body's immune function. This fluid contains white blood cells called lymphocytes, which help fight infection and remove waste products from tissues. Lymph fluid circulates through a network of lymphatic vessels, filtering through lymph nodes, before returning to the bloodstream. Breast Cancer and Lymphedema: For individuals undergoing breast cancer treatment, such as surgery or radiation therapy, damage to the lymphatic system may occur. Lymph nodes may be removed or damaged during surgery, disrupting the natural flow of lymph fluid. Additionally, radiation therapy can cause scarring and inflammation in the lymphatic vessels, further impeding lymphatic drainage. Preventing Lymphedema: Those diagnosed with breast cancer can take proactive steps to reduce their risk of developing lymphedema. Some preventive measures include: Gentle Exercise: Engaging in low-impact exercises, such as walking or swimming, can promote lymphatic circulation without putting excessive strain on the affected area. Graduated Compression Garments: Wearing compression sleeves or garments can help support the lymphatic system and prevent fluid buildup. Skin Care: Practicing good skin hygiene and avoiding cuts, burns, or other injuries can reduce the risk of infection, which may exacerbate lymphedema. Avoiding Tight Clothing: Tight clothing or accessories, such as bras with underwire or tight jewelry, can restrict lymphatic flow and should be avoided. Managing Lymphedema: Despite preventive measures, some people may still develop lymphedema. If you experience symptoms such as swelling, heaviness, or tightness in the affected limb, it's essential to seek medical attention promptly. Treatment options for lymphedema may include: Manual Lymphatic Drainage (MLD): MLD is a specialized massage technique performed by trained therapists. It involves gentle, rhythmic movements that stimulate the lymphatic vessels, encouraging the drainage of excess fluid from the affected area. MLD can help alleviate swelling, improve circulation, and enhance the functioning of the lymphatic system. Compression Therapy: Compression therapy is a cornerstone of lymphedema management. It involves applying pressure to the affected limb through the use of compression garments, bandages, or wraps. Compression helps reduce swelling, prevents fluid buildup, and provides support to the tissues.. Compression garments come in various styles, sizes, and compression levels, ranging from light compression to high compression. It's essential to work with a qualified therapist or certified fitter to ensure that you get the right fit and compression level for your needs. Exercise Therapy: Exercise plays a crucial role in managing lymphedema by promoting lymphatic circulation and muscle movement. However, it's essential to engage in exercises that are safe and appropriate for your condition. A qualified physical therapist can develop a personalized exercise program that includes activities such as gentle stretching, strength training, and aerobic exercises. Skin Care: Proper skin care is essential for individuals with lymphedema to prevent infections and complications. This includes keeping the skin clean and moisturized, avoiding cuts and injuries, protecting the skin from sun exposure, and practicing good hygiene habits. Finding the Right Qualified Therapist: When seeking treatment for lymphedema, it's crucial to find a qualified therapist who specializes in lymphatic disorders. Here are some tips for finding the right therapist: Ask for Referrals: Seek recommendations from your healthcare provider, oncologist, or support groups for breast cancer survivors. They may be able to recommend experienced therapists in your area. Check Credentials: Look for therapists who have received specialized training and certification in lymphedema management. The National Lymphedema Network (NLN) and the Lymphology Association of North America (LANA) offer certification programs for lymphedema therapists. Research Experience: Inquire about the therapist's experience in treating lymphedema, particularly in breast cancer survivors. A therapist with extensive experience in this area will be better equipped to understand your unique needs and provide effective treatment. Schedule a Consultation: Before committing to treatment, schedule a consultation with the therapist to discuss your condition, treatment goals, and any concerns you may have. This will allow you to assess their expertise and determine if they are the right fit for you. (click to listen) Is Swimming Good for Managing Lymphedema? On a personal note, I have noticed that swimming laps has helped me to manage my lymphedema. Swimming can be beneficial for individuals with lymphedema, but it's essential to approach these activities with caution and to consult with a healthcare professional before starting any new exercise regimen. Swimming is particularly beneficial for me  for  several reasons: 1. Low-Impact Exercise: Swimming is a low-impact exercise, meaning it puts minimal stress on the joints and muscles compared to high-impact activities like running or weightlifting. For individuals with lymphedema, especially in the limbs, avoiding activities that involve heavy impact or repetitive motion is crucial to prevent exacerbating swelling and discomfort. Swimming allows for a full-body workout without subjecting the limbs to excessive strain. 2. Hydrostatic Pressure: The water's hydrostatic pressure during swimming provides natural compression to the body. This pressure helps improve blood circulation and lymphatic flow, assisting in the movement of excess fluid out of the affected limb. Hydrostatic pressure also aids in reducing swelling and promoting tissue healing. It effectively supports the body, making movements easier and less strenuous, which can be particularly beneficial for individuals with compromised lymphatic function. 3. Lymphatic Circulation: The rhythmic movements involved in swimming, such as kicking and stroking, promote lymphatic circulation. As lymph fluid relies on muscle movement and external pressure to flow through the lymphatic vessels, the repetitive motions of swimming help facilitate this process. By encouraging lymphatic circulation, swimming aids in reducing fluid buildup, alleviating swelling, and improving the overall functioning of the lymphatic system. Precautions: While swimming offers numerous benefits for individuals with lymphedema, it's essential to exercise caution and follow safety guidelines: Gradually increase the duration and intensity of swimming sessions to avoid overexertion. Protect the affected limb from injury or strain by using flotation devices or wearing compression garments if necessary. Monitor for any signs of discomfort or worsening symptoms during or after swimming, and adjust your routine accordingly. Consult with a healthcare provider or lymphedema specialist before starting a swimming program, especially if you have any underlying medical conditions or concerns.

By Jessie Woodyard No one tells you That the first place someone looks Someone who hasn't seen you since you were diagnosed is your chest. Eyes straight to your breasts. Are they still there? Which one is gone? Do they look the same to you? How about my eyes? How do they look? Do they look through tears at you stealing your glance? Or are they clear and wide, aware and sad? No one tells you about the drain. How it's the worst part until just before it's the worst part of you. The drain of this illness It is a metaphor and it is real and it sucks, like a vacuum and in every sense of the word. No one tells you That immediate isn't immediately But in fact drawn out Like the word YES written on my chest in ink that takes weeks to remove. No one tells you No one tells you about the return The blood return that you want to see The return of the cancer, malignancy That fear.... No one tells you it's permanent. No one tells you about the fights Miscommunication, misunderstanding Nothing feels right. No one tells you That you may beat it this time but this fear is for life. An uninvited partner for as long as you all shall live. In sickness and even in health No one tells you. I guess no one knows. Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetups Free Events

Issue: #276 Tick, tock... did you remember to change your clocks ahead one hour yesterday? Let’s enjoy these later sunsets as we make our way towards a glorious springtime! This weekend, SBC attended the Infinite Strength MBC Conference in New Haven, CT. A huge congratulations and shoutout to Infinite Strength's founder and president, Roberta Lombardi, and her fabulous team, for hosting an educational, powerful, and intimate conference where we were able to connect with experts in the field and forge strong bonds with patient advocates. Among the many key takeaways, I learned the importance of exercise. The question now is, how much exercise does one need to do to receive the benefits and at what point is more not necessarily better? Research is being conducted to explore what the #RightDose of exercise. Dr. Teplinsky gave an exceptional talk normalizing the discussion around sex and intimacy when living with metastatic breast cancer. From providing recommendations on creams and suppositories like Intrarosa and Revaree, she encouraged us to speak with our oncologists and gynecologist about vaginal and pelvic floor health. Oftentimes these questions come up at the end of our already short and usually rushed appointments with our doctors so Dr. Teplinsky recommended making a separate appointment to specifically address these concerns with your team. From laughing about the crazy stuff people say to those diagnosed with breast cancer, to discussions around "you don't look sick", we laughed, cried, hugged, and came together as a community in support of each other's experiences. As the founder of SurvivingBreastCancer.org (SBC), and diagnosed with early-stage breast cancer, I am so grateful to be welcomed into the sacred space of the MBC community! We continue to provide relevant programming to address the pressing topics of those living with MBC. You can check out our MBC Webinar Series and catch our next Webinar this Wednesday hosted by Abigail Johnston and Amy Parliman where we talk about everything you need to know about scans. And a reminder that this Thursday is Write Your Story Day! Perhaps you'd like to attend tonight’s writing workshop with Thomas to write it out. Whether or not you submit your writing for our blog, writing down thoughts can be a really helpful way to process your breast cancer experience. I encourage you to give it a shot! You might be surprised at what you create :) Happy writing! xo, Laura Editorial: Effective Listening At SBC we received a heartfelt, brilliant note from community member and MBC Leadership Team member Kathleen Friel, regarding how to properly listen to and respond when speaking with someone with a speech impairment. See her email below. Kathleen’s memo got me to thinking about how I can personally improve and develop effective listening habits, and after some quick research I came up with the following: Effective listening is a crucial skill that goes beyond simply hearing words; it involves fully comprehending and interpreting the message being conveyed. One key aspect of effective listening is providing the speaker with your undivided attention. This means putting aside distractions, such as phones or other electronic devices, and maintaining eye contact to signal that you are fully engaged. Furthermore, active listening involves non-verbal cues, like nodding or mirroring the speaker’s body language, to convey understanding and encouragement. In addition to non-verbal cues, paraphrasing and summarizing the speaker's message demonstrate that you are not only hearing but also processing the information. This reflective aspect of listening ensures that both parties are on the same page, fostering clarity and preventing misunderstandings. It’s essential to refrain from interrupting and allow the speaker to express themselves fully before responding. This patience and respect contribute to a more open and communicative environment, where individuals feel heard and valued. Ultimately, effective listening is a skill that strengthens relationships, promotes understanding, and facilitates successful communication. From The SBC Blog No Scars to Your Beautiful By Jayita Chatterjee [This one is for me, for my pink cancer friends that went through lumpectomy, mastectomy and/or reconstruction, and really anyone else that needs to hear this.] If you feel horrible, looking like a Frankenstein, with giant stitches all across your body… I am here to tell you it is OK to feel how you feel! It is NOT vain. If your partner or others say that you look beautiful, but you don’t like how you look right now, it’s OK. If you don’t want to look at your body right now, it’s OK. You went through a lot. You went through multiple surgeries, chemo, maybe radiation, immunotherapy. And yes, you are alive. But we are allowed to mourn our old self… not just the body, but the person we were the day before we were told we had cancer. Yes, it’s physical changes, but that’s on TOP of so many other life-altering moments. One day you’re just living your life, and the next you’re talking to oncologists, geneticists, and surgeons. The world will tell you that you’re supposed to be grateful for being alive, and how you look does not matter. But it DOES. From the SBC Poetry Lab Moremi By Goldiin Kelvins In life, I met a girl so strong, brave, and true, Within four walls, she battled, a constant cue. Surviving, not living, she faced a relentless strife, Moremi, a young soul navigating through life. Born in Nigeria's west, in Africa's embrace, Her memory lingers, my heart's sacred space. I try to divert my thoughts, but I can't deny, Her innocent gaze, a plea in each dark eye. Her mind puzzled, imagining the world outside, Yet, hope waned, like a fading tide. She fought against sickness, a brave young soul, Yet, it fought harder, taking its toll. A 12-year-old warrior, courage in her stare, Yet, sickness, a ruthless terror in the air. Determined to live, dreams she'd conceive, But sickness threatened, luring dreams to grieve. Docs and teams fought, her heartbeat's descent, Body systems failing, a despairing lament. Yet, she'd jolt back, gasping for air, Mother's dripping tears, a father's silent prayer. Wishing for release, from the hands that tried, From loved ones' grasp, in pain, she'd hide. Drowning in the pit where life began, Her tears echoed, a heart-wrenching plan. Today, we lay her down in the earth's embrace, Cancer claims victory, a bitter taste. To those fighting, courage to you I send, May your stories not meet this tragic end. Lost a girl, lost a niece, grief in the wind, Adieu, Moremi, where memories begin. Today on the Podcast 11 Years of Survivorship - A Breast Cancer Survivor's Story with Dawn Aegle Dawn shares her journey from diagnosis to traveling the world doing cat sitting after caring for her mother. Their conversation touches on major milestones, personal experiences, and the impact of travel on Dawn's life post-treatment. Tune in for an inspiring story of resilience and adventure. (Click to Listen) Upcoming Events

By Michelle Sandlin In June of 2021, I was in the best shape of my life, or so I thought. I wasn’t overweight. I didn’t drink. I didn’t smoke. I didn’t do drugs. I was working out like a maniac, six days a week. I looked great. I felt great. But guess what? None of that mattered because cancer don’t care. That’s when I found a lump in my right breast. I was in utter shock and disbelief. It didn’t make any sense. As far as I knew, my risk factors for developing breast cancer were very low. My mom didn’t have breast cancer. My grandmothers didn’t have breast cancer. It seemed so random, and completely unexpected. But I was familiar with the statistic: one in eight women. Now I was the one. The day I was diagnosed, I was forced to learn many new words and terms. The first being invasive ductal carcinoma. The second being triple-negative breast cancer (TNBC). And then a few weeks later, a third one was added to the mix. It was BRCA1 gene mutation. Yep, I had that too. Those were the three things that pretty much dictated my treatment strategy. It looked like this: 16 rounds of chemo over the course of 5 ½ months, followed by a double mastectomy and reconstruction surgery, and finally the preemptive removal of my ovaries and fallopian tubes. That was the medical strategy. I also implemented and enforced a personal strategy, which proved to be critical and highly effective for my emotional wellbeing. It looked like this: maintain a positive attitude; keep toxic people and negative thoughts at bay; work out as much as possible; listen to my body; lean on my family, friends, and faith; stay in the moment, then let it go; use meditation to combat anxiety; no tears; no Google; no downward spiral. The idea was to develop a philosophy around controlling what I could control during this out-of-control time. And I documented every moment along the way, sharing personal messages, photos, and videos on social media. This helped tremendously with the crippling feelings of isolation that I experienced throughout my treatment. It also let people keep up with me and my progress and be able to see for themselves how I was doing. I wanted to be able to share the raw, emotional, candid moments. I wanted to share my message of love, hope, encouragement, motivation, inspiration, and the importance of community. I hoped others would be able to benefit from my experience. Then on Valentine’s Day 2022, I received the best news possible. That’s when my breast surgeon told me I was cancer-free! CANCER-FREE! This was just a few days after my double mastectomy. She introduced me to yet another new term: pathological complete response, meaning that there was no residual invasive cancer in the tissue that was removed during surgery. My prayers had been answered. In the months that followed, I realized I needed to process everything that had happened. There was no time to do that when I was first diagnosed, and certainly no time to do that when I was in the throes of treatment, surgery, healing, and recovery. So now that I was on the other side, it was time to process. That’s when I decided to write a book. To share my thoughts, feelings, and insights about my breast cancer experience. Everything I had been through—physically, emotionally, and spiritually—and what it’s like to be on the other side. To lift the veil and share the most intimate, personal details. To share the many life lessons that were woven into my journey. To share my perspective about life after cancer. And ultimately, to help and inspire others, and give them hope, regardless of the battle they may be fighting or the struggles they may be facing. To shine the light on the road to healing and inner peace. My hope is that others will benefit from my story. About the Author: Michelle Sandlin is an award-winning writer and bestselling author. She spent the better part of the past decade as a freelance writer and columnist. During that time, she wrote a weekly column for the Houston Chronicle, which ran from 2013 through 2020. Originally from Shreveport, Louisiana, Michelle currently lives in Houston with her husband, Kenny, and their English Bulldogs, Max and Stella. She published a book about her breast cancer experience, Cancer Don’t Care, in January 2024. For more information about Michelle, please visit her website: www.MichelleSandlin.com. Read More: A New and Unexpected Life Understanding Genetic Testing for BRCA1 and BRCA2 Mutations Remember You Are Not Alone On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations Good News for Triple Negative Breast Cancer: A Vaccine and Hope for the Future Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetups Free Events

At SBC we received a heartfelt, brilliant note from community member and MBC Leadership team participant Kathleen Friel, regarding how to properly listen to and respond when speaking with someone with a speech impairment. (See her email below). Kathleen’s memo got me to thinking about how I can personally improve and develop effective listening habits, and after some quick research I came up with the following: Effective listening is a crucial skill that goes beyond simply hearing words; it involves fully comprehending and interpreting the message being conveyed. One key aspect of effective listening is providing the speaker with your undivided attention. This means putting aside distractions, such as phones or other electronic devices, and maintaining eye contact to signal that you are fully engaged. Furthermore, active listening involves non-verbal cues, like nodding or mirroring the speaker's body language, to convey understanding and encouragement. In addition to non-verbal cues, paraphrasing and summarizing the speaker's message demonstrates that you are not only hearing but also processing the information. This reflective aspect of listening ensures that both parties are on the same page, fostering clarity and preventing misunderstandings. It's essential to refrain from interrupting and allow the speaker to express themselves fully before responding. This patience and respect contribute to a more open and communicative environment, where individuals feel heard and valued. Ultimately, effective listening is a skill that strengthens relationships, promotes understanding, and facilitates successful communication. …the message from Kathleen Hi Friends, I am writing to share a tip sheet that may help you feel better prepared to interact with people who have a speech impairment. Some people, like me, have a lifelong speech impairment. Others may be experiencing extreme fatigue, dry mouth, or mouth sores. I’d love to make SBC groups more inclusive of people with speech impairments. This TNT training is a great start! In essence, it’s simple: we all want to be heard. Think of your own experiences in SBC groups – don’t you love it when we all have time and space to be heard! Everyone should be able to speak. Interruptions and repeating are generally seen as demeaning. I answered a question on Sunday saying if you want to repeat what someone said, ask. I want to step back a tad. Perhaps first, ask if they want to use the chat to share. During such chat-writing time, it would be ideal for the group to quietly wait. (Like, 2 min or less, not forever! Most people will type small bits of info, hit enter, then type more, which is more like the beat of a conversation.) Common things I’ve encountered •           Assumption that I’m mentally impaired. Someone’s speech does not correlate with intellect. •           People finishing my sentences or interrupting, often with something wildly different from what I was trying to say. Give people the chance to speak for themselves. •           People not recognizing that those with disabilities have lives just as complex as everyone else. People often seem shocked when I talk about dating, work, the fact that I live alone and drive… most people don’t have to hear, ”Oh WOW you’re so inspiring,” when they drive to the store. •           Folks unaware how carefully I plan when I’m going to talk, and unaware of the unease I feel when the plans don’t go smoothly. It’s not that different from the planning that other people with disabilities do. Imagine arranging ahead to have a ramp at the restaurant you’re meeting friends at. You may feel proud of your master plan. Then of course, no ramp at the restaurant. The planning and organizing that people with speech impairments do are not as visible, but just as important. Examples: resting before gathering, typing out things in a Word doc that I think I might want to put in the chat.  If you call on someone with a speech impairment and we need a second to take a drink or sit up straight, be patient. We’ve got a LOT going on behind the scenes! 😊 •           I know this shouldn’t need to be said, but no teasing! I grew up being teased, as most people with disabilities do. I’m over it. Teasing is painful, not funny, and not cool. I hope this all helps!! Kathleen

By Goldiin Kelvins In life, I met a girl so strong, brave, and true, Within four walls, she battled, a constant cue. Surviving, not living, she faced a relentless strife, Moremi, a young soul navigating through life. Born in Nigeria's west, in Africa's embrace, Her memory lingers, my heart's sacred space. I try to divert my thoughts, but I can't deny, Her innocent gaze, a plea in each dark eye. Her mind puzzled, imagining the world outside, Yet, hope waned, like a fading tide. She fought against sickness, a brave young soul, Yet, it fought harder, taking its toll. A 12-year-old warrior, courage in her stare, Yet, sickness, a ruthless terror in the air. Determined to live, dreams she'd conceive, But sickness threatened, luring dreams to grieve. Docs and teams fought, her heartbeat's descent, Body systems failing, a despairing lament. Yet, she'd jolt back, gasping for air, Mother's dripping tears, a father's silent prayer. Wishing for release, from the hands that tried, From loved ones' grasp, in pain, she'd hide. Drowning in the pit where life began, Her tears echoed, a heart-wrenching plan. Today, we lay her down in the earth's embrace, Cancer claims victory, a bitter taste. To those fighting, courage to you I send, May your stories not meet this tragic end. Lost a girl, lost a niece, grief in the wind, Adieu, Moremi, where memories begin. Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetups Free Events

By Robin Castle-Hine I will never forget the day I went in for my routine mammogram in October 2022. Not a care in the world, I was expecting to walk out and go back to work, where I would call my mom and let her know I got my yearly mammogram. You see, I wasn’t the best about having it done yearly, and my mom had been diagnosed four years prior. After my mammogram, I immediately had an ultrasound completed by Natalie, the technician. I was then asked to sit in a different room—the one I had been sent to years before when they found something suspicious. I didn’t think too much about it at the time. I was more concerned about them saying, “You are all set,” so I could go back to work. Natalie came back and asked me to follow her to another room. Once inside the ultrasound room, I saw a doctor waiting to talk to me. She had me lay down and she did another ultrasound before telling me they needed to do a biopsy. I immediately said “No, thank you.” I explained that I’d had a biopsy on my other breast several years ago, and I had no desire to ever have it done again. The doctor was extremely kind and tried explaining why it was so important. She basically said, “It looks like cancer, and we must get it out of you.” Natalie was amazing and stayed positive with me the entire time. The doctor strongly encouraged me to schedule the biopsy, but I had time to think about it as they were booked solid that day. I again told them I did not wish to have a biopsy, and they let me go stating they really hoped I would reconsider. I refused to think much about it and went on to work. I got calls every single day asking me if I was ready to schedule. I got so frustrated; I told them on the phone not to call me again for at least a few days. I needed time to process this. I think it was at that point I realized this could be cancer. It was at this moment that it all began for me… If it was cancer, what would I do about it? How bad would it be? What treatments would they offer and what would I accept or deny? There were so many things running through my head. I knew I had to make my decision before they gave me options. This was my way of staying in control of everything. A few days later they called me and said, “I hope now is a good time.” I laughed a little and said, “It is never a good time, but thank you for being patient with me. I am ready to schedule the biopsy.” It was scheduled for the next week and everyone that assisted with it was just amazing! The doctor did say to me when she was done that no matter what the results showed, I had to see a surgeon and get it removed. She told me that more than once. I was certain it was cancer at this point. While having dinner with my husband two days later, my phone beeped. MyChart had a message for me. My husband was talking away, but I didn’t hear anything he was saying. I sat there thinking, should I open it? I knew once I opened it, there was no going back. I am not sure how long I sat there wondering if I should open it or wait until we finished dinner. After what seemed like forever, and while my husband was still talking, I opened the phone to read the message. Invasive ductal carcinoma (IDC). I must have been holding my breath while I read, because I let out a big sigh and my husband asked, “What is wrong?” I slid the phone over to him and placed my head in my hands for a moment. He read it, looked at me and said, “It’s okay, we will get through this.” It was at that moment my life changed forever. The next day, I was at work when a nurse navigator called me. Her name was Kelsey, and she was so kind and patient. I let her talk, and then told her it was okay; I knew all about breast cancer as I walked this path with my mom who had the same cancer in the same breast four years prior. That didn’t matter to her, she was there to take care of me. The problem was I didn’t want anyone to take care of me. I was angry. Kelsey got me scheduled with the surgeon for a lumpectomy, which was two months out. I didn’t mind the wait, because I was trying to figure out how I would take care of everything. I had to deal with cancer, still work every day, take care of my family like I always do and see my youngest graduate from college. I really didn’t have time for cancer in my life. You are probably thinking I am crazy, but that is how I felt. The pressure I felt at this moment was so incredibly hard. My cancer was found early, and was very treatable. I was diagnosed with IDC stage 1. Lumpectomy and radiation were recommended, and that is what I did. I had the lumpectomy in January and my radiation started in March. I had several problems after my surgery. I had to have a seroma (fluid build-up) drained three different times after surgery before they could start radiation. I was frustrated with this until I realized there was nothing I could do about it. Once it was radiation time, I had 20 rounds with the last four being “boosts.” By the third week, I was tired. Not sleepy, but very tired. I went to radiation before work every day. By the time the workday was over, I felt exhausted. When I would get home, I would try to do a load of laundry or vacuum the house, then it was straight to bed. I didn’t want to sleep; I just had NO energy to do anything, and I believe that is when I fell into depression. On the weekends, I would lay in bed. Other than a trip to the grocery store on Saturday to make sure there was food in the house for everyone, I didn’t do much of anything except work and lay in bed. I gained 25 pounds during this time. About seven months later, my doctor realized that my vitamin D was extremely low. I have been on the weekly 50,000 IU pill once a week since. I am going into month six of taking it. My levels have gone up, and my fatigue has gotten better. I wish my doctor had tested me sooner. I was touched that a few people reached out to me with cards, texts, gifts, prayers, etc. What completely blew me away was many “friends” and some family never thought twice about me. I felt lonely. The longer this went on, the angrier I became at everyone and everything in this world. I withdrew from almost everything. I guess I needed to prove to myself that I didn’t need anyone, and wanting others to be there was not being fair to them or me. You should never have to wonder if you have the support of your family or friends. It should just be assumed you do. Well, I didn’t. My husband even disengaged in wanting to hold conversations with me. To be fair, he had a lot going on in his life that I continued to support him with, but he couldn’t see past what he had going on to help me with what I had going on. It really hurt my heart, if I am being honest. My kids just knew I was the “strong” mom who was okay. I was always the strong mom that helped everyone and asked for nothing in return. Though they are grown, I cannot blame my kids as they honestly have never seen me need anything. As the summer went on, my work hours increased (which is normal). I am so tired and not sure where I am getting the energy to make it through the days, but I am doing it without having to ask for help. This makes me happy but, on the inside, I am no longer that fun energetic caring person I once was. I am just empty. This is what my life has become. I am an angry person who doesn’t have anything to look forward to. I look the same on the outside, but I am empty on the inside. This is my new normal. If you are frustrated reading this, then imagine being me. I am not complaining, I am just telling my story. I am angry, I am frustrated, I no longer care, I am hurt, I am empty. I had cancer and it changed me. For now, I will work on caring again. I still love my family, even the ones that hurt me the most. I have learned that your friends are not really your friends, your job doesn’t care if you are sick, your doctors follow a written plan for everyone, never considering you as an individual and the emptiness I have may never go away. On the positive side of things, I no longer worry about everything, I have learned how to rest when I need to, I let most things go even when irritated, and I have learned I really do not need anyone. I can do most things on my own. I have cancer? No, I had cancer. What is the difference? So many things went right and so many things went wrong. I say with great confidence that I am no longer the same person. I am different in so many ways that sometimes I don’t even recognize myself. I don’t worry about cancer or if it is coming back, yet I do worry about what it has done to my relationships and my mental health. I was told that until I cry and have some fear, I would never heal. I guess I am also waiting for that moment and wondering why it hasn’t hit me yet. I never accepted that I mattered in the cancer world until I found SurvivingBreastCancer.org’s Thursday Night Thrivers group. I always felt because my diagnosis wasn’t worse, I didn’t have the right to feel the way I felt. Once I joined the group and listened to others, I realized I do matter. We all have different battles with cancer, and mentally I think it is hard on all of us. The way the ladies support one another no matter what is going on is simply amazing. This group allowed me to get rid of some of my anger and to advocate for myself even when I didn’t think I was worth it. I owe a bunch of “strangers” so much for helping me to “feel” again. I am not healed, but I am trying to be the best version of myself I can be. Read More: Navigating Relationships After a Breast Cancer Diagnosis The Psychological Impact of Breast Cancer: Strategies for Coping Unlocking the Power of Emotional Intelligence: Taking Control of Your Cancer Experience How Do I Find ME Again? On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations Discovering Your Divine Purpose with Dr. Sophia Edwards-Bennett Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetups Free Events

By Linda Dugan The Start On January 6, 2021, the day of the insurrection on the US Capitol, I learned that cells in my right breast were staging an insurrection. A door slammed shut on my life that day and I consciously choose to not look back. A little history… I have dense breasts and have been resolute in keeping yearly mammogram appointments since my 30s (I’m 65). Into my 40s, my yearly appointments included sonograms and in my 50s, frequent 3D imaging. I never missed a yearly appointment. Then the pandemic hit. My annual exam was delayed by two months due to the facility’s Covid scheduling. I wasn’t concerned, but asked for the earliest possible appointment, which was January 6th, 2021. It was the first time in 30 years that my annual exam was after 14 months rather than 12. When I walked out of the appointment, the tech handed me a paper and told me someone would call me. I read the paper in the changing room and realized I had cancer. The tech notes indicated signs of tumors in my right breast and right lymph nodes. My phone rang while I was standing in a waiting room filled with patients and a disembodied voice confirmed what I already knew. No one met with me or tried to help me understand my situation. I was told that ordinarily I would have a biopsy the same day but, again due to Covid, I would have to wait a week. No one directed me where to go next so I had to find my own way to the scheduling office. Cancer and Covid I called both my gynecologist and GP on January 6. My GP set up an immediate after-hours appointment with me. Before the biopsy results were completed, he strongly suspected triple negative breast cancer (TNBC), given the tumor size and the cancer’s swift progression. My GP had access to prior mammography and sonogram records (with no prior indications of cancer) and surmised that the size and spread were highly suggestive of TNBC. He was right. I was diagnosed with TNBC, stage 3C. Thanks to my GP’s diligence and community connections, within days my husband and I had our first appointment with a breast oncologist through Roswell Park Comprehensive Cancer Center in Buffalo, NY. This is a story for another day, but if I had listened to the follow-up suggestions from my gynecologist and/or the facility that discovered the initial cancer, it would have been to my great detriment. Both recommended a breast surgeon, who I would not have been able to see for at least a month. My GP said, “You need an oncologist right now, not a surgeon.” And he made a personal call to a noted breast oncologist that same night. My GP and oncologist have repeatedly assured me that the delayed mammogram may have actually been to my benefit (so to speak), as it was likely the cancer began after what would have been my annual exam. I’ll never know whether the delay meant the difference in staging—for better or worse. Both doctors also agreed that the initial tumor could not be felt by self-exam. By the time treatment started, I could feel the breast tumor. Nonetheless, “what ifs” occasionally creep in and I work to keep them at bay. January 2021 was a blur of MRIs, scans, genetic testing, biopsies, port placement, and various doctor appointments, but in just over three weeks I went from the initial mammogram appointment to sitting in an infusion chair as the “red devil” (Adriamycin chemotherapy) was pumped into my body. I’m certain the tumor grew significantly in those weeks before starting chemotherapy. I give great credit to my oncologist and GP who facilitated the speed of these pre-infusion appointments. Cancer anytime is traumatic, but cancer during a pandemic is its own special kind of hell. My husband was not allowed into any of the facilities where the pre-treatment exams occurred. He was only allowed into the first oncology, first surgeon and first infusion appointments. Only our sons and daughter-in-law were allowed in our home. Otherwise I was always alone, but beyond grateful for my amazing medical team and the incredibly supportive oncology nurses. My close friends and family were there for me “virtually” and found unbelievably lovely and creative ways to support me when we could not be together. (“Ghosting” by other friends and family was a sad surprise, but I have since learned that it’s quite a common experience for cancer patients.) In the long run, I had to develop internal coping strategies knowing that, as much as my family and friends wanted to support me, the challenging treatment journey (I actually call it a forced march) would mostly be solo. My Treatment For chemotherapy, I first received four rounds of Adriamycin/Cytoxan (AC). After AC was completed, I then received 12 rounds of Taxol, followed by surgery (lumpectomy and axillary lymph node removal). The surgery results indicated I did not have a pathological complete response (pCR), as cancer cells were still present in my lymph nodes. It was disappointing as I had an amazing response to chemotherapy (the five-centimeter tumor shrunk to “pea” size), and my surgeon was optimistic. I then received 30 rounds of radiation, followed immediately with 6 months of oral chemo (Capecitabine). Mental Health Support and Physical Recovery My career was in mental health and, early on, I recognized the need for mental health support as a subset of my oncology treatment. Despite Covid restrictions, I was able to meet with a psychologist at Roswell. Within three sessions, she helped me develop coping strategies that I still use to this day. The strategies that work best for me include cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) with an emphasis on cognitive defusion, which involves detaching from thoughts to observe them. This helps to break the cycle of intrusive thoughts. I also work on “flow state” strategies, where I am completely immersed in a high interest activity (in my case photography), where time and distractions can fall away. I find these strategies helpful in breaking patterns of intrusive thinking, fueled by anxiety. I also found amazing support (via phone calls) from a cancer coach that I connected with through Roswell. She has been there with me through the ups and downs, and I consider her a dear friend. We have never met in person, and have never needed to. When Covid restrictions lifted a bit, I tried an in-person support group, but personally found it to be counter productive. I have also made it a point to write thank you notes, with explicit reasons for my gratitude, to literally everyone who has lifted me up and cared for me during my treatment. Expressing gratitude is shown to reduce anxiety and stress. I participated in a six-week session of the LiveSTRONG fitness program for cancer survivors through my YMCA, which was a first step in trying to regain strength and mobility. In addition, I completed twenty sessions of physical therapy to improve strength, mobility and balance. Additionally, with a dear friend, I completed two winter hiking challenges (through infusion and oral chemotherapy) through a local organization. Some hikes were successful, and others I cried and practically crawled, but enough can’t be said about the physical and mental health benefits of being outside and walking during chemotherapy. The neuropathy side effects from chemotherapy remain a significant issue; however, I have a successful fitness routine developed through LiveSTRONG. Fast Forward I have now reached 2.5 years with no evidence of disease (NED)—but with my TNBC diagnosis, or any cancer diagnosis, the future is unsure. In the fall, I hosted a fundraiser and raised over $4,300 which went directly to research and TNBC foundations. I recently went through training at Roswell and have been confirmed as a cancer coach. My own cancer coach is as excited as I am. I knew from the very start that I was in a new and unexpected life, and looking forward was the only direction I should take. I’m grateful to be here, grateful for an amazing health care team, grateful for all those that supported me along the way, and grateful to have opportunities to give my support to others who are just beginning this grueling journey. Read More: The Importance of Physical Therapy During and After Cancer Treatment Navigating Relationships After a Breast Cancer Diagnosis Exercise and Breast Cancer The Psychological Impact of Breast Cancer: Strategies for Coping On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations The Benefits of Pilates for Breast Cancer Recovery Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetups Free Events

By Dania Francis Although most people know that October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, many do not realize what a tough month it is. For someone newly diagnosed, in active treatment, someone who has lost someone to this awful beast, and even survivors and thrivers, it is difficult. It is in our face every day, and there is so much pink everywhere. October has always been my favorite month. It is the first month that starts to really feel like fall… the crisp air, sweatshirts, pumpkin spice coffees (man I miss being basic), wineries, football, and fun outings. October is also the month I brought my daughter into this world—a daughter we fought pretty hard to have—so yes, October holds a special place in my heart. I started hating the month this past October because it was just too much to handle. All the stories and research and clinical trials flooding my feed… all the 5Ks and “Fun Runs” and all the pink... need I say more? But I’ve also read some posts about “Reclaim October,” and I know that has more to do with stopping corporations and companies from “pink washing,” which is just cruel and ridiculous. Slapping pink ribbons and catchphrases on their sites to attract sales that may not even be going anywhere important for the breast cancer research we still need. So, I decided after 2/8 rounds of chemotherapy done, and some October still left, I was also going to reclaim October—for myself, and for my daughter. I dressed up for the first time in a while and attended a beautiful wedding. To my surprise, I also felt beautiful. People told me I was glowing and looked so beautiful, in the pictures and at the wedding. And I decided, you know what? My husband’s 92-year-old nanny was right. When I was first diagnosed, she told me to get mad at it. The cancer. I didn’t understand at the time, because all I could do was cry. But this is how I will reclaim my October. The brighter I can shine and the more I can glow, that is me showing this cancer who’s boss. Cancer, you may have taken my boobs and some other things from me… but I will not let you take my shine. I will not let you win. Every time someone tells me I’m glowing, I will be sure to let you know I am still winning. Breast Cancer Awareness Month, thanks for getting in everyone’s faces. Because if it’s not actually in your face every day, you may not pay attention as much. I know I didn’t pay as much attention until now… and I’m hoping all those I reach are more aware now, too. I am so lucky to have such amazing support from family and friends (that act like family) all around me, and all others I have known through the years that have supported me in so many ways. I cherish every single one of you and hold so much space for all of you. Sending you so much love and light always. Thank you for giving me hope and strength during this heavy time. And to my husband, who makes me feel beautiful and tells me I’m glowing every single day since being diagnosed, while taking care of me and our two children every day. Here’s to many more Octobers to shine and sparkle, even in pink. About the author: Dania is 41 and lives in NY with her husband and two small children. She is a Family Nurse Practitioner, Yoga teacher, and certified Reiki healer. She is a stage 2 Triple Negative Breast Cancer Thriver. Read More: Hearing the words “You have cancer” is heavy The Cost of Breast Cancer Cancer Etiquette: How to Talk With Loved Ones About Their Breast Cancer On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations The Dollars Behind the Cure: Where Does it Actually End Up? Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetups Free Events

By Jayita Chatterjee [This one is for me, for my pink cancer friends that went through lumpectomy, mastectomy and/or reconstruction, and really anyone else that needs to hear this.] If you feel horrible, looking like a Frankenstein, with giant stitches all across your body… I am here to tell you it is OK to feel how you feel! It is NOT vain. If your partner or others say that you look beautiful, but you don’t like how you look right now, it’s OK. If you don’t want to look at your body right now, it’s OK. You went through a lot. You went through multiple surgeries, chemo, maybe radiation, immunotherapy. And yes, you are alive. But we are allowed to mourn our old self… not just the body, but the person we were the day before we were told we had cancer. Yes, it’s physical changes, but that’s on TOP of so many other life-altering moments. One day you’re just living your life, and the next you’re talking to oncologists, geneticists, and surgeons. The world will tell you that you’re supposed to be grateful for being alive, and how you look does not matter. But it DOES. Even when we get a haircut or get our nails done, we are anxious. Breast cancer surgery is not the same as a haircut or manicure, as hair and nails typically grow out. Chopping off a body part that you will never get back is huge! And having to make that decision is huge! You lose your hair from chemo, and you might want to wear wigs to feel a bit more normal. You have incisions all over from surgery or you have no breasts anymore, and you cannot wear your old clothes. Or you need prosthetics to fit into clothes to look and to feel good, and you want tattoos to cover your multiple scars, and you cry when you look at yourself in the mirror and you research makeup to draw on eyebrows, which you lost to chemo. So disregard when people say “Just be thankful you are alive"… we ARE allowed to mourn, and we do not have to dismiss our emotions. I always tell people that cancer is a journey that is not just physical, but mental and psychological as well. You normally wouldn’t have looked and felt like this. So is that our new normal? Yes, it is. Unfortunately, our new normal is now forever different. Having said that, equally true is that these battle scars will fade in time, and the hair will likely grow back eventually. So, yes, mourn. Mourning is healthy, mourning cleanses the soul, mourning ushers acceptance into our hearts. Mourn… but then keep living on. And wear the scars proudly! I’ll sign off here with an excerpt from Alessia Cara’s song, “Scars to Your Beautiful”: But there’s a hope that’s waiting for you in the dark You should know you’re beautiful just the way you are And you don’t have to change a thing The world could change its heart No scars to your beautiful We’re stars and we’re beautiful No better you than the you that you are (No better you than the you that you are) No better life than the life we’re living (No better life than the life we’re living) No better time for your shine, you’re a star (No better time for your shine, you’re a star) Oh, you’re beautiful, oh, you’re beautiful. Read More: Life anticipated her collapse, but she arrowed ahead and stood strong. Remember You Are Not Alone Cancer Sucks, and That’s Okay Moving forward but not moving on… On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations Discovering Your Divine Purpose with Dr. Sophia Edwards-Bennett Connect with Jayita: Tumblr Facebook YouTube Instagram

By Dawn Oswald – In Loving Memory Sunshine You get it I get it We all need a little sunshine What we need And what we get can be different Go outside and get some sunshine And some free vitamin D We all need vitamin D I’m happy to wake up Sit up and put my feet on the ground I tell myself I’m going to tackle today Today, as in the present We all like presents Worry about today Not tomorrow Not yesterday But today Enjoy the present Open it and keep it Go outside for 10 minutes What more can you ask for Today is the day Worry about today only Get your sunshine on Embrace the sun Let it hit your face Breathe the air Enjoy that sunshine Enjoy the air We don’t know what tomorrow brings So breathe Take some deep breaths Look around Soak it all in That vitamin D Have a sunny D Don’t stay too long You don’t want to get burnt Just 10 minutes We all like free My daughter told me I was her sunshine You can be someone’s sunshine too Shine on Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetups Free Events

By Taylor McKnight Physical therapy is often the last thing on people’s minds when they receive a cancer diagnosis. However, it is an essential part of your treatment plan that enhances your quality of life and allows you to return to regular activities more quickly. Most hospitals have specially trained physical therapists for cancer patients who can help you throughout your journey. Continue reading to learn about the treatment-related challenges physical therapy can address, what kinds of rehabilitation are available, and other long-term considerations for those who have received cancer treatment. Why Is Physical Therapy Important During and After Cancer Treatment? Cancer treatment such as chemotherapy, surgery, and radiation can impact your well-being in ways you may not have considered. Many cancer treatments can cause muscle weakness, increased difficulty in balancing, and a smaller range of motion. Physical therapy is essential to your recovery process and can help you restore your strength and physical function. Your physical therapist can work with you to create a plan of care that aligns with your healing process and individual goals. Cancer treatment affects not only your physical health but your mental well-being, too. Many cancer survivors experience depression and anxiety even after they have completed treatment. Exercise is a powerful way to combat the side effects of treatment and positively affect your mental health. In addition, some research has shown that regular physical activity and exercise may even lower your risk of cancer returning. What Kind of Rehabilitations Are Available Alongside Cancer Care? There are several types of rehabilitation you can receive alongside cancer care. Most plans will incorporate some physical rehabilitation as well as occupational therapy, language pathology, and vocational rehabilitation services. Each component is essential to help improve your quality of life so you can return to the activities you enjoy most. Physical therapy: Your physical therapist can help you recover your strength, endurance, flexibility, and mobility once you complete treatment. Many also offer treatment for pain management, while some specialize in managing conditions like lymphedema. Occupational therapy: Occupational therapists play an essential role by helping you resume your usual daily activities. These activities may include bathing, dressing, and returning to work. They devote considerable time and effort toward improving arm strength and function as well as range of motion. Speech and language pathology: Some cancer survivors struggle with language comprehension and expression. Others may have difficulty swallowing food or drinks. A speech and language pathologist can assist with communication, cognitive skills, and swallowing disorders. Vocational rehabilitation specialist: Many cancer survivors eventually return to work. Vocational rehabilitation specialists evaluate when the time is right to work again and how to accomplish this. They may recommend special equipment or guide those who must find a new line of work. While this is not an exhaustive list of rehabilitation services, they are the ones that most cancer survivors utilize. Each service is pivotal in helping you improve your quality of life and physical well-being. Adhering to their guidance and attending each appointment can make a huge difference in how you feel after receiving cancer treatment. Other Things To Consider After Cancer Treatment Many survivors feel unsettled and worry about an uncertain future after cancer. Some feel anxious that the cancer may return and stress they are not doing enough to remain vigilant about warning signs. In addition, many still experience negative symptoms associated with their treatment even after it ends. Commonly, many survivors continue to experience insomnia, fatigue, memory loss, pain, neuropathy, and emotional distress. It's essential to recognize that these fears and worries are all valid. Sharing these concerns with a loved one or joining a support group can also bring relief. Support is invaluable at this stage of recovery, and you may even seek professional help to address your concerns. In addition, if you are struggling with your diet, a registered dietician can help you meet the nutritional goals necessary for your best outcome. Remember, everyone’s cancer experience is unique, but leaning on other survivors and loved ones for help is instrumental in maintaining your mental health after treatment. Take it one day at a time, and be kind to yourself throughout the process. Keep up with your regular screening exams, and always speak up if something feels wrong. No one knows your body better than you, and finding the right doctor to listen to your health concerns may save your life. Written by Taylor McKnight, Author for FYZICAL Therapy & Balance Center Note: This article is designed to provide general information and not replace professional medical advice. Always discuss your options with your healthcare provider. Learn More: Exercise and Breast Cancer The Healing Power of Pilates: Benefits for Breast Cancer Patients 9 Essential Tips for Breast Cancer Survivors Moving Through Treatment and Survivorship On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations The Importance of Physical Therapy in Breast Cancer Recovery SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetups Free Events