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By Melinda Stumpp COMMUNITY | BREAST CANCER STORIES There comes a moment when your life divides into before and after. For me, it was a shower on September 7, 2024. The water was running. Steam blurred the mirror. It was an ordinary morning until it wasn’t. I rinsed my hair and my hand paused. I felt a lump. I had breast augmentation at nineteen. I knew my body. At thirty-seven, I knew this was different. It was not panic. It was not fear. It was instinct. A steady, undeniable knowing. My GP told me it was nothing. He told me not to worry. But something inside me was louder than reassurance. Louder than dismissal. And here is the defining moment of my life: I listened to it. I asked for the mammogram prescription. I walked into the cold imaging room wearing a paper gown that never quite closes. The machine hummed. The technician adjusted angles. Silence stretched between images. Then the phone rang. Phones do not ring in those rooms for good reasons. Before anyone said a word, I knew it. On October 1, 2024, the first day of Breast Cancer Awareness Month, I was diagnosed with triple negative metaplastic breast cancer, a rare one percent subtype. The words were clinical. Aggressive. Limited data. I did what everyone did. I googled it! And what I saw looked like a verdict. Survival curves. Statistics. Very little that felt human. Sitting there staring at that screen, I felt the weight of those numbers. And then I felt something else. If this is what women see when they search, then we need to change what they see. Cancer could change my body, but it would not take my identity. It would not take my voice or my chance to contribute to research. Chemotherapy tested that promise. It stripped me down physically and emotionally. There is nothing glamorous about chemo. Humor became my armor. If I could laugh in the infusion chair, I could survive almost anything. Four months after finishing treatment, just as I was beginning to feel steady again, my house burned down. Not metaphorically. Literally. I stood outside watching flames swallow everything physical. Documents. Photos. The proof of who I had been. Smoke in the air. Sirens cutting through the night. A life reduced to ash in real time. For a moment, it felt like everything was being taken. And then something settled inside me. If I could survive cancer and stand here watching this, I could survive anything. People say I shouldn’t be here. That statistically, medically, situationally, the odds were not in my favor. But I am standing here. No evidence of disease. Alive after a fire that could have taken more than possessions. I do not believe in luck alone. I believe it is mentality. It is instinct. It is a community. It is people who show up. It is laughter when everything feels heavy. Triple negative metaplastic breast cancer is rare. But rare does not mean hope. Rare means we speak. Rare means we study. Rare means we refuse to let Google define our future. I am participating in research. I am building advocacy. I am choosing, for the rest of my life, to contribute to this subtype so that the next woman who feels that lump does not open her laptop and feel doomed. Statistics are data. They are not destiny. The most defining moment of my life was not the diagnosis. It was the decision. The decision to trust myself when I was dismissed. The decision to speak when the room was quiet. The decision to rebuild when everything burned. You can lose your hair. You can lose your home. You can lose the life you thought you were living. But you do not have to lose yourself. I trusted my instinct, and that choice is why I am still here. Read More: The Role of Hormones in Breast Cancer The Impact of Breast Cancer on Self-Image Scheduling Worry Time: A Technique to Control Your Anxious Mind On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations Episode 308. Can a Blood Test Detect Breast Cancer Recurrence? Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story Connect with SurvivingBreastCancer.org Podcast Weekly Meetup Free Events

By Jessi Lord COMMUNITY | BREAST CANCER STORIES How cancer ended my lifelong habit of leaving myself There are myriad ways to experience an awakening. I don’t believe we have just one during our lifetime, but many moments when the life we’ve built can no longer contain the truth of who we are becoming. This is because we are living not only as bodies moving through the material world, but as souls continually remembering who we have always been. Some awakenings arrive as quiet, almost imperceptible whispers of recognition. Others come as seismic shifts shaking us awake in a way that alters the course of our life forever. But both provide energetic rememberings of who we have always been. What followed my breast cancer diagnosis was not just survival - it was an unraveling, a reckoning, and ultimately, an awakening. What I couldn’t have known was that breast cancer would uncover a life that had been waiting beneath the one I thought I was living. I thought breast cancer would ask everything of my body. I had no idea it would ask everything of my soul. I hadn’t yet realized that my body surviving a full year of treatment would only be the beginning of my healing and that I would spend the next year learning how to inhabit it again. I had faced my greatest fear while in active cancer treatment. I came to understand how I would get through the physicality of it because of the advice from a wise retired oncologist, who was a dear friend of my late mother’s. He was my first phone call after I received the pathology report from the diagnostic biopsy. I asked him to help me understand the biology of the cancer I had and my options for treatment. The report said that I had triple-negative breast cancer. Unlike many other breast cancers, mine wouldn’t respond to hormone therapy or other targeted treatments like surgery right out the gate. There were no alternative paths to weigh, no decisions between different medications. From the very beginning, the plan was six months of weekly chemotherapy and immunotherapy infusions, followed by surgery, and finally radiation. Most of us have seen the physical transformations that can happen during chemotherapy whether in the movies or in real life as so many of us know someone diagnosed with breast cancer. The hair loss, becoming nauseous and weak and frail, sitting for hours at a time in an infusion room. Yet, how would I be able to do it? After a career of treating thousands of cancer patients, the retired oncologist informed me with absolute certainty: “There is no better survivor than a young mother. This is not a fight,” he said, “this is about curing your cancer. Remember… this is not a sprint, this is a marathon.” Deafening silence and a tidal wave of awareness of what he was saying hit me straight in the heart. There it was - all the motivation that I needed accompanied by the undeniable necessity to dig deep for the endurance I would need for the year ahead. Because he was right. There is no stronger force of energy than the strength and determination of a young mother. I had a daughter to live for; I embodied that archetype. When treatment was all over and with each passing week, I found myself spending less time at the cancer center, surrounded by one of the most supportive communities that I have ever been a part of, and more time alone with myself. And as the noise of treatment quieted, something within me grew louder and impossible to ignore. I was feeling confused, lost, circling and spinning in my efforts to make it back home to myself after what I had just been through. I felt small whispers of a loss, of a grief; tears would flow uncontrollably, sometimes out of nowhere like on a drive to a dentist appointment. These small shifts of release in my nervous system gradually grew in intensity and scale and the need to express what I was feeling became louder. I had read deeply about trauma and had come to understand the ideas presented in The Body Keeps the Score, and how trauma is stored in the body. Throughout my life, I adapted to trauma by becoming exquisitely attuned to everyone else’s needs while growing increasingly disconnected from my own. Hypervigilance became my normal. My nervous system never truly believed it was safe, so I ran, exercised, numbed with substances, withheld joy, and silenced my own voice for fear that expressing it would cost me connection with, honestly, anyone. I certainly had no idea what I needed to regulate my nervous system and definitely had no idea how to express my wants and needs with words. During a somatics-based alcohol recovery program during COVID, I raised my hand in genuine confusion. “Wait,” I said. “What do you mean when you say regulation means feeling safe in your body?” The Zoom room grew quiet as I heard myself say the words that surprised me most: “I didn’t know that.” It was one thing to know I was entering a whole new chapter of healing trauma in my life. It was another thing to actually walk through it. I couldn’t wait for perfect clarity on how to begin this new chapter, so I reached for a familiar coping technique. I immediately went back to work at the tail end of treatment thinking that this is the normal thing to do. Check! I took everyone’s encouragement as confirmation that I was doing exactly what I should be doing. Check again! Boy, was I proud of myself for diving right back in! My first day of my new job was my last day of radiation! Go me! But in hindsight, I confused everyone else’s encouragement with my own readiness. It actually was not something I was ready for. I was beginning to recognize a deeply conditioned pattern within myself: I had made another major life decision based on what I believed I should do rather than what I actually needed. At this point, the bouts of uncontrollable crying were happening nearly daily. Usually I could get back to myself with breath, sound, grounding on the grass, and other somatic techniques I had learned. It wasn’t quite evident to me yet that there was something deep inside me loosening its grip on me. But I was able to verbalize that I hadn’t felt depression like this since I was a young teenager - some of the darkest and most emotionally traumatic times of my life. I could only describe it by saying: “I don’t know how to find my way back home to myself.” Every coordinate I had once used to navigate my life no longer pointed me home. I was struggling. My dysregulated nervous system escalated from being overwhelmed to an all-consuming chronic state. I could not settle. It felt as if every internal compass I had trusted suddenly stopped working. I kept searching for language, an analogy that might come close to explaining what I was experiencing. The comparison that came to mind surprised me. I almost dismissed it before I allowed myself to say it out loud. “I feel real compassion for veterans,” I heard myself saying. The words hung in the air while I found myself wondering if survivorship carried its own version of that impossible transition. “They go off to war,” I wailed to others. “They see life-changing devastation and experience incredible trauma and upon their return to civil life, they are told: ‘Thank you for your service!’ with the expectation to just navigate seamlessly back into society. Can you even imagine!?” I heard myself yelling. But, they couldn’t understand the shared psychological challenge of returning to ordinary life after an extraordinary experience that I was trying to describe. Despite having just escaped death, I was told something similar: “You must be so happy to get back to normal!” But every time I heard that, I could not believe it, not even for a second. What those around me didn’t understand (aside from my ‘breasties’ on a WhatsApp thread that we used to bare ALL the brutal details of navigating our cancer journeys) was that there is no going back to “normal.” There would be no normal. It simply did not exist. After I saw, endured, and felt all the physicality of being a cancer patient, what I was experiencing now was the emotional backlash, the PTSD of surviving breast cancer - the lonely, confusing work of finding my way home after an experience that had forever changed my internal landscape. I felt alone with those closest around me. I was having dark thoughts of what the point of life was. The trauma of the medical experience I had just survived was catching up with me; slowly sneaking up on me, quietly behind my back. I’d turn around to see what was there and it would freeze… and upon turning back around it would quietly leapfrog closer to me, anxiously reaching and grabbing for my energy to pull into its darkness. I called my doctor for pharmacological intervention. For a while, I could keep its relentless grip at bay. I could feel it rising, but I could still meet the world with composure. Until one day I couldn’t. It happened in my kitchen with my boyfriend standing just a few feet away. What unfolded is difficult to describe in ordinary language. The closest words I have are Eckhart Tolle’s. It felt like my pain body took over, as though something long buried had finally demanded to be felt. I entered a dissociative, panic-filled state unlike anything I had ever experienced. A wave of panic consumed me. My breathing became ragged. I was confused. My boyfriend later told me my eyes looked different - dark, almost vacant. I remember pleading with him to let whatever was happening run its course. I believed my body was doing something it had been trying to do for decades: release what it had carried for far too long. I remember very little of what I said that day. Only the overwhelming certainty that I could no longer outrun what had been living inside me. Whether it was trauma releasing through my body, a nervous system overwhelmed by everything it had endured, or both, I knew one thing with absolute clarity: this wasn’t only about cancer anymore. 16 months after my original diagnosis, I took a necessary retreat to step away from the demands of daily life. I spent my time focused on meditation, yoga, and a workshop on the art of future-making. The structure of the retreat allowed my nervous system to relax and helped me find the grounding and clarity I needed to see what must change in my life. As I began to gain this clarity, I felt the familiar pull of fear and the ego trying to keep me anchored in old, unhealthy patterns. That hook to remain in old unhealthy patterns is what the ego is very good at doing. When it senses that you are remembering who you have always been and are initiating any kind of move towards the seat of your soul, it bears down. Your ego will tell you to remain hidden from the world and will guide you to relapse into the toxic patterns of your suffering. This is because the ego’s greatest fear is your soul waking up. It takes immense courage to witness your ego’s thoughts without being consumed by them any longer. It’s not for the faint of heart to question the story you’ve been telling yourself. For most of my life, I allowed those false narratives to run my operating system even though for the past ten years I had been attending a Tibetan Buddhist sangha in my local community. I would dutifully go twice a week to hear dharma talks, meditate with the deities, learn about the true nature of my original mind, and practice remembering who I have always been. Despite that active spiritual practice, my ego would still interpret the motives of others as mean or harmful, my nervous system responding to their actions as if the emotional abuse I experienced as a child was occurring again. But the door to clarity was cracking open. I could hear my soul guiding me to step into this other way of being that I had dedicated my practice to. It was time I stepped into this frequency that I had always known in my wisdom mind. A place where I could open my heart, see the pure perception and recognize that truth reflected back to me. I could finally tell myself the story my heart and my soul had always known was true. I had learned to advocate for my physical needs while I was in medical treatment for cancer. I went into that journey being the best advocate that I could be for myself. It was very clear very early on that I would have to both advocate for myself and surrender to the experience and knowledge of my team of oncologists. But now I was coming face to face with the mental wounds from the cancer journey - and now the healing wasn’t about fixing what was broken. And healing wasn’t about becoming someone new. It was about becoming someone I had never been allowed to be. If I finally faced the emotional journey that cancer had uncovered, I knew it would lead me to the very roots of my trauma. It was there that I could finally apply the salve to old wounds - to lovingly tend to the little girl who had spent so much of her life believing she had to earn love by abandoning herself. In caring for her, I began learning what it meant to care for myself, to become whole. And with pure clarity, I now understood that it was only from that place of wholeness that I could truly be in right relationship with others. Once I understood that my greatest responsibility was no longer just advocating for my body, but for the little girl who had always lived within it, everything began to change. I wanted to show her that I was here now - that she would never again have to navigate the world alone. That together, we would build a life spacious enough for joy. And that, little by little, she could learn to let it in. This summer, she and I are traveling across the world together. We will sit among women devoted to healing, walk barefoot along the shoreline, and spend long days beside the ocean where she has always felt most alive. For the first time in my life, I am not trying to become someone else. I am simply becoming the safe place she has been waiting for all along. ​I am coming to terms with the hard truth that tending to my own needs affects others who were used to my self-abandonment. It will take courage to assert what I need, but I know it is the only way to refill my own cups and to maintain healthy relationships. I’ve realized that life after cancer is forcing me to stop surviving in the ways I did long before my diagnosis. Cancer stripped away my old coping strategies and exposed the ways I had learned to abandon myself. Now, as a 48-year-old survivor who navigated chemotherapy, immunotherapy, surgery, followed by radiation, and the menopause that came alongside, I am committed to structuring my life in a way that truly works for me. I used to think surviving cancer meant getting my life back. I know now that there was no life to go back to. For years I believed I was searching for myself. It turns out that she had been waiting patiently for me to come back and get her. Oh Mary, I finally get it, this is what I will do with my one precious life! Somewhere along the way, I had mistaken survival for direction. I wasn’t lost because I lacked a map. I was lost because I had spent so many years navigating by everyone else’s compass instead of my own. And perhaps that was the awakening all along - that cancer had ended my lifelong habit of leaving myself. Read More: Understanding Your Pathology Report: A Comprehensive Step-By-Step Guide The Role of Hormones in Breast Cancer The Impact of Breast Cancer on Self-Image How Cancer Trauma Can Impact Your Life and Ways to Move Forward EFT and Brainspotting: Complementary Therapies for Breast Cancer Recovery On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations Episode 306. Can Breathwork & Ayurveda Support Healing After Breast Cancer? Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story Connect with SurvivingBreastCancer.org Podcast Weekly Meetup Free Events

By Jayshree Mallaya COMMUNITY | POETRY I received this news five weeks ago. It’s no longer a memory, it’s a lived reality. My life changed, but I’m still the same. I have breast cancer, but cancer is not my name. I’m dealing with something that feels alien inside of me, something that became part of my reality. From outside looking in, it looks like I’m fine. From inside looking out, I know I will be fine. I’m not questioning, why did this happen to me? There’s no family history, so how can this be? Breast cancer. Yes, it happened to me. I’m learning to listen to my body differently. To understand what it needs and what it’s trying to tell me. There are questions between appointments. Things I remember afterwards. Things I wish I had asked. Things that made sense when the doctor explained them, but were harder to remember when I got home. There are moments of fear. And moments of clarity. But through all of this, I am still me. Still a woman. Still a partner, sister, friend. Still dreaming. Still building. Still believing this isn’t where my story ends. Somewhere between the appointments, the questions, the things I remember and the things I forget, I started thinking, there must be a way to hold onto some of this. A way to remember. A way to stay connected. To my care. To the people caring for me. To the people walking this journey with me. And to myself. That thought became Mea Ola. My Life. A companion that’s growing from what I’m living and learning every day. Because breast cancer happened to me. But my life still belongs to me. And if what I’m learning can help another woman understand a little more, remember a little more, or feel a little less alone, then something good can come from what happened to me. Mea Ola. My Life. Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story Connect with SurvivingBreastCancer.org Podcast Weekly Meetup Free Events

Surviving Breast Cancer offers guidance on sex after breast cancer, helping survivors navigate intimacy, relationships, and emotional healing. Breast Cancer & Intimacy Sex After Breast Cancer In a previous blog and podcast we opined on the difficulties of maintaining relationships with loved ones, family, spouses, partners, etc. following a breast cancer diagnosis. Now we look at the adversarial effects of breast cancer towards sexual intimacy. Many, although not all, women find that breast cancer treatment, I.e. surgery, radiation, chemotherapy, estrogen eliminating hormonal therapy, severely hampers intimate sexual relations. Poor self image, physical exhaustion, painful treatment, and emotional distress all tend to weigh in negatively regarding sex drive. But overall recovery from breast cancer is partially dependent on overcoming the above referenced issues and participating in warm loving sexual acts. Sex can thus play a pivotal role. As we have mentioned in previous posts, single women who have been diagnosed worry how breast cancer will affect their relationship prospects, and also about how and when to tell those prospective lovers about their condition. The most uncomfortable stuff to talk about is probably your sex life and the changes that have taken place with your illness. You may not know what needs fixing or how to fix it, but you know things are different. Many women report having less sex than before their illness, for several reasons: • The breast cancer experience slows down your body. It takes longer to do lots of things, including getting interested in and starting and finishing sexual intercourse. • Sex may be uncomfortable or even painful if you've been thrown into sudden onset menopause. No surprise that you tend to have less sex, for now. Many women may have had little or no sex from the time of diagnosis through treatment. Most people have wild ideas about what goes on in other people's bedrooms. Give yourself a break: The carefully researched book Sex in America (by Michael, Gagnon, Laumann, and Kolata) tells us that Americans have a lot less sex than the movies, television, and the guys in the locker room would have you believe. The averages reported in that book are: • seven times a month between ages 30 and 40 • six times a month between ages 40 and 50 • five times a month between ages 50 and 60 For people over 60, the numbers continue to decline. But although you may assume that no one in their 70s and 80s has a sex life, that's just not so. Don't let the myths about other people's sex lives get in the way of what's happening in yours. And remember that there are exceptions to every pattern. If your sex life is not working the way you want it to, your doctor or nurse may be able to referee these issues with your partner and you. You can cue your doctor in advance, since he or she has most likely already touched on delicate issues with you. Maybe he or she can be the tour guide for the two of you. If your partner is there when you talk with the doctor who's managing your care, you and your partner both get a chance to air and dispel fears, and replace myths and false information with facts. Help from a pro Not all doctors and nurses are comfortable discussing sexual issues and practices. Most doctors don't routinely ask about your sex life. And patients don't usually begin to discuss their love life with a doctor who hasn't mentioned it. Nobody's talking! Someone has to break the pattern. A trained social worker, sex therapist, psychologist, or psychiatrist can help you open up communication with your partner and get around to talking about intimacy and sex issues. A support group may be more helpful than you might realize. Women in these groups often share advice that extends to the bedroom, including ways to increase sexual pleasure that are explicit and specific for women who've had breast cancer. Meeting needs in other ways Most marriages have problems that don't get fixed. Marriage is a package deal, and in marriages that work, the good things outweigh the bad. But as a survivor, you may find that breast cancer highlights the problems in your marriage. Can you live with those problems? Can you enjoy your marriage even as you contemplate what's missing? Can you capture the missing pieces in other ways? Give serious thought to your needs and how to meet them. Other ways to meet your needs: • Fantasy can enrich your life. Countless women read to fill the vacuum (romance novels are enormously popular). • Join a book club, a church or synagogue, or a group that meets to discuss investments, movies, or local politics. • Do more with individual friends, like walking, shopping ("retail therapy"), or travel. • Make a bigger deal of birthdays and anniversaries. • Expand your involvement in community or spiritual activities. • Get politically active in the breast cancer movement: camaraderie for a cause close to your heart. Having a serious illness almost always takes some kind of toll on your sex life. But breast cancer can bring all thoughts of intimacy and sexuality to a screeching halt. Treatments can bring on temporary -- and sometimes permanent -- premature menopause, making intercourse painful. Chemotherapy and radiation often lead to crushing fatigue. You may want to stay in bed, but you don’t want to use it for anything but sleep. The medications you take, as well as the emotional effects of the disease, can lead to depression. And of course, from the changes wrought by surgery to the hair loss and puffiness of chemotherapy, breast cancer can have a devastating effect on your body image and your ability to feel sexy. The sexual side effects of breast cancer can linger long after treatment stops. A 2007 follow-up report on young breast cancer survivors, conducted by researchers at the University of California-Berkeley, found that some women reported persistent sexual difficulties five years after their treatment had ended. And according to the National Cancer Institute, about one out of every two women who’ve undergone breast cancer treatment experiences long-term sexual dysfunction. That’s the bad news. But the good news is there is sex after breast cancer! > Sex and self-image Breast cancer changes the way you see your body. “Women sometimes feel very disconnected from their bodies when they go through this,” says Jean Carter, PhD. Carter is a licensed psychologist and the sexual health counselor for the sexual health program at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center. “Your body’s been through so much and it’s worked to get well,” she says. ”But there have been sacrifices.” One thing you need to know early on is that your partner still finds you attractive and desirable. That’s rough on the days when you look in the mirror and can’t imagine ever feeling sexy again, much less looking sexy to someone else. It’s important to prepare yourself and your partner for what you’ll see. If you haven’t yet had surgery, ask your breast center if they have photographs of women after the kind of surgery you’ll undergo. Look at them with your partner and talk about what to expect. There's no denying that the sexual side effects of breast cancer can linger long after treatment is over, but there is sex after breast cancer. Lumpectomies, Mastectomies, Breast Reconstructions and Thoughts on Body Image. It was created by women in a cancer survivors’ group at Penn State. “The way your partner looks at your incision for the first time,” says Lillie Shockney, RN, “you’ll remember that forever.” Shockney is administrative director of the Johns Hopkins Breast Center and a breast cancer survivor herself. “If he has no clue what to expect and has a puzzled look on his face, the woman may interpret it as ‘He thinks I’m ugly, he thinks this is awful.’ Showing photographs can take the surprise away.” Communication is important. Talk with your partner about what you’re comfortable with, and what you’re not. “Both partners may be waiting for the other one to make the first move,” says Shockney. “She’s waiting for him to tell her he wants sex, and he’s waiting for her to touch him.” Your partner may be afraid of hurting you, or afraid that you’ll think he’s pushing you to have sex when you’re not ready simply by asking about it. If your breasts were major erogenous zones for you before surgery, you may be feeling particularly bereft after a mastectomy or even a lumpectomy . Shockney suggests taking the pressure off by exploring and discovering other areas of your body, rather than trying to “force it” in areas where you still have performance or body image issues. “For some women, the diminished arousal in areas of a newly constructed breast or scar tissue might serve as a painful reminder that their sex life has changed,” Shockney says. Instead, think of areas like shoulders, ears, and knees as new hot spots for intimate touch. If you’re still not comfortable with your new body, that’s what lingerie is for! There’s nothing wrong with getting a little help. A soft, satin nightie can be sexy and arousing. At the same time, it can help to conceal areas you’re still shy about. Or you can get even more creative. “I asked a patient to try using a feather boa to help her feel sexy, and at the same time keep her scars from being so evident. She loves it!” says Shockney. “It’s all about finding what you’re comfortable with.” Coping with changes But even as you get comfortable with the “new you” in the mirror, other parts of your body may be causing you problems in the bedroom. You may go through temporary menopause because of chemotherapy. Or if you have estrogen-receptor positive breast cancer, you may be taking hormonal therapy that can leave you in a menopausal state for years. The resulting vaginal dryness and other symptoms may make it painful to even think about having sex. “A lot of women I see are afraid to have sex,” Carter tells WebMD. “They’re really struggling. And it’s a shame, because there are wonderful, simple strategies to improve your sexual experience that, taken together, can work wonders.” Vaginal moisturizers. These aren’t lubricants, which are meant to be used during sex. Instead, they’re like the moisturizers you use on your face and hands, to benefit the tissues themselves. “They’re introduced as a suppository into the vagina adding moisture back into the vaginal space and giving it that natural elasticity,” says Carter. “It’s meant to be absorbed, and it helps the vagina to have more health and moisture for several days.” Lubricants. You definitely still want a lubricant for use during intercourse, says Carter. But lubricants should be combined with regular, ongoing use of vaginal moisturizers for best results. “If you’re feeling a rubbing or burning sensation during intercourse,” Carter says, “you don’t have enough lubrication. If it’s a stretching , painful sensation like the skin is going to split, you don’t have enough moisture.” Exercises. The classic Kegel exercises -- tightening and releasing the sphincter muscle as you do when you urinate -- that so many women use during pregnancy are also great for making intercourse easier. “If intercourse has been painful,” Carter says, “you may tighten up in anticipation of the pain. If you do Kegels right before intimacy , you fatigue the vaginal muscles and it is more open.” Vaginal dilators. A sex therapist, like Dr. Carter, can teach you how to use these dilators, which help gently stretch the vaginal tissue. Over and over again,” Carter says, “I’ve seen women who are completely hormonally deprived be able to have comfortable, enjoyable intimacy by using these strategies. A lot of the time, it’s so easy to fix. It astonishes me how often women come into my office and ask, ‘Why didn’t anyone tell me this? Shockney advises her patients to shake up their previous sexual habits. She tells them they may have been a silent player in bed before. But now she wants them to speak up. She tells them, “Say, ‘This feels good. This doesn’t feel good.’ Don’t rely on grunting for him to figure it out. That’s not the best way to communicate.” She also tells her patients, “If you’ve never watched an x-rated movie, try one -- just one. It may jump-start things, and you’ll be amazed at how active you’ll become. Or try various sex toys. So what if you never did these things before. You never had breast cancer before, either! I’ve had women come to me and say ‘I thought my sex life was great before, and then I thought I was going to lose it. But now it’s better than ever. TOPICS COVERED IN THIS EPISODE -People who refuse aspects of therapy including radiation. -What to expect when going in for radiation-Planning appointment -What is radiation and why would I need it? -Radiation and skin care -Proton Beam Radiation (the science behind protons; a number of clinical trials exploring proton beam radiation in the breast cancer community to minimize cardiac toxicity). -Risks association with radiation, but we still sign the consent. As a young breast cancer survivor, I ask Dr. Jimenez to explain the 10, 20 and 50 year plan for women who go through treatment. HEALTH RISKS -Cardiac toxicity -Field of cardio oncology partners and have mapped out the ideal -Herceptin and anthracyclines. After 5 years of survivorship, you should have a cardiac stress test. -Getting a baseline with an ultrasound of the heart so if there are changes, doctors can track them. -Our job (in Radiation Oncology) in follow up is to open up and make sure that referrals are made. How is your nutrition? Are you exercising? Did you schedule your next mammogram? QUOTES: "Your providers are your providers for life". "You are never a bother, it is our job and privilege to take care of you! " What's the Difference between Diet and Nutrition? On Breast Cancer Conversations, the Podcast Listen Now Looking for more ways to support your healing journey? View Programs

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Breast Cancer Webinars Learn. Ask Questions. Stay Informed. Expert-led, free virtual education for early-stage and metastatic breast cancer. Upcoming Webinars Webinar: Lymph Flow Yoga: the benefits for your life & lymph Mon, Sep 14 Zoom Learn how your lymphatic system works and how gentle movement, breathwork, and yoga may support lymphatic health. Join Babz, an occupational therapist and LANA-certified lymphedema therapist, for an educational introduction to the lymphatic system before our weekly Lymph Flow Yoga classes begin. Share RSVP Multiple Dates Triage Cancer: Open Enrollment: Reviewing, Reevaluating, Renewing Tue, Sep 22 webinar Triage Cancer Conferences cover key tips to help navigate legal and practical issues, reduce the financial burden of a cancer diagnosis, and lower stress. Share RSVP CBD & Breast Cancer: Understanding the Science, Safety, Drug Interactions & Evidence Wed, Sep 23 Zoom Considering CBD during or after breast cancer treatment? Learn what the science actually says about cannabinoids, potential benefits, safety concerns, medication interactions, and how to make informed decisions with your oncology team. Share RSVP Metastatic Breast Cancer: What to Ask, What to Know, What Comes Next Wed, Oct 07 Zoom A new diagnosis of metastatic breast cancer can bring fear, confusion, and more questions than answers. Join us for a live, interactive Ask Me Anything pop-up designed for people recently diagnosed with MBC. Bring your questions—or simply come to listen. Share RSVP