Search this site

By Veronica Novy I would have never imagined that one of my biggest accomplishments in life would be living! My lifelong dream was to say I just defended my research and now have a doctorate in education. One day I hope to fulfill that dream! Today, I can actually smile and say that I am so proud of myself, of the courage that I have had to muster up, the multiple surgeries, and the four needles in my breast on the day of my mastectomy. I wanted to scream when the technician told me, and I said to myself, “You’re taking off my breast why do I need more injections.” I survived that day and many more to follow. I cried when I learned about my breast cancer diagnosis; it was Stage II. One doctor informed me that I had cancer even before I was scheduled for a biopsy. She just blurted it out, you have cancer! She didn’t even ask me how I felt, or if anyone was there with me. I rode the bus home alone trying to hold back the tears. My treatment was fragmented. I had four doctors and not one of them was located in the same location. I had chemotherapy and radiation treatment at separate locations. My plastic surgeon, as well as my primary care physician, were all at other places all over Queens County. My claim to this life is not just living but thriving! I learned how to cope when no one was there to hug me. Each week, I prepared a bag for chemo that included my special blanket, my favorite pillow, and my favorite songs on my iPod. As I reflect back on my early prognosis, I want to thank the many nurses and technicians that offered me a hug or got me an Uber home. I learned how to cope in moments of utter sadness. I think the hardest person to share the news with was my mother. She became my rock, my guiding light, and my prayer partner. Sadly, she passed away in February of this year. However, she leaves me with indelible memories of love and the strength to live my best life. My sister Regina has also given me encouragement beyond compare. It was difficult for her at first, but after she saw my tenacity and willingness to fight this diagnosis, she has been my biggest supporter. She is my best friend forever, as well as my telephone buddy when we are separated by miles. Today, I am four and a half years cancer free! I learned how to smile again. There are even days when I try not to let the burden of living with a cancer diagnosis define my life. I joined the Surviving Breast Cancer support group, and I met so many beautiful survivors who helped me. We meet in a virtual chat room every Thursday night, no matter what. I am happy to share the news that I am the recipient of the Susan G. Komen Treatment Assistance Program Award, as well as the Cancercare Financial award. These two awards give financial assistance to patients who are currently in treatment. The grant can be used for transportation, medical expenses, or anything directly related to your treatment. They are given out annually to qualified candidates. I feel truly honored and blessed. I will continue to wake up each morning with a song in my heart and a determination to survive. - For further information, contact 1(972) 866-4233 or TreatmentAssistance@Komen.org . For further information about Cancercare, please call 1(800) 813-HOPE (4673). You can also check out my podcast interview on the Surviving Breast Cancer website.

By June Chapko In my husband’s tears, he couldn’t make my cancer go away. In my husband’s embrace, encircling me with his protection. I saw love when he cleaned up after me on my worst days, held my hand before surgery, and wore a smile in the recovery room. Love was visible as I watched him play fetch with Chai when I had no energy. I saw love when losing my hair became a game of “It’ll come back before you know it,” and him being first to find new growth. I saw love in his patience, waiting for treatments to end. Love was written on his face in lines. I saw them grow last year. Love was drawn in his smile when the words, “cancer-free” were spoken. I saw love in his tears of joy because the cancer had gone away. I saw love in his embrace trying to protect me forevermore. Related Poems You Will Love I Bloom With Grace , by S helley Caruso I Saw Love , by J une Chapko After Cancer Me , by M eagan Miraldi Run , by Sara Kandler Cloudy , by Heather Lockerman I'm Still Me , by Julie Gaughan Spink Truth at the time of a breast cancer Dx by William Laferriere

By Rod Ritchie This is the first of a monthly column which I hope will educate and inform readers. Over the coming months I’ll tell you how men I know handle diagnosis and treatment, how Stage 4 men struggle with the perpetual treatment, how the stigma of having this disease holds men back, and how early-stagers handle their fears of recurrence. While men make up only one percent (1%) of new cases, we are usually diagnosed with a later stage, and generally have a poorer prognosis. My underlying aim in all this advocacy work is to shine a light on a genderless disease which is burdened with too much pink hoopla by well-meaning charities in fundraising efforts. I’m well connected to the breast cancer community on social media, mainly Facebook and Twitter, and draw strength from the many women and men living with the disease and from those treating us. My Story It took me a few months to convince my GP that I needed a scan for an inflamed left breast, And, this despite having a recorded family history of breast cancer. I noticed the monographer’s eyes widen as she watched the monitor reacting to her ultrasound device. Sure enough, a biopsy a couple of days later confirmed Stage IIIB Inflammatory Breast Cancer. Neo-adjuvant treatment was what my MO jokingly called, “the kitchen sink”. Chemo lasted 18 weeks, and was one day each three weeks. There were three lots of FEC (Fluorouracil, Ellence, and Cytoxan) and three of Docetaxol. The Surgery that followed was extensive, since 2/23 lymph nodes tested positive, all those under my arm were removed along with the breast tissue. Pathology following surgery showed the tumors to be still active, so pCR was not achieved. My surgeon was amused when I asked if there was any reconstruction. While it is possible to rebuild a facsimile of a guy’s breast, she explained, the lack of extra material makes it harder and actually inhibits the surgeon who is concentrating on removing the affected tissue, since cancer often travels further in male breasts. Following surgery, I started 33 radiation treatments, five a week for seven weeks. I have been taking the hormone blocker Tamoxifen for the past eight years. Three years ago, I was diagnosed with prostate cancer and the treatment, much simpler than for breast cancer, consisted of a robotic prostatectomy. I’m currently NED for both. All this happened eight years ago when I was 64. Today, having closed down my internet publishing company, I’m pretty well a full-time advocate for men who find themselves dealing with breast cancer. I’ve been fortunate to have my patient advocacy efforts recognized and in 2018 when I was invited to attend the Project LEAD course in San Diego. The chance to meet up with so many patient advocates was very uplifting, while connecting with medical professionals, was just as important. In 2019 I was awarded a patient advocate scholarship from the Alamo Breast Cancer Foundation to attend SABCS, in San Antonio, the world’s premier breast cancer conference. When I was going through treatment, my MO gave one fine bit of advice that has stood me in great stead. She said, never have any preconceived notions about any aspect of treatment. Only after I had handled the worst of it, did I understand her point. Worry and fear lie within us, and are naturally ever-present. Hope, based on logic and science, on the other hand, will keep us all in a better space. --- About Rod Ritchie: Rod Ritchie is a Sydney-born writer, internet publisher, and breast cancer patient activist, living with breast and prostate cancers. Currently he’s NED for both. He’s president of the Male Breast Cancer Global Alliance, has a website at MaleBC.org and you can follow him on Twitter @malefitness His articles for Health Union can be found here: https://advancedbreastcancer.net/author/traveltext

By Vance Stacks My name is Vance Stacks, Jr. and I am a 3x male breast cancer survivor! I am also a son, a brother, a grandson, a nephew, a father, a grandfather, cousin, a friend, and a mentor. I am a native Memphian, and I graduated from Central High School in Memphis, TN. I enjoy speaking about my life experiences, being out in nature, and giving back to my community. The Car Accident That Saved My Life I was involved in a vehicle accident in 2013, flipped my vehicle and from that vehicle accident, my breast cancer journey began. I went to have a chest x-ray done and they noticed a dark spot on my left nipple. My primary care physician sent me to an oncologist for a biopsy. I had no pain. There was no lump, and I had no symptoms. The first doctor conducted a biopsy and it came back negative. Three to four weeks later a knot formed and this time it was big enough for me to touch and fill with my hands. My Primary Physician sent me to another oncologist and that doctor conducted a second biopsy when it came back positive for stage one breast cancer. I was 43 yrs old and advised that a mastectomy was my best route of treatment. So in 2013, I had my first surgery and luckily I didn’t have to go through any chemotherapy or radiation. So I decided on having a single mastectomy. Take 2 After enjoying 6 years of remission and no evidence of disease, in October 2019, I started feeling lethargic at a family reunion. I advised one of my cousins that I believe my cancer had returned because of the way I was feeling. Upon returning to Memphis the first thing I did was set an appointment. West Cancer Center in Memphis TN conducted a biopsy and my breast cancer had returned and the cancer was in stage three. It was very aggressive and had attached itself to my chest bone but did not penetrate or metastasize my bone. I underwent a second Mastectomy in the same breast area and underwent 27 rounds of Chemotherapy. The Third Time's a Charm After chemo, I was enjoying being cancer-free again!! I went for my six-month check-up in 2020 and I thought it would be just a routine check-up. It was not even close to a regular checkup. The oncologist conducted a biopsy and advised me that it appears my cancer had returned. After a week of waiting on the results which felt like a year to me. I underwent a third Mastectomy and underwent 32 rounds of radiation. April 29, 2021, I rang the bell for the third time being cancer-free. Breast Cancer Side Effect and Hormonal Therapy I went through the loss of hair, and my body changed drastically. I love 150 pounds and even lost my toenails and fingernails. But I am so grateful to my support team. It makes a huge difference when you have a great support team. I am currently taking tamoxifen for the next five years. I do experience some side effects which are really bad hot flashes and some insomnia. I was assigned a pain doctor to manage my pain after being diagnosed in January 2022 with what’s called Mastectomy Pain Syndrome. Today, I am so grateful to say that I am cancer-free and feeling well! If it was not for my three F’s I would not have made it. FAITH, FAMILY, AND FRIENDS! I am so grateful to Methodist and my team of caregivers who helped me through these scary and challenging experiences. Many members of my care team went above and beyond to give me the best care possible and to make me feel as though they truly cared. I am so grateful because they helped me be here today. Timothy Garrett (like a son), Jay Cole ( Best Friend), Roselynn Brown ( Bestfriend and B/C survivor), and Mrs. Madelyn Barksdale (Breast Cancer Survivor ) would come over on days that I could not cook or wash. My team of caregivers assisted me at appointments, cleaning my house, and just doing general things that I could not. I do not want to forget the staff at Methodist Hospital oncology department AND West Cancer Center Memphis east location. Their compassion and commitment to their patients are above compare. As a three-time male breast cancer survivor, I am also so grateful to share my story with you all today and to share my message – PINK AIN’T WHATCHA THINK! – to make sure that all of you know that men are also at risk for this disease. In fact, I founded a non-profit by the name “Pink Ain’t Whatcha Think!” that is working to give support and hope to patients undergoing cancer treatment that I am so proud of and excited to grow. I hope by sharing my story more people know now that breast cancer is a disease that can impact ANY of us. Thank you for allowing me to share my story. I am so very thankful… and remember, Pink Ain't Whatcha Think! Pink Ain’t Whatcha Think is bringing awareness that men have Breast Too. That men can get Breast Cancer. We are helping all cancer patients' families of loved ones that transition without funeral expenses. We offer free cremation to those families that can’t afford a proper service for their loved ones. In addition, we also offer to send terminally ill cancer patients on their ultimate wish before transition. Facebook @ Pink Ain’t Whatcha Think, Instagram @ Pink Ain’t Whatcha Think

By Elise Anna Harris Before I start, you need to know something about me: I am usually a very private person, and I really don’t want people knowing my business. I didn’t want to reveal that I had breast cancer because of the unease of what people would say or think if they knew. I realize that I don’t have to share anything if I don’t want to, but after some thought, I can’t be silent anymore! I have to tell someone about it; I have to tell you! A Breast Cancer Diagnosis I remember it like it was yesterday. It was Friday, May 22, 2002; I was 36 when I received a message that would rock my world. I thought I was going to die. I remembered how cancer had stripped my mother down to bones. The doctor came into the room and told me that I had developed Invasive Ductal Carcinoma, also known as breast cancer. I was doing a self breast examination when I felt a lump. I set up an appointment and went to the doctor. I went there with Auntie Shirley. When he gave me that message, it felt like everything just stopped. I don’t remember hearing anything he said after that; I just burst into tears. When I got that message, I just let out a scream, and the tears just started rolling out. I thought I was going to die. It was the worst news that any woman could receive. My mother always taught my sister and me to learn our bodies. I remember her showing us the lump, and it was the size of a grapefruit. You see, my mother had breast cancer twice, and she died at the age of 47. I also learned that my family has a history of breast cancer. I knew that my grandmother died of breast cancer at the age of 44; I’m not sure how my great grandmother died. I am the 3rd generation named Elise, a survivor of breast cancer. I am so glad that there have been breakthroughs over the years. My mother took chemotherapy without anti-nausea pills, and I remember her saying that after a round of treatment that it was like she had sucked on a penny. When she took her treatments, she was usually sick for a few days. Thanks to the advancements, I was able to work through treatment. They now give you medicine for anti-nausea. My mother didn’t have this. Although treatment has come a long way, there are some things that still need to be improved. One of the side effects from chemotherapy is hair loss. During the 1st round, I lost my hair and after the second round, even more came out. I remember falling into a bout of depression because it felt like I was losing my femininity. I persevered. I made it through 6 rounds of chemotherapy. A Breast Cancer Recurrence Five years later, in May 2007, I was diagnosed with breast cancer again at age 41. I was devastated because I just beat it. It felt like I was being sucked back down into a black hole. I couldn’t help but ask, why do I have to go through this again? Why me? Why does this keep happening to me? The third time was January 2018, age 52. I felt another lump in my breast. So, just like before, I made an appointment with the oncologist. I went into the office with Auntie Shirley. The tech explained that the area of blackness was cancer. Auntie Shirley hugged me, and I just bawled like a baby. After crying, I went through treatment again. After the 2nd round of chemo, I found myself totally exhausted, not wanting to do anything. Round 3, 4, 5, finally, six rounds of chemo completed. I found myself lying in bed. My sister came into the room telling me I needed to eat. I could not eat; I was completely out of it. She slapped me on my face (tough love) and said, “eat”. I began crying again. Finally, I did eat. I am blessed to say I have endured 12 rounds of chemotherapy and 33 rounds of radiation. Breast Cancer Support As a three-time survivor, I want everyone to know that support is essential. I received support from two places. Those places are my natural family and church family- two sisters stand out. The first sister was Julie Weem. Our families grew up together, so because of that, it was easier for us to connect. She was the reason why I gave my testimony in October 2010. As a survivor, I can assure you that every day is a day for awareness. The Lord also had different plans for Julie Weems; she died of breast cancer. That was a sad day for me because she was married and had kids. The next sister I connected with was Winona Hae Jones. In September 2019, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. We would exchange phone numbers and would talk weekly. I began to share my experiences with chemo and radiation. I told her I had cancer three times. She said, “What! You are my “Shero!” (female version of a hero). She also called me an “Encyclopedia.” She said, “You know a lot.” I told her I would do research and would find a lot of information. There was a strong, supportive bond I had with her, just like I did with the other breast cancer patient, Julie. I told her it was like the Lord wanted me to share the information. One year later, the Lord had other plans for Winona Hae Jones. She died in December 2019. That was a sad day for me. I wanted to share my experience as a survivor, so it will encourage women to become familiar with their bodies, know the family history, and to get the yearly mammogram. Take action!

By Ann Fonfa My Story I was diagnosed with lobular breast cancer in January 1993 and was not told it was multi-focal. Our breasts have lobes and ducts, thus the delineation. At that time, I was suffering from extreme Multiple Chemical Sensitivity, a still not recognized illness. I avoided chemotherapy, hormonal, and radiation treatments using surgery and natural strategies to survive. I was told I was stage IV in 1997, due to a series of tiny tumors on the chest wall, so I then added personalized Chinese herbal prescriptions to a complex complementary protocol. I might have taken hormonal therapy such as Tamoxifen or an Aromatase Inhibitor if there had been a test to see if I was among the small percentage of those who would benefit. Nowadays, testing can be done to see if a person will benefit from chemotherapy or hormonal treatment. This is a great advance. I didn’t use the natural, potential replacement dietary supplements Indole-3-carbinol or DIIM. Both have been studied, especially by a doctor at Weill Medical Center in NYC. See the Library of Medicine online pubmed.gov for studies and more information. My Advocacy In 1999, I founded Annie Appleseed Project, an all-volunteer cancer nonprofit to share evidence-based information on complementary therapies (Integrative Oncology). As a breast cancer advocate, I have spoken at many conferences and events, have been interviewed, and have presented posters. My work continues to educate and inform the community of people with cancer as well as all in oncology. The Annie Appleseed Project has presented substantial information on males with breast cancer and on the LGBT community. The website had an International section, as well. Unfortunately in 2012 and again in 2015, the site was cut in size and content. We are still working to update it, but meanwhile we use our Facebook page (not my personal page) to offer current studies and articles, information on events, etc. As part of my advocacy work and engagement in the breast cancer community, I serve on the board of directors for the National Breast Cancer Coalition and have been an active grant reviewer for journals and the Dept. of Defense, for which I recruit other cancer survivors. (Get in touch if you have never reviewed for DOD, but would like to know more about this annual event.) Please contact me directly, as I recommend breast cancer survivors as Consumer reviewers each year. There is a mentoring and training program - our views and opinions as we represent our community, are what is welcome at DOD. I am very proud of my work, but I don’t take personal credit for the interest around Integrative oncology. I was the charter Advocate member of the Society for Integrative Oncology. And first advocate member of MASCC (Multi-National Assoc. for Supportive Care in Cancer). It’s time is NOW. Today, many in oncology acknowledge the need and value for exercise, nutritional changes, handling stress, and more. The most important thing about complementary therapies, is that they NEED to be done ALONG with conventional, at the same time in order to best benefit. Luckily, they may work afterwards also. ASCO (American Society for Clinical Oncology) has now recognized and acknowledged that conventional medicine does harm us even as it may help. They are not ready to recommend that ALL patients receive this care, nor that insurance cover it. That will come as I continue to hope and advocate for these points. What’s On The Horizon Annie Appleseed Project hopes to host our 15th educational conference February 23-25, 2023 in West Palm Beach, FL. We offer scholarships for people with advanced cancers (any/ all types) and also to unpaid Advocates. All meals except Friday night dinner are included in the $299 cost (not increased in years). Speakers come from all over the US and abroad, representing a variety of medical approaches and professions. It’s a great place to meet like-minded others; everyone eats lunch together including the speakers! There’s free yoga classes both mornings - we start Thursday afternoon and run through Saturday late afternoon. There’s a FREE shuttle from the airport to the conference hotel and reduced rate rooms are available that can sleep 2-4 people. All food served is organic and much is locally grown. Our giveaway bags introduce the participants to healthy and interesting products. I hope to get back to traveling soon so that I can be an in-the-room Advocate and ask the penetrating and important questions I am known for. -- Connect with Ann on Instagram: @annieappleseedpr and on Twitter: @annieappleseed

By Rod Ritchie October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month (BCAM) and that’s when breast cancer charities go all out to raise funds. Naturally, these groups are particularly keen to raise both funds and “awareness.” Obviously, money raised for research is a good thing, even if these projects are often duplicated. However, the old adage of having to spend a buck to make a buck is true, and because of the plethora of charities, more often than not, half or more of the funds raised are spent on marketing and publicity. This means that, so often, our donations are only a half as effective as they should be. And my Stage IV sisters all tell me that October for them is often a crass and derogatory exercise. As well, many companies take advantage of the month to “pinkwash” products and only offer a small part of the profits as a donation to a breast cancer charity. Who needs a pink excavator? Awareness? Yes please, make us all aware about breast cancer. It’s important for women to check their breasts regularly, and get regular mammograms to ensure early detection. But what about men? After all, the disease is genderless. Where are men in the promotions and pink hoopla which have come to dominate this month? From the advertising blurbs, to the pretty crude publicity about what is a very serious disease, the message about gender inclusivity is being lost. Studies show that less than 50 percent of the general population know that breast cancer is a genderless disease. It's Time for Change The time is right to recognize that the 2,700 men diagnosed in the United States annually deserve a fairer go. To this end, we’ve created a Manifesto , a pathway for change in the way breast cancer institutions and charities might take on board protocols for inclusion. The aim is to build and promote a consistent profile and narrative within all cancer groups for male breast cancer that enables a more balanced perspective and supports improved health outcomes. The Manifesto asks breast cancer groups to: Provide inclusive imagery and de-gendered language across all mediums to acknowledge the disease exists in men as well as women. Build a sense of importance and belonging within cancer support groups for male breast cancer patients and their caregivers. Provide easy access to relevant up-to-date information for men that is prominently displayed and accessible by all groups. Institute breast cancer research and development funding to the equivalent of one percent of the total amounts raised. Set aside a day in October to publicize male breast cancer. Institute public breast screening programs for all BRCA1 and BRCA2 males. As a man with breast cancer, I’ve often been asked to talk about how men find out they have this disease, and what on earth they need to know to find out if they are at risk. At each event, I have had women and men come up to me and say, I never knew men could get breast cancer. This got me thinking why, after decades of awareness-raising for women’s breast cancer, have we not put the message out there better that men can get this disease too? About Rod Ritchie Rod Ritchie is a Sydney-born writer, internet publisher, and breast cancer patient activist, living with breast and prostate cancers. Currently he’s NED for both. He’s President, Board of Directors, Male Breast Cancer Global Alliance, has a website at MaleBC.org and you can follow him on Twitter @malefitness His articles for Health Union can be found here: https://advancedbreastcancer.net/author/traveltext

By Alison Moen I was diagnosed with breast cancer in July 2022. I had my annual mammogram on June 9th, 2022 and exactly one week later on June 12th, a Friday, I received a letter from the hospital letting me know there was an abnormality on my mammogram. “Great!” was my first initial response. Slightly irritated because this happens almost every year thanks to having " dense breast tissue ." What is even more frustrating is that I learned of this through a standard letter from the hospital and not from my doctor. About three days later I received a call from my doctor explaining what they found, using words I had never heard before like spiculated edges. So here we go...panic, fear, sadness, and anger - just a few of the emotions that were running through my mind. A few days later came the ultrasound, then the MRI, then the biopsy. Then the waiting. Whoever thought it was a good idea to make a woman wait seven days for the results of a simple biopsy should be fired. So after a week of waiting and waiting, and then for almost two hours at the surgeon's office, he finally comes in. His exact words, "We have some things to talk about." In all honesty, I wasn't surprised; I had already convinced myself it was breast cancer because well… WHY NOT? This isn't my first cancer rodeo. I was diagnosed with T-cell lymphoma about 11 years ago. Been in remission for several years after tumor removal, radiation, and a bone marrow biopsy. But it is my first breast cancer rodeo and quite honestly, I was not interested. I didn't want the label. I didn't want my friends to treat me any differently. Because it’s cancer. The first response is always to feel sorry for someone. I don’t want that! FIGHT alongside me and wipe my tears when I need it! I didn't want to die. I am not a grandmother yet. My boys haven't settled down yet, my youngest is still in college, and what about my husband?? We were being robbed of our future. To say I was upset would be an understatement. I was digging my grave and planning my funeral. Until I listened to my surgeon who honestly is a blessing from above. I can only hope that all women have a surgeon like this. He is AMAZING. Long story short, I was diagnosed with stage 1B. My tumor measured at 1.2cm. I had a lumpectomy and he removed two lymph nodes , one of which had cancer in it. I am two treatments away from finishing radiation . I was blessed to not have to have chemotherapy. I will be taking Arimidex, an aromatase inhibitor (AI) since my tumor characteristics were hormone driven , for five years and praying hard we never have to go through this again. I long for the person I was prior to my diagnosis . I miss the carefree feeling. The feeling of finally being empty nesters. Cancer took more than just some tissue from me. I am working my way back, and as my skin begins to heal, I hope to forget some of this time. Like the nuclear test- that was fun. The terrible itchy rash from radiation and the scars. I am working to overcome the fear and embrace the new normal. I know I am blessed because in the grand scheme of things, my case wasn't as bad as it could have been. I want to give back. I want to be there for women who don't have anyone to lean on. I realize my healing needs to start from the inside and being a part of this community will help me do that. Thank you for listening. Thank you for letting me share my story. Thank you for sharing your story, Alison. SBC loves you! SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Our Podcast Our Weekly MeetUp Online Support Groups Free, Weekly Events

By Nichole Maiorana This past January I turned 50. I didn’t have a big celebration because everyone was still dealing with Covid, and I didn’t want to take any chances. The years 2020 and 2021 had been challenging enough. My boyfriend had Covid in 2020 and was still dealing with long Covid effects. I became an empty nester when my son went away to college in August of 2021. I had felt positive about 2022. I was definitely wrong. In April of 2022, I scheduled my routine mammogram. I hadn’t had one since pre-Covid and my friend urged me to get one because her mother and aunt had breast cancer. I didn’t have a family history because my mother never felt it necessary. Her mother didn’t have breast cancer and she never went for mammograms. In May 2022, I was told I needed an ultrasound. June was when everything in my life would take a nosedive. My mother would be diagnosed with uterine cancer after a trip to the ER. She had a hysterectomy in August and she is starting chemo soon. My breast also had a biopsy and at 12 noon on July 7, I received the phone call no one wanted to get. I had STAGE 1 BREAST CANCER. I saw the breast surgeon the following day. I was raw. I didn’t know what to think. She laid out my options, lumpectomy or mastectomy. I would need an MRI and genetic testing. There was so much information and I didn’t know what to do. Why me? After a negative BRCA test, I decided on a lumpectomy . It was scheduled for August 2 at St. Peter’s Medical Center. The doctor said I would probably need a few radiation sessions but she didn’t think I would need chemotherapy. The doctor felt positive I would make a full recovery. The lumpectomy was a success and the margins were clear . I was triple positive which means my tumor characteristics were HER2 positive, estrogen positive and progesterone positive, neoplastic . I would need chemo and Herceptin. I would need 12 weeks of chemo, 12 months of Herceptin, and 6 weeks of radiation and Tamoxifen. There isn’t much I could find about HER2 positive . My doctor told me only 20% of patients are HER2 positive. Years ago, this would have been horrible news for me, but the Herceptin would make all the difference. I’m still going through chemotherapy. I have 2 chemo treatments left. It’s been a long 10 weeks. It’s been a long year. Sometimes I have felt like giving up , but then I think about my son and my parents and I keep fighting through the side effects. Some days I do sit and cry from the pain in my legs. Some days the diarrhea is so bad I can’t believe this is happening to me. How did this happen? Was it because I’m overweight? Was it because I like to drink wine? Was it something else I did? I guess I will never understand. I just have to keep pushing, keep going. I will see my son graduate college. I will dance with him at his wedding. I am going to beat breast cancer, it is not going to beat me. Thank you for sharing your story, Nichole. SBC loves you! SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Our Podcast Online Support Groups Free, Weekly Events

November 24, 1980 – December 31, 2024 https://www.dignitymemorial.com/obituaries/cleveland-oh/melissa-niskala-12151278 Memories from Our SBC Family: Elisa:   Melissa was an admirable human being, she was a teacher who left her job to heal after her breast cancer diagnosis, she participated in most of our programs, she was part of our Expressive Arts class, we shared some beautiful moments being artsy, she shared about her journey and we shared her process from our screens. I wish we had more time to meet in person. She touched my soul with hers, and I hold her memory, her resilience, her bravery in my heart. Gloria: Our beloved SBC Sis-star, Melissa; we hold you in our individual and collective heart as you journey back to Source on angel wings!!! From the very first day of your attending Encourage & Empower Cohort 5, your essence of discovery, exploration and new learning in awe and curiosity struck me as the gift that you came to earth to share with all of us as we journeyed together. Whether that journeying was for a short couple years or a lifetime - it sure impressed upon all our hearts and minds the opportunity of always being open to a new POV (Point of View). These combined with equanimity were truly your gifts that you shared with me and I would daresay all your SBC sis-stars that you met at the various programs you attended. I thoroughly enjoyed your presence in our weekly Meditation and our conversations around therapeutic touch and other energy modalities of healing!!! May your soul soar as you reconnect to the collective One Source that we all originated from and I look forward to seeing you when next our souls connect again!!! For all aching hearts - we hold peace in our loving active compassionate hearts individually and collectively for each of you in your own divine timing!!! Namaste - May Peace Be With You Gloria Marie:   Melissa and I met in one of the SBC programs. We shared with each other our appreciation of Reiki energy. Melissa in her sweet kindness and generous spirit shared information of two on-line distance Reiki programs. We would see each other upon occasion in these zoom platform programs. I continue to remember and honor Melissa's caring spirit each time I attend and benefit from her shared Reiki programs.  Maria:   Melissa I do not know where to begin, I was very shaken by the news of your passing. But I have comfort in knowing that you now are in a place where nothing hurts and you’re at peace. I want to say that I admire you for fighting so hard. I will always remember you for your bright smile and for showing up even when you weren’t up for it. You were an extremely extraordinary person. When I read your obituary it made me kind of sad we never got to discuss your life story because wow I would have loved to hear about your museum days and your travels abroad!  I hope that our souls connect again one day under an extraordinary circumstance and not because of “this.” May you continue to feel the love of your friends and relatives who have to continue without you for a little while. To Missy’s family and friends I offer my sincere condolences sending you all love and light as you navigate this life without your loved one.  Peace out Melissa catch you on the flippity flip Your SBC friend  Maria Tawnya: Melissa— When we began SBC’s E&E group and you, Kris, and I quickly learned that we were the three triple negative girls, I instantly appreciated your candor, realness, and bravery. I am so very sorry that your fight didn’t bring you the outcomes you so desperately wanted in this life. My heart aches for you and your loved ones. May you rest in peace.  Tawnya Kristin:   The big thing I remember about her is the multi-colored Christmas lights she had up in her home during the Encourage & Empower calls. It was well past Christmas but she said she left them up because she needed the light. And apparently I did too because it really was a joy to see them, such a small thing but it brightened my day. And that’s how I will always remember her- surrounded by those joyful multi-colored Christmas lights.  SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Becki Berkeley As I look back, it seems like a blur in so many ways. In 2020, there were exciting moments, there were new moments, and there were moments that I’d love to forget. In 2020, the pandemic had hit, and it impacted so many people across the globe. For my husband, Jeremy, and I, 2020 marked a new house that was closer to his parents. Our first baby, Carson, now had his grandparents nearby. We had met the perfect neighbors, who became friends and then family. It was like the universe had aligned perfectly for us and was blessing us with so many wonderful things, but by the end of the year that would change. Diagnosis In October 2020, things changed dramatically, leaving me in a fog of disbelief. In early October, my baby sister Audrey got married, and I hosted all the bridesmaids for brunch and getting ready at my house. I remember being in front of my mirror, changing into my dress, and thinking to myself, “Hmmm, that doesn’t look right. That’s new. Oh, it’s probably nothing.” At 38 years old, I was thinking this about a new indentation on the bottom part of my right breast. Just as quickly as it entered my mind that it could be something bad, it was removed from my thoughts. I mean, it was my sister’s day, and there was no room for negativity, doubt, or myself. As the month pressed on, I continued to see this thing, this doubter, this uncertainty in the mirror. I finally decided it was time to ease my mind and go to the doctor so they could tell me I had nothing to worry about. So, at the end of October, I told my Jeremy, “I’m going to make an appointment to see Dr. Kistler (my OBGYN) to make sure there is nothing wrong with my breast.” On October 27, 2020, my nurse practitioner told me she didn’t think there was anything to worry about (thank goodness!), but that she was going to order a mammogram just to make sure (oh, well okay). Later that week, I had my first ever mammogram and breast ultrasound. At the end of the ultrasound, I was asked to wait in a separate room to meet with the radiology doctor. The doctor came in, sat down, and said, “I have reviewed your ultrasound, and I have some concerns. The scans are very suspicious to me. I want you to have a biopsy done.” I sat there in disbelief. What? No, this isn’t happening, I told myself. I cried on the drive home, even though there was still a chance that it was nothing. On November 2, 2020, I went back for the needle biopsy where they took breast tissue and lymph node tissue for testing. I waited. I called the doctor on November 4 with no results. I called the doctor on November 5, and still no results. I called on November 6 and finally talked to Dr. Kistler’s nurse. She said that they hadn’t received anything and that they would call me back. I did not want to go into the weekend waiting and thinking and driving myself nuts with all the possibilities of what it could be and how bad it could be. Finally, a little after lunchtime on November 6, I got a call from the doctor’s office. I was wrapping up a meeting at work, and I rushed to get off the call. I answered the phone with my heart pounding, and I remember it being Dr. Kistler and not the nurse or nurse practitioner. It was the doctor. I said, “I am guessing this is not good news since you are calling me and not the nurse.” She responded, “No, it isn’t good news; you have breast cancer.” She was so surprised and said she was trying to get up-to-speed as she didn’t even know I had had the biopsy. She said she was going to refer me to a specialist for further review of the results, and she was unable to tell me the stage of the cancer or much more around the specifics. I hung up the phone and didn’t know how to process what I had just heard. I was back to the worst-case scenario. I was back to thinking: I am leaving my baby and husband and I feel like life is just getting started in so many ways. I can’t leave them behind! As soon as I composed myself, I headed downstairs to tell Jeremy (we were both working from home during that time, due to COVID). He was outside mowing the backyard, I believe. I said, “It’s cancer.” He didn’t know what to say, and just hugged me. I went back upstairs to go back to work, but I just couldn’t concentrate. I called my boss, Holly, and I just went into freak out mode. She was like, “What’s wrong?” Bawling, I replied, “I have breast cancer!” She told me to slow down, asked some questions, and got me to a calm state. She told me to take the rest of the day off to relax, gather my thoughts, and try not to get ahead of myself. My next call was the one I dreaded the most. I called my sister, Deana. Deana and I are 10 months apart to the day, and we have always been close. I was her maid of honor and she was my matron of honor. We did everything together and told each other everything. This was going to be a difficult conversation. I remember she was at her beach house for a long weekend with our friend, Michelle. She picked up the phone and we started chatting, and I said I have to tell you something. As soon as the words came out of my mouth, the phone was silent for a few seconds, and she said, “This sucks. This isn’t fair.” I could picture her on the other end of the phone in tears, crushed, which crushed me even more. I knew this was even harder for her because our good friend, Madlen, had been diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer just months prior, while Madlen was pregnant. Before hanging up, Deana asked me, “What can I do?,” and that is where the Pink Squad was born (more to come on that!). A couple of weeks later, Jeremy and I met with my surgical oncologist, Dr. Deberry. We were prepared for the worst, but the results were rather promising. I found out I had stage 2 breast cancer that was estrogen positive. Additionally, they found lymph nodes that were positive for cancer, but the cancer had not metastasized to other parts of my body. The tumor was very large, but it was growing at less than 15%, which is a slow growth according to what we were told. I was also negative for the BRCA gene mutation , which was great since I have three sisters and two brothers, and this was good news for our hereditary cancer risk. Dr. Deberry told me the next steps were to meet with my medical oncologist, Dr. Lang, and to get my chemo port installed . Dr. Lang would explain my treatment plan and answer any and all questions I had. Since you, the reader, do not know me, I should say that my story with cancer does not start here. When I was 10 months old, my left eye was removed due to having a cancer called retinoblastoma. So one could ask why I wasn’t holding a self-pity party, but that simply is not in my makeup. I did not have time to think, “Why me?” I could only think that it was time for me to fight for my life. I had to fight not only for myself, but for my family. I was not going to let this beat me. I had too much to live for. That is all I could tell myself. During my meeting with Dr. Lang, she explained that I would go through eight rounds of chemo , which would happen every other week. At the end of chemo, I would be scheduled for a single or double mastectomy based on my preferences and conversations with my plastic surgeon . Dr. Lang also stated we would want to look at having my ovaries removed within the year after chemo to prevent cancer from spreading to my ovaries, since my cancer was estrogen driven . She told me I would lose my hair with chemo, and that moment is when I broke down in tears. To this day, I am not exactly sure why. I knew my hair would grow back and that it was only temporary, but the tears definitely started flowing. Maybe everything together just hit me and at that moment, everything just seemed so real. I also remember Dr. Lang told me the cancer I had was curable and that I should beat this. It was encouraging news, but I also knew I wanted to be realistic and that maybe treatment wouldn’t work. The Pink Squad Deana created a support group for me called the Pink Squad. After asking me how she could help, I told her that if she could be my middle man it would be very helpful. I hated putting that burden on her, but I knew so many people would want to help , and I figured I wouldn’t have the energy to respond. So, she created this support group full of family and friends and named it the Pink Squad. I often called them my behind-the-scenes angels . My friends and family would sign up to bring meals or deliver food, they would send me gifts ahead of chemo treatments, they would send me inspirational videos, and so much more. It was incredible and turned out to be so much more than I ever asked for or thought it would be. COVID made it difficult to be around people, so I didn’t really get to see many of the people who were helping me, but I knew they were there. On my way to my first chemo treatment, I got a video collage from some of my supporters ! Wow, it was just incredible. They really helped me focus for my first treatment. I will be forever grateful for the love, energy, and time that people spend on me. I also received weekly letters from my aunt Lacey, which always put a smile on my face. Chemotherapy My first chemo treatment was on December 23, 2020. I went to the Start Center for Cancer Care in San Antonio, Texas for all of my cancer-related appointments and treatments. I didn’t really know what to expect, and I didn’t know how to prepare, so I sat there reading and watching movies as my body was pumped full of the drugs that were going to cure me. My mother-in-law, Pam, dropped me off for a lot of my appointments, and Jeremy picked me up for most of them. After my first treatment, I felt fine until the evening, and then I felt pretty tired. Over the next four days I had extreme stomach pain, but other than that I felt pretty okay. As treatments continued (I had Adriamycin and Cytoxan every 2 weeks for 4 cycles, and after that I had Taxol every 2 weeks for 4 cycles. I had a port installed where the medications were administered. I was also given Neulasta after every treatment, which was placed on my arm where it pricked the skin and delivered the medicine to stimulate the growth of healthy white blood cells in the bone marrow.), I would notice that it was the four to six days after treatment when I would feel the worst. I would often feel dizzy, and it was hard to concentrate. Concentrate on what, you may ask. Concentrate on work, that is. Yes, I continued to work full-time throughout my treatment. (Even though cancer changed my life, I didn't want to get down about it. So, I tried to keep my routines essentially the same to help with that. So, continuing to work really did help me find and keep the normalcy in my life. And, it helped me become a stronger person. I believe that if I made it through that, I can make it through anything.) I would take every other Tuesday off for treatment and return to work the following day. I never wavered. It was tough, but Jeremy, Carson, and my Pink Squad pushed me through. By early January, I had lost most of my hair, and I realized it was time to let it go. I made an appointment at a salon that shaved people’s heads for free and gave you a wig for free if you had cancer. The weather was cold and rainy, so Jeremy stayed home with Carson, which I insisted on. I thought it may be easier to do it on my own anyway. I remember walking up to the salon. It was brutally cold, and as I was walking up, I noticed someone standing there that I knew. It was my dad. He had driven over an hour to come help me through the experience; he knew it was going to be a difficult one. As we walked inside, I was handed a rose. The salon employee said that it was from my friend, Kenya. Let’s just say that at that moment all the emotions were running through me. I sat in the chair and took off my head wrap. This was the first time my dad saw me like this, and he tried to put me in good spirits. I think he noticed I was tearing up, so he steered me in another direction so I wouldn’t cry. At the end, the hair stylist asked what wig I wanted. I ended up getting one and later throwing it away. That just wasn’t me, and I realized I didn’t want one. I was going to rock the bald look. My dad and I got a picture afterwards. I’ll never forget that day. From then on, I would attend virtual meetings in a beanie, but my direct manager was the only person at work who knew what was going on. After a period, some would ask, and I would tell them, but I didn’t want to be treated differently, and no one ever did treat me differently. April 6, 2021 was my last chemo treatment, and I rang the hell out of that bell ! I definitely got emotional, but I saw this as a huge step in kicking cancer to the curb. It was on to the next treatment step. Surgery The next step was to have a mastectomy to remove the tumor. I decided to have a double mastectomy. Both my surgical oncologist and plastic surgeon said there was only a 15% chance that the cancer would go to the other breast, but I wasn’t willing to take that chance. Since this was my second time having cancer in my lifetime, and I was still young, I wasn’t about to take the risk, even if it was a small one. The surgery was set to take place on May 18, 2021. Dr. Deberry would remove the breast tissue, including the tumor, and also locate and remove a portion of the lymph nodes. To locate the lymph nodes a little easier, she would use a blue dye called isosulfan blue dye. After this, my plastic surgeon, Dr. Chrysopoulo, would place expanders under the skin in my chest area that would be in place until breast reconstruction took place at a later time. On May 17, 2021 I had dinner with Jeremy, Deana, and my aunt Lacey. I can remember feeling uneasy about the surgery . I had had many surgeries in my lifetime, but I had never felt nervous like this. I can remember thinking and saying, “What if this is the last time I see Carson?” Jeremy lost it and had to leave the table. He was just as nervous as I was. The next morning, we made our way to the hospital. As I was being rolled away to surgery, I remember Jeremy being so scared, and I grabbed his hand and said it’s going to be okay. The next thing I remember is waking up in the ICU. The surgery had gone terribly wrong, and I almost died. Unfortunately, we found out the hard way that I was deathly allergic to the isosulfan blue dye that was used to locate the lymph nodes. I went into anaphylactic shock and ended up coding off and on for 12 minutes before they were able to stabilize me. I remember waking up with a breathing tube in my throat, knowing something was wrong. I saw Jeremy in the corner of the room, and I tried reaching for him, and that’s when the nurse told me I was in the ICU. Jeremy was a wreck, and he said he had to leave. I wasn’t sure if he had to leave because they were making him or because he didn’t want to see me like that. He later told me it was because he could only be in there for an hour, due to COVID protocol, and it had been close to two hours. I spent almost five days in the hospital before I was released. As a result of these unfortunate events, the mastectomy did not take place and was rescheduled for June 8, 2021, and as you can imagine, I was extremely nervous. This time they did not use the blue dye, and the surgery was a success. Madlen As I mentioned previously, my friend Madlen was also diagnosed with breast cancer in 2020. Madlen and I met when we went to college at Texas State University and worked at the same clothing shop together. Madlen and I remained good friends over the years, and Madlen and Deana became really good friends and were college roommates. Deana was even in Madlen’s wedding. And, my sister Katy introduced Madlen to her husband, James. Madlen was diagnosed while she was pregnant with her second child, a girl. Her baby, Abigail, and Carson ended up being a week apart in age. She was ahead of me in her treatments and was going to Houston, Texas to get treated at MD Anderson. Her cancer was triple negative , which I had learned was more aggressive. In April 2021, I finally got to see Madlen. She was great! Her hair was growing back, and she and her family were planning a Disney trip in June, just a couple of months later. As soon as we saw each other, we hugged. We hugged like we had never hugged before and just cried. We were happy, full of emotion, and just relieved. After saying our goodbyes that day, I told her I was sorry we hadn’t seen each other as much the past few years and I was going to make a better effort to get together more. She said I shouldn’t be upset and that it was part of life and that we would get together more. Two months later, after getting back from Disney, she found out her cancer had spread to her lungs. She was stage 4 now, and I just lost it. After talking with her, she said that they were going to start another type of chemo immediately, and she had to have her lung drained due to a lot of fluid. Deana and I FaceTimed her in early July one weekend, when Madlen was in the hospital at MD Anderson. She was in great spirits. That was the last time I talked to Madlen. Unfortunately the chemo did not work, and they ended up moving her to hospice. From there the disease overtook her quite quickly. I remember reaching out to Madlen’s husband, James, one day, and he said that it wasn’t good and that he was driving back from work (a five-hour drive, I believe) to get back to her. I immediately called Deana and told her that Madlen was declining rapidly. We took off to Victoria, Texas that day to say our goodbyes. By the time we arrived, she was non-responsive. This was August 3, and Madlen passed away on August 8, 2021, just one week before her 40th birthday. There hasn’t been one day since her passing that I haven’t thought about her. I can remember vividly, during one of my radiation appointments when I was already having a hard day, and on my way home, I felt her with me. I felt her saying, “Chin up, Becki. You got this.” Typical Madlen. Radiation and Other Treatments After surgery, I went through 25 radiation treatments, had my ovaries removed, and had a bilateral breast reconstruction. (Side note: If I had it to do over again I would have gone with a tissue reconstruction, which is what my plastic surgeon had recommended. Since the reconstruction, I have had rippling in my right breast (the radiated side), which I was told was a risk.) By February 2022, I had completed all of the major treatments and surgeries. I continue to meet with my doctors on a regular cadence, and I go every six months for bone injections. Since my cancer was estrogen positive, and I had my ovaries removed to prevent future cancer, I am at risk for bone loss. Maybe my journey will never be completely over, but I am thankful and blessed to have overcome everything I was faced with. I couldn’t have made it through without my family, friends, and the Pink Squad , and I am forever grateful for all of the support and love I was provided. What I have learned through all of this is that life is entirely too short. We have this one life to live, and that is what we should be doing with it… LIVING! Let go of the small stuff and really focus on what is important to you. Don’t ever let a day pass you by, because as Aaron Watson says in his song “Bluebonnets,” “We’re only here for a little while, so make the most of every mile.” “Long gone like bluebonnets in the spring We’re only here for a little while It’s beautiful and bittersweet So make the most of every mile So pack light and love heavy Give it all your heart and soul So in the end you won’t regret one thing Life is like bluebonnets in the spring” Thank you for sharing your story, Becki. SBC loves you! SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Our Podcast Our Weekly MeetUp Online Support Groups Free, Weekly Events

By Michele Schwartz Hope seems like something everyone tries to hold onto. A feeling of wanting something to work out for the better so badly, but a feeling that is sometimes so undeniably hard to fathom having when you are faced with some of the most unthinkable tragedies that this world has to offer. But sometimes, hope is all we have to get us through. I was 37 years old when my world was flipped upside down. It was almost the end of 2018. At this point, my husband and I had been married for 9 years and I’m a mother of two young children—our two precious boys were 4 years old and just 7 months old. Babies. I was an elementary school teacher on maternity leave at the time, trying to enjoy what was left of my leave. Then, the night of December 9th, my world stopped. My kids were with my husband and I was in my room changing my clothes. My left breast felt really weird. Itchy. Like I wanted to scratch my skin off itchy. It was red and inflamed so I knew something was wrong. And that’s when I started to feel around, and I found a lump . The days that followed were consumed by doctors and scans and imaging and poking and feeling and looking , and by the end of that same week, just five days after I discovered a lump, a biopsy . That was rough. 37 years old, with literally two babies at home, and my life was about to change. All of our lives were about to drastically change. As I’m lying on that table, awake, the doctor trying to make light of the situation as best as he could and the nurse squeezing my hand at any sign of discomfort, one might ask, what do you do at that very moment? You hope . Hope that it’s nothing. You hope that if it is something, that it’s not that bad. You hope that whatever it is, it can be cured. You hope that, at 37 years old with a 7 month old baby and a 4 year old child at home, you’ll be able to see them grow up. There’s nothing left to do but to hope, because if you give up hoping, then that’s when the darkness sets in—and the darkness cannot come in. I have two babies at home. They need me. A few days later, after waiting for what seemed like a lifetime, the results came in. Breast cancer. Invasive ductal carcinoma . Not sure what stage yet, more information to follow. Now it’s game time. Forget about maternity leave, and nevermind that I’m a mom of two young kids with a husband who works long hours. Now, it’s breast surgeons and figuring out the next steps and… hope. Hope now that this cancer is not too advanced. Hope that I can still parent my kids. Hope that I am not going to… die. But keep hoping. Don’t let that darkness in. Over the course of that week, I got more information about my breast cancer. I found out that it was stage 3 , which was advanced, but it’s not stage 4 (silver linings). That it was hormone positive and HER2 negative , which means that it had the potential to respond more effectively to treatments and that chemo was definitely the next course of action. What to do now? Hope. Hope that the chemo kills it all. Hope that I can get through this. Hope that I can handle my hair falling out. Hope that my kids are not affected. Hope that I can still act like a mother and spend time with my baby. Hope that my husband has it in him to handle what is coming. But I could feel the darkness coming. My hope was slipping. The clouds were closing. I was scared, and rightfully so. I went from maternity leave to disability leave in a matter of weeks. Thrown into a world that I never imagined that I’d ever be in, let alone at 37 years old. I had just had a baby. How am I supposed to do this?? I kept searching for answers on how to parent kids while battling breast cancer , but I couldn’t find what I was looking for. I just had to hold onto that hope, as hard as it was to do so at this time. I started chemo on January 16, 2019, just two weeks after my 38th birthday. Some birthday that was. Sixteen weeks of chemotherapy (4 rounds of Arythromyacin and Cytoxin and then 12 rounds of Taxol), followed by a double mastectomy with reconstruction, with expanders. Here’s the hope again . Now we hope that I heal quickly, we hope that the cancer didn’t spread, and we hope that the expanders work. Well, during the reconstruction, it was found that I did have lymph node involvement . And two weeks after my expanders were placed, I ended up with infections . So the expanders came out , I was closed up, and on I went onto 28 rounds of proton radiation. Here’s the hope again…. Please let this be over soon. Hope that my infections heal. Hope that I can lift my arms again soon. Hope that the pain subsides quickly. Hope that the radiation kills whatever cancer is left in me. Hope that I don’t have burns from the radiation. Hope that I have the strength to go on with this torture. But this torture is how I fight to make sure that I’m here for my kids. My kids were my hope, my strength, and how I got out of bed every single day throughout this craziness. I finished radiation in October 2019—10 months of the most intense, grueling kind of treatments that a body can endure. Or try to endure as it breaks your entire being down. I chose to remain flat , as I didn’t want anything else placed inside my body and I wanted to get back to my life and my kids. Those 10 months were rough. Every single possible side effect that could be had throughout, I had, including pretty severe burns on several areas on my chest, the underside of my left arm was pretty charred, and I had a big burn on the left side of my neck that extended down past my collarbone to my chest. I was extremely fatigued and had difficulty moving my left arm because of all of my surgeries before radiation and having to lie in the position with my arm over my head. I was exhausted mentally, physically, and emotionally, and I literally had to figure out a way to pick myself up and put myself back together. But I had no idea how. I equate it to a strong storm passing through a town. Maybe even a tornado. It comes, it rips everything apart and then leaves. And you are left picking up the pieces, trying to figure out how to clean it up, and how to put what is left back together. And you hope. You hope you have the strength or can somehow find the strength to do it. It might take some time and lots of help from others from your support circle, but all you can do is hope. Hope that you’ll get to the other side of this and that you can one day look at this journey, like it’s so far off in that rear view mirror. So here we are… November 2022. In October, I celebrated 3 years with no evidence of disease. My kids are doing amazing, as my oldest turned 8 in June and my little one turned 4 in April. My husband has been our rock. I do have lots of residual side effects , including brain fog, fatigue, bone pain, neuropathy in my fingers and toes, mobility, or the lack thereof with my arms and chest area, lymphedema in my left arm, and tons of scar tissue in and around my left breast area (even though I’m flat), and the PTSD/ anxiety that I struggle with but have sought out help for. The constant worry that it will come back is here , but for the most part I can say that I’m doing okay! I never went back to teaching. Throughout my journey I became a blogger, documenting every part of my story. I love writing and found that this is my niche… writing, blogging, sharing, helping, advocating, and educating. In November 2019, I was picked to meet Hoda Kotb of NBC’s Today Show on The Dr. Oz Show to talk about the word “hope” and how it helped me throughout my journey. I guess it’s safe to say that all the hoping I did helped because it ensured that I never gave up. Was my hope a constant thing? To be honest, no. Sometimes I lost sight of it, but I always found a way to get it back. Now I just hope that I stay a survivor for as long as I can. Hope. It’s a powerful word. – Note: Pregnancy-associated breast cancer (PABC): breast cancer diagnosed during gestation, lactation, and from 1-5 years postpartum. PABC accounts for 25-30% of all premenopausal women diagnosed with breast cancer. (Source: SABCS presentation by Dr. K.P. Siziopikou, MD, PhD: Updates in the Pathology of Pregnancy Associated Breast Cancer) More information from The National Cancer Institute: https://www.cancer.gov/types/breast/patient/pregnancy-breast-treatment-pdq Thank you for sharing your story, Michele. SBC loves you! SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Our Podcast Our Weekly MeetUp Online Support Groups Free, Weekly Events

By Lee Ann Morin A year ago, my world was turned upside down. I opened a my-chart result expecting to confirm a kidney stone. Instead, I read the words “multiple lytic osseous lesions… metastatic disease… multiple myeloma or lymphoma.” It took over a month to get a definitive diagnosis of Stage 4 metastatic breast cancer to lymph nodes, multiple bones, and sub centimeter nodes on the lung . There were a lot of moments of tears, fear, and anger. I was carried through those initial moments by my loving partner, my kids, parents, siblings, friends, coworkers (past and present). Treatment was met with the anticipation of what it would entail, hope that it would work, and fear that it wouldn’t. Due to the type of MBC I have, I have been able to take endocrine therapy and avoid chemotherapy for now. Fatigue has been the most difficult side effect but I’ve made peace with it, rest, pace myself, and practice self care when I need to, even if it means declining activities I like to do. I have a great support system and a fiancé who, with one look, knows my level of fatigue, tells me to go lie down, and takes care of the rest. ️ Why Me? When I started my MBC journey, I was grieving for the life I thought I was supposed to live. I was angry and asked, why me god? Why me? I had too much to live for! I was sad more than anything else. I was sad I might not get to see milestones in my kids and grandkids lives. I was sad I might not get to live to see retirement. I was sad I might not get to grow old with my love. I was sad my parents might have to bury a child. I was sad that the one parent my kids could depend on might not be there for them. No one knows what God's plan is for us. No one. I am only too familiar with the "Why me" questions as I have had to answer this question before. When I miscarried three precious babies. Why me? When I found out my first rainbow baby, Garrett, had spina bifida. Why me? I was working at a job that I was totally burnt out from and dreaded going into work every night. Why me? When I was married to a good man who was an alcoholic. Why me? When I had to pull my big girl pants up and work my ass off to make a plan to leave a life that was sucking the life out of me. Why me? When I finally found the relationship with Dave, I had always dreamed of, and then he was in a horrific motorcycle accident and was facing a long recovery. Why me? An Answer To My Question I was able to finally answer my question to God. Why NOT me? If I had not had the miscarriages prior to both of my sons births I would not have THEM. If Garrett didn't have spina bifida he and I wouldn't be the people we are today without all the hard lessons learned. (I would never want my baby to have to go through what he does but he lives his life with grace and humility and there are a lot of lessons there!). If I didn't have the tremendous stress of working at the hospital in the trenches, I wouldn't have been pushed to search for my dream job that I absolutely love. If I wasn't a codependent, I wouldn't have learned all the lessons I needed to to be the strong, independent person I am today and to finally have the courage to walk away. If we hadn't had the opportunity to go through the extensive hospitalizations, surgeries and recovery, Dave and I might not have the unbelievable faith filled bond and relationship we have today. I have faith that there is a plan. No one has an "expires by" date! Yes, I have terminal cancer, but I am also alive and for right now I feel pretty darn good. I trust that this is part of my journey on this earth and I am learning from it, may help others from it, and feel blessed by it, as I do all the other "why me" moments I have had. Cherishing Every Moment In retrospect, what an amazing year it has been! I have been very transparent with my journey and have been touched by a lot of people I had lost contact with. I have become closer to my siblings. I have a dear friend who has contacted me- Every. Single. Day. since the news! I step outside the box a little more, break the rules a little more, and have made an effort to speak to people when I normally would have been quiet. I live a little more. Treatment so far has stopped progression, although I have fleeting thoughts about it each day, it doesn’t consume my life. I can’t control it but I can control how I respond to it. I can control how I choose to live my life. I don’t take anything for granted, ever. I am planning my wedding to my best friend. I am planning trips. I am planning my retirement. I cherish every moment with my kids, grandkids, parents, family, and friends. I eat the ice cream without guilt. My advice to anyone going through a difficult experience is to just find joy in every day and have hopes and dreams for the future. That’s the best we can do. Thank you for sharing your story, Lee Ann. SBC loves you! SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Our Podcast Online Support Groups Free, Weekly Events

By Jan Hillman My name is Jan and I’m three months into my third breast cancer journey. I was first diagnosed in 1986 at age 34 with stage two breast cancer in my right breast. I was treated with a lumpectomy. Eleven years later, another tumor appeared in the same breast. A PET scan revealed a second mass, both stage two, and I had a mastectomy and reconstruction. My life has been an amazingly positive journey , and this third chapter is a defining one. The new year of 2023 began positively. After years of volunteering for Breast Wishes Foundation (BWF), a Southwest Ohio-based non-profit organization granting wishes that bring joy to those with breast cancer, it was time for me to take the next step. That next step was answering the invitation to be the chair of the BWF Board. As Board members, we rolled up our sleeves. With a new 2023-25 Strategic Plan and vision to grant 500 wishes by the end of 2025 (as of this printing, 250 wishes have been granted), we grew our Board, raised more funds, and strategically marketed BWF. Early in the year, I was feeling fatigued and my joie de vivre had diminished. My primary care provider ordered blood work that revealed that I was anemic. She discussed this with me and recommended that I have a colonoscopy and an EDG, in which a gastroenterologist looks at the lining of the esophagus, stomach, and duodenum. I had both of these procedures and awaited the results. On a Wednesday evening in mid-May, I received a call and news from my gastroenterologist, Dr. Samuel, which was shocking, breathtaking and completely unexpected. He tried to soften the message by saying that he had bad news. Something about the hour and his tone of voice made that statement clear as glass. He continued to say, “Jan, you have metastatic breast cancer in your stomach.” Wait – what?! Dr. Samuel underscored the rarity of this finding, how it was surprising to him and the pathologist who had analyzed the biopsied stomach tissue. He told me that he had contacted an oncologist, Dr. Chamarthy, who would call me as soon as we said goodbye. My mind flew back to 1986 and 1997 when I was diagnosed with stage two breast cancer. All those old memories and treatments resurfaced, including the lumpectomy in 1986 and the mastectomy in 1997. Back to the present time… Dr. Chamarthy called me directly and we scheduled an appointment right away. My fiancé, Barry, accompanied me to my appointment and Dr. Chamarthy underscored the rarity of breast cancer metastasizing to the stomach. We discussed options for diagnosis and treatment and decided to proceed with additional diagnostic testing including PET scan, CT scan, brain MRI, bone biopsy, bone marrow biopsy, and breast MRI. Good news came from the breast MRI; there was no breast cancer found in my breasts. However, beyond my stomach, metastasis was discovered in my spine, rib, pelvis, sternum, bone marrow and skull (not brain). For my treatment, Dr. Chamarthy recommended chemotherapy in the form of intravenous paclitaxel and I had a port placed in my upper chest to ease chemotherapy administration and blood testing. By my choice, I am receiving 95% of my health care from Premier Health here in the greater Dayton, Ohio area, with most of that care at Upper Valley Medical Center (UVMC). I chose UVMC because it is close to home and, moreover, the compassionate, caring, skilled staff and their friendliness provide a comfortable feeling at every appointment, treatment and procedure there. My health care team is superb and every member including the nurses, physicians, technologists and all the other members have gone above and beyond to provide me with stellar care aimed at my healing. I am an equal opportunity healer and have continued to meditate and pray daily, keep up with my yoga and stretching practices, eat healthfully, walk, garden, and have weekly reiki and chiropractic treatments. The outpouring of love, prayers and support from friends, family and complete strangers has been astoundingly beautiful. It has been three months since I first learned of my metastatic third breast cancer. I’m living each day fully and that means keeping my life perspective in laser focus – forgiving, letting go and healing; not taking myself or my disease too seriously; having loving, memory making, and meaningful , thriving time with family and friends; and maximizing the power of positive change that comes with the most challenging life situation I’ve ever experienced. In real terms this also means devoting time, energy and strategy to raising funds and granting wishes for Breast Wishes Foundation. My approach is inviting people to learn about the power of bringing joy to those with breast cancer by granting wishes and requesting their consideration to give the gift of joy. Helping grant wishes that bring joy for others with breast cancer is bringing me immeasurable joy. Joy is truly the mother and father of hope. I commend the work of Surviving Breast Cancer! SBC’s mission to empower those diagnosed with breast cancer and their families from day one and beyond is powerful and uplifting, the core values are right on and the approach is strong. Bravo and kudos to Surviving Breast Cancer! Thank you for sharing your story, Jan. SBC loves you! Learn more: SBC Meditation Library New Meanings and Shifting Priorities The Alternative to Feeling Like a Victim On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations How to Get a Grip: Coping Strategies for Complicated Times SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events Submit Your Writing: SBC Blog Submissions

By Jennifer Reynolds Read Jennifer’s original diagnosis and treatment story: Hard Days, Better Days, and My Fight After I was diagnosed with stage 2b invasive ductal carcinoma (IDC), I completed chemotherapy and a double mastectomy . My treatment then continued with radiation . After radiation in 2021 and right before Christmas... I was finally done! I had 33 sessions of radiation. It was brutal during the last week. Otherwise, it was just tedious and tiring everyday to go there and do that. It wiped me, but it was doable. At the end of radiation, my skin started opening up after being burned. It was right on my incision scar of my cancer side and also in my axilla area. It was so very painful and I remember Christmas being very difficult, but I put on a strong and brave face as best I could. Life has been busy. I do love staying busy, as it helps me to help others. I am a lactation nurse – so I know breasts, but in a very different way! Helping moms and babies succeed in the postpartum period is so wonderful. This past year, I have been working a lot, as I have three jobs. I work as a lactation consultant at a hospital, at a pediatric office and as an independent business. Through all my treatments, I worked when I could. I am currently taking Lynparza, a PARP inhibitor. This October will mark two years of me taking Lynparza , and then I will be done. Yay! For me, it causes fatigue and diarrhea. I can only tolerate two of the four pills recommended, but I take them. As for the other medications I’ve been on, I have struggled a bit in this area. Aromatase inhibitors cause lots of side effects. I dislike them! I have tried almost all of them. I am now about to try exemestane and hope it is okay and easier on me than tamoxifen, letrozole and Arimidex. My doctors advised five to 10 years MORE on these. I am quite busy but still make time for family, fun and exercise. I love spin, pilates and yoga. I am also trying to keep the garden going and I love it, but my first son Tyler has done most of the work. I also am a breast cancer mentor at my facility here in Long Beach, California. I just love helping others. Life is crazy, right? I have ups and downs, and a lot of emotions at times. Forced menopause sucks, and so does cancer! BUT I do hope to be done for GOOD and am pushing forward to continue being cancer free two years later! Life is good and I do appreciate everything SO much more. That is expected I suppose from my perspective. Thank you for reading! Thank you for sharing your story, Jennifer. SBC loves you! Learn More: Breast Cancer Radiation Hard Days, Better Days, and My Fight Managing Breast Cancer During Pregnancy and Breastfeeding Breast Cancer at 33: A Young Mom’s Story of Self-Advocacy Jennifer's lactation consulting website On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations Radiation Therapy: What Every Breast Cancer Thriver Needs to Know

By Dionne Phillips Author Dionne Phillips Hearing the words “ you have cancer ” is heavy, hard, life-changing, scary, and any other adjective you may consider a synonym of the feelings or words used above. Your treatment regimen might consist of surgery first, then chemo/radiation, or vice versa. If the pathology report comes back with clear margins and you are considered “cancer free,” there is no one who wants things to go back to normal more than the person who received every experience firsthand. I suspect there are co-survivors who would argue this fact, whether it be parents, significant others, siblings, friends, or children. My intent is not to diminish their feelings or experiences but to validate those of the survivor/thriver. We are the ones who receive the call or letter requiring a diagnostic mammogram, MRI, or biopsy. We experience the internal struggle of whether or not to share because we don’t want to worry our loved ones, so sometimes we carry that by ourselves—or we share and have to reassure our loved ones that it’s just a precaution, only to later learn that it is not. Then there is the call, if you’re lucky, that shares the diagnosis information . I’ve heard stories of people finding out accidentally from people they should not have because they work at the facility, or the results drop in your electronic chart and you receive the notification before the nurse navigator calls, or there is a call to schedule surgery before you receive results from any of the aforementioned sources. Trauma, confusion, fear, AND you have no time to process it because you are now in some version of a fight for your life. Unless you work in oncology or have a close relationship with someone who has experienced breast cancer, you may only be familiar with staging, and may not fully understand metastatic breast cancer (MBC). You aren’t necessarily familiar with the different types of breast cancer , i.e. ductal carcinoma in situ (DCIS), lobular carcinoma in situ (LCIS), inflammatory breast cancer , and triple-negative breast cancer , and you also may not know there are even more types . Then there is the language associated with the presence or absence of hormone receptors: estrogen receptor (ER) positive or negative, progesterone receptor (PR) positive or negative, and human epidermal growth factor receptor 2 (HER2) positive or negative. People can also experience different combinations and subtypes of those. You then either have too much time to consider your path of treatment and implement it OR you don’t really have time to process the whirlwind because you are presented with the diagnosis and must decide the treatment path almost immediately; there are pros and cons to both. The decisions include the type of surgery: lumpectomy, mastectomy (single or double), reconstruction or not , what kind of reconstruction: expanders, DIEP flap, lat flap, nipple-sparing or not, just to name a few. As a young survivor/thriver , double or single mastectomy has secondary and tertiary implications, i.e., do you have children, would you like to have children in the future, can you afford to harvest and store your eggs , and what are your views on breastfeeding ? These and so many, many more are the “quick” life-changing decisions that need to be made. If you get to the point that you hear the cancer is gone, it’s a relief, but at its “simplest,” you have to process what you just experienced , and in some cases, you may still face hormone replacement therapy, hormone suppression therapy, and/or radiation. Cancer takes a toll on your body, and you can have an inflammatory response from surgery and other forms of treatment. The trauma of it all may cause you to gain weight or hold on to it. With all of these life-changing experiences and no time to process your emotions, when you finally get a moment, you may feel that everyone else has moved on. At work, they want you to get back to it. At home, no one notes that you pushed through because you had to, because you wanted to, but now you are no longer fighting for your life. You are tired, and maybe everything has LITERALLY returned to how it was the day before you received the diagnosis. Yet, you are different. Not ungrateful, you realize that whether you believe in God or the universe, you have reached the goal, but now the journey has caught up to you. You know you can’t return to the day, moment, or minute before diagnosis, and while you don’t want a pity party, you want to be seen. You want to be checked on . You want those around you to note, without you telling them, that “strong friend” may have been the title you held before, and you need that same love you divvied out without complaint or comparison. You want your circle to hear you and see you when you are quiet. You appreciated their support at the most “dangerous” point of this fight for your life. But survivors and thrivers still need help with laundry. We would love calls and texts just to check in without having to talk about your stuff; hormone therapy, chemo brain, and/or the trauma of it all have shifted their bandwidth for external stressors. They are not 100%. Not wanting to answer 500 questions about treatment doesn’t mean we don’t want to talk about our favorite series, sports team, or hobby. Being cancer-free doesn’t mean we don’t need support as we adjust to our new life. It means that we’ve made it through the part that is responsible for the bulk of trauma. But, we still need you to journey with us on this new path as a support, with empathy and kindness. Learn More: 9 Essential Tips for Breast Cancer Survivors The Breast Cancer Care Continuum: The Journey From Patient to Survivor Breast Cancer in Young Women: Common Questions Answered Cancer Etiquette: How to Talk With Loved Ones About Their Breast Cancer On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations Two Breasties on Survivorship

By Jayita Chatterjee “Sometimes life is like an archer’s bow. It pulls us back so we can shoot forward with more force and clarity. And just like an arrow, the more you get pulled back, the more potential energy you have… the more potential energy you have, the farther you can go.” - Dr. Raj Raghunathan, If You’re So Smart, Why Aren’t You Happy? The tattoo of an arrow on my arm helps me remember this message. Sunday, March 19, 2023. It’s the day I got diagnosed with breast cancer . It’s the day when my world changed. A myriad of emotions took over me that day…. and not the good kinds. However, I knew I needed to arrow ahead and stand strong in the face of this new challenge that life tossed my way. I have always been good about staying on top of health checks. I went in for my annual women’s check with my OBGYN in early February. Since I had turned 40 this year, I qualified to do my first mammogram screening. On February 27 I got my very first mammogram done. The first week of March, I got a letter in the mail saying that my mammogram performed on February 27 showed a finding that required supplemental imaging studies, such as additional mammographic views or an ultrasound, and that I needed to go in for a retake. Of course, my husband and I immediately Googled the chances of a callback. We found out that apparently a lot of women do get callbacks on their first mammogram, since there is no baseline to compare against; hence it’s not a real concern. As such, we did not make much of it. On the morning of March 13, we went in casually for the retake, i.e. a diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound. After reviewing the new images, the radiologists said I needed to come back the same afternoon for a biopsy following their standard protocol of time between the imaging and the biopsy procedure. I was in no mood to eat, but forced myself to have lunch. I asked my husband to join me again for the second visit of the day to the radiology center. I knew I might not be cautious at the wheel if I drove, given all the craziness, and he too wanted to be with me for the biopsy. I had a core needle biopsy done and a coil marker placed at the site of the tumor finding. I knew I did not have much hope when the radiologist accidentally grunted while pushing in the needle and hit a hard mass. After the procedure, the radiologist sat down with me and my husband and reviewed the findings. She said that she did not like what she was seeing, that we should brace ourselves, and handed us a list of local breast surgeons. She asked us to wait for the official pathological results from the biopsy, but also advised us to start screening/reaching out to breast surgeons so the cancerous tumor could be taken out as soon as possible. This whole time I had been holding strong, but at this point, I felt a lone teardrop stream down one cheek. The next few days were a blur. My husband and I are not from the medical field, I did not have any family history of breast cancer, I did not know a single woman in my social circle that had breast cancer, hence we were practically cancer-illiterate. I started researching breast cancer in general: its types , stages, causes, grades, treatment options, etc. I gathered my questions for the surgeon for our first meeting. We also looked at top breast surgeons in the area, and we narrowed down our choices. We decided we would seek a second opinion to validate my treatment plan, so I got on the books of two. All this while trying to maintain some form of normalcy in our daily life without being overcome with the fear of the unknown. Two things that I did decide on at the very onset were to stay strong and to be transparent with my daughter. Our 11-year-old daughter is a mature kid. I did not want to withhold information from her; I did not want her to go online and try to find answers for herself. I wanted her to be able to ask me questions openly; I wanted an open dialogue; I did not want her to bottle up her feelings and her fear. I wanted her to know that the doctors and I would do the best we could to see this through, but at the same time I did not want to overwhelm her. I knew she could handle this if I was right beside her and if I was sharing information with her at a level that was age appropriate. And to this day I think those were two solid decisions I made. We have a ritual of spending about 30-45 minutes of mommy-daughter time before bed every night, and that’s our time to talk about our lives, how our day went, our feelings, our dreams… anything under the sun, basically. That was my time to have those transparent discussions with her. And I know she continues to thrive because she is empowered to ask questions and have an open dialogue with me about something as disruptive as cancer. Sunday, March 19, 2023. We were anxiously waiting on the official biopsy results the entire week. And while our family was out on a casual drive and grabbing an early dinner, I got a call from my radiologist. I wasn’t expecting a call on a Sunday… so I knew the results had to be bad. And they were. I was positive for breast cancer. I had stage I invasive ductal carcinoma (IDC) and ductal carcinoma in situ (DCIS), ER/PR+ HER2- breast cancer. Since March 19, I’ve had a slew of doctors’ appointments with breast surgeons, reconstruction surgeons, and oncologists. I’ve had MRIs, blood work, and CT scans. I had a bilateral mastectomy, sentinel node biopsy, and reconstruction phase 1 with tissue expanders. After my mastectomy on May 5, I received my pathology results and Oncotype DX results, had chemo port placement surgery on June 20, and had Taxotere-cyclophosphamide (TC) chemotherapy from June 26 to August 28. Up next, I have reconstruction phase 2 surgery (removal of expanders and DIEP flap reconstruction). Then I will start hormone therapy, in which I will be taking tamoxifen for five years. Even while going through treatments and enduring bad side effects, cancer could not take away my desire to stay positive, to be grateful for the support I have, to enjoy the present, to never give up and to find ways to give back. I find myself reflecting these days: What am I doing to leave this world a better place than I came into? What legacy am I going to leave behind? Have I helped others enough who might not have the same privileges as me? I feel that self-reflections like these make me fall in love with life and help me gain more clarity of my life’s purpose. Often I am so caught up hustling and simply living my everyday life that I fail to recognize opportunities where I could have been of service in a greater capacity than taking care of just my family and loved ones. Often I get so wrapped up in enjoying the fruits of today that I forget to plant seeds for the future. But the things I do now, after my diagnosis, that genuinely make me happy inside are journaling/blogging, meditation, yoga, nature walks, sharing knowledge and awareness through social media, and advocating for mammograms and health screenings. I am honored to have been chosen as one of the ten “ 2023 Faces of Hope ” for the Making Strides Against Breast Cancer Washington DC Walk by the American Cancer Society. I intend to keep fundraising for cancer support organizations, to keep working with newly diagnosed cancer patients and sharing my journey, and to keep researching and educating myself. Cancer is tough, but I am tougher! Connect with Jayita: Tumblr Facebook YouTube Instagram Learn More: Newly Diagnosed Questions to Ask Your Breast Surgeon Breast Cancer in Young Women: Common Questions Answered The Psychological Impact of Breast Cancer: Strategies for Coping DIEP Flap Results On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations DIEP Flap Reconstruction – What you need to know about Changes in Insurance Codes

By Lakysha Laing Turning 50 is a milestone birthday for many people. It’s a time to reflect on the past half-century and to look forward to the next. It’s also a time to celebrate all that you’ve accomplished and to be grateful for the good things in your life. For me, turning 50 is even more special because it’s also my fifth year in remission from breast cancer. October is my birthday month, as well as Breast Cancer Awareness Month. At the age of 45, I was diagnosed with stage 1A, ER & PR+, HER 2- invasive ductal carcinoma , breast cancer. My Oncotype score (used to predict the risk of the cancer coming back and to help doctors decide whether chemotherapy was necessary) was considered high risk at 56 out of 100. My breast cancer diagnosis was a devastating blow, but I was determined to fight. I went through numerous surgeries, eight rounds of chemotherapy, 30 sessions of radiation, and continuous treatment for lymphedema. With all of this, I’m so grateful to say that I’m now cancer-free and call myself the #JoyfulSurvivor . This time is a reminder to me of how precious life is and to cherish every moment. Here are a few things that I’ve learned over the past five years and now turning 50: I know myself better than ever before, and I’m more confident in my abilities. I’ve had the opportunity to learn from my mistakes and to grow as a person. I no longer seek external validation from others to make new friends, get that next role or do what is best for me. I just do me! Writing a book is a liberating and transformative experience. For me, completing The Strength of Silk – Living a Life of Grace & Gratitude in December 2021 was a major turning point in my journey towards freedom and self-discovery. It helped me break free from the limitations I had imposed upon myself and the ones that others had placed upon me. I received honorable mentions for my book in 2022 and 2023 from Reader’s Favorite International Book Contest. Gratitude is everything. I’m so grateful for my family and friends who supported me through my cancer journey. I’m also grateful for my doctors and nurses who gave me the best possible care. Life is short. Don’t waste your time on things that hold little importance. Focus on the things that make you happy and that bring you joy. Every day is a gift. Make the most of each and every day. I encourage everyone to take some time to reflect on your blessings. Be grateful for all that you have, and never forget to cherish the people you love. Connect with Lakysha: Instagram Read More: New Meanings and Shifting Priorities The Psychological Impact of Breast Cancer: Strategies for Coping Prioritizing Myself On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations Discovering Your Divine Purpose

By Stephanie Hargis My name is Stephanie Hargis. I am 26 years old, married, and have a four-year-old daughter. In March 2022, I found a lump in my right breast and went to the doctor. I, along with my nurses and doctors, thought it could’ve just been a swollen lymph node since the lump was painful, I had no family history of cancer, and I was only 25 years old .  After doing a sonogram and a biopsy, I was diagnosed with stage 2 triple negative invasive ductal carcinoma. At the time, I was finishing up the last year of my bachelor’s degree in social work. I didn’t want to stop going to school because I knew I could use that as a distraction from cancer treatment. My oncologist used my blood sample and submitted it to Myriad Genetics for genetic testing. I did not meet with a genetic counselor. I was told by the surgical oncologist that I could wait for the results in order to make a decision about what surgery to do. I had made up my mind on doing a double mastectomy and decided to not wait. In April 2022 I had a double mastectomy. It turns out I made a good choice! I tested positive for the BRCA 1 gene mutation . This gene mutation puts me at risk for ovarian cancer, so I will need to have surgery in a couple of years to have my ovaries removed. I remember feeling like I was “defective” because no one else in my family had cancer. Two days after my mastectomy, I was back in the hospital for a week because of a fully collapsed lung. I started chemotherapy (doxorubicin and Cytoxan) that June, and completed my treatment on Halloween. I graduated magna cum laude from The University of Texas at Arlington in December. I continued going to check ups and getting multiple scans. In April 2023, I found out the cancer was back . I actually did not have any symptoms and did not feel anything different. It was much easier to notice something out of the ordinary on my body before any surgery and implants. The oncologist had ordered a PET scan and that came back clear. Less than two weeks later, I had an appointment with my surgical oncologist where she felt a strange lump. I had to go do a sonogram and biopsy, and that is how I found out about the cancer again. I had to have more scans done to make sure it hadn’t spread, which thankfully it hadn’t. In May I had surgery again. This time I had a lumpectomy and 12 lymph nodes taken out, which thankfully tested negative for cancer. I had to do physical therapy to get my arm moving like normal again.  Coincidentally, I started chemo and immunotherapy  in June 2023, on the same day that I had started chemo the year before. The chemo I was administered was gemcitabine and carboplatin, which made me feel really sick. The immunotherapy I received was Keytruda. On October 27, 2023, I finished chemo and the first part of immunotherapy. I am currently going through radiation. I have to do a total of 20 sessions. I am almost halfway done and I am experiencing what feels and looks like a sunburn. I will be completing radiation on January 18, 2024 and starting more immunotherapy on February 13. In August 2023 I started the advanced standing master’s program for social work at UTA and if everything goes well, I will be done in August 2024. This experience has been full of ups and downs, but I feel blessed to still be here today fighting and pushing through. The longer I have been in treatment, the more I find myself struggling with chemo brain and fatigue . Some days I cannot seem to get out of bed, but I am thankful that my daughter is understanding and knows those days are all about snuggles and movies. Other days I can get more things done and play outside with her and our puppy. During my first chemo experience, chemo brain would frustrate me so much, especially while being in school. I would leave school crying because I was unable to memorize information that I would need for tests and quizzes. Over time I have learned to be patient with myself, and to be like Steve from Blue’s Clues  and use my handy dandy notepad on my phone to type things I need throughout the day. When I have a chance, I work on different types of puzzles to help stimulate my mind. A piece of advice that I would give someone who just got diagnosed would be to live your life to the max and reach your goals because cancer cannot and will not stop you. Find one good thing in every little moment and focus on that to get through the bad times. Thank you for sharing your story, Stephanie! Connect with Stephanie: stephaniemelo27@yahoo.com Read More: Breast Cancer in Young Women: Common Questions Answered 11 Tips To Manage Chemotherapy Side Effects Understanding Genetic Testing for BRCA1 and BRCA2 Mutations They Were My Blessing: Facing Breast Cancer With Young Kids Addressing Breast Cancer Recurrence in High-Risk Patients Immunotherapy Response Monitoring in Patients with Breast Cancer On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations Yes, I Have Cancer, But What About My Kids? Submit Your Story: Story, Poetry, and Blog Submissions

By Molly Gaynor I’m 35 years old . I’m two years post active treatment for breast cancer.  I have eight more years of pills.  People tell me, “I can’t wait for you to be able to put this behind you.”  I’ve heard a lot of responses to my cancer that I did not appreciate, but it’s always been from someone who hasn’t been through cancer, so I tell myself that they just don’t understand, and they don’t know what to say.  It’s an uncomfortable topic.  When I hear this from someone who has also been through this journey, I wonder how you can say that.  Is cancer something that you can just put behind you ?  Maybe it is for some people. Maybe that’s healthy.  I think we all cope differently, and that’s okay.  I think we should normalize talking about life after cancer, though.  I expected chemo, a double mastectomy, and radiation to be miserable, so I didn’t complain much except to those closest to me. Once it was all over, after a few months I listed some complaints to my oncologist and he said, “This is the first time I’ve heard you complain.”  I explained that I expected everything to be miserable up until this point. I viewed it as a small portion of my life in the grand scheme of things.  I did not expect, however, that I would still feel miserable, and in some ways even worse after it was all over.  I didn’t expect to not recognize myself. I didn’t expect to feel foreign in my body. I didn’t expect that movement would continue to be difficult. I didn’t expect the weight gain. I didn’t expect the joint pain. I didn’t expect the hot flashes. I didn’t expect the worry.  Now, when I think about retirement, I sometimes wonder what the point is. Am I going to make it that long? How do I get ahead with medical bills coming at me all the time?  Cancer sucks. I think we need to normalize acknowledging that. That it’s okay to be miserable sometimes. Just don’t stay there.  Your feelings are valid, and it’s healthy to feel them and work through them.  You move through the negative emotions  more quickly when you allow them and move on from them.  Find a support system  online or in person. Feed the love more than you feed the fear. You’ve got this.  Connect with Molly: @mindsetmolly Learn More: Moving forward but not moving on… Breast Cancer in Young Women: Common Questions Answered The Psychological Impact of Breast Cancer: Strategies for Coping Unlocking the Power of Emotional Intelligence On the Podcast, Breast Cancer Conversations: Finding Your Voice With Brenda Denzler & Elaine Schattner Share your story: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Kate Wunsch My name is Kate. I was diagnosed with stage 3B inflammatory breast cancer in April of 2022. This is a self portrait showing what some days of survivorship feel like. Connect with Kate: @keiightt Submit your story, poetry, or art for our blog: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org  Resources & Support: Podcast   Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Maria Montanile I could have done without 2017. From beginning to end. My wonderful best friend, Teresa, succumbed to lymphoma in February. Her mother texted me, “Your best friend went to Heaven this morning.” This was around 7:25 am. I wanted to go be with the family, but knew they needed time to grieve, so I did not visit them that day. I am a teacher and I had an observation from an administrator that morning at 9:30 am. I considered rescheduling. How could I teach while crying? I did not cry for long though because this feeling of peace infiltrated my heart suddenly. I could still do this. I did not cancel. I was not nervous or insecure this time and that was very unusual for me. My administrator said I did a fantastic job teaching my small reading group. I have to thank Teresa for this one. Still helping me out. Fast forward to June. I found out that I had DCIS breast cancer, stage 0. I was hysterical. I’m not supposed to get cancer. What made me so special? I got local radiation and a lumpectomy. That was it. I was extremely fortunate. In 2021, I ended up needing a mastectomy. Still stage 0, but it was all over the breast this time. I was still extremely fortunate. Fast forward again to early November. My 93-year-old father died from lung cancer. He told me two months before he died that he had lived a good life. I told him about all of the things he had taught me, such as working hard for your family and being on time to work. In turn, he expressed the reasons he was proud of me. He took my hand and told me not to cry. He said that he would be okay. That was the year 2017. Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s 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 Meetup s Free Events

By Suzanne McCoy I’m a 68-year-old woman who’s fallen madly and deeply in love … with herself. Sure, there’s parts of me that, at times, get on my nerves, but I’ll often look the other way. This wasn’t always the case. After a nearly 25-year absence, my breast cancer returned to a place she once called home: my left breast. This time however, instead of a small overnight bag with just the essentials, she brought a much larger bag: a suitcase with a new appropriately-labeled luggage tag: INVASIVE ! I was not happy to see her again. I had two teenage girls . I had shared custody of my daughter from a prior relationship and my niece (who was very much like a daughter to me). Oh, and let’s not forget about our dog Coco, a rescue from a local shelter. At the same time, my ex (the other mother of my daughter), who I shared custody with, had been rushed to the hospital with a brain aneurysm. So here came the big “What if?” — What if we both die? Her on the operating table… and me a slower but sure death. Who’s going to take care of the kids? And... what about Coco? Sure, we had relatives who we trusted to take the kids in and give them the love they would surely need… but what if they couldn’t take Coco? What then? Back to the shelter? I was not in a good place! I was, however, in a relationship  with a woman for the past 7+ years. This too... was not in a good place. In the beginning it was good. Other than me, a “toilet paper under” kind of gal, and her insisting the right way is over… it appeared we were on the same page… with the things that really mattered. When my ex called me from the ER asking me to run to the house to take care of the kids, I remember thinking to myself: “My partner is not going to support me.” She had never been supportive in the past regarding me already having a pre-existing family. She had zero interest in becoming part of an extended family. I had no reason to believe that at this crucial time, things would be any different. A week or so later, I headed to my partner’s house so we could spend some time together. I had been spending most of my time taking care of the kids while my ex was in the hospital. When I called her to tell her I was almost there, she began to rave and rant, shouting, “This is not what I signed up for! No one else would put up with this shit. Everyone here at work says… blah blah blah…” I had begun to un-hear her. I knew then that it was now or never. I had to let her go. I won’t lie. It hurt. But I knew, if I was going to have my best chance at beating this cancer again, I needed to rid myself of this toxicity, to concentrate on another one. So, with the support of loved ones and a good medical team, I put those boxing gloves on, and brought the figurative semi-automatic (just in case). I kicked cancer’s butt a second time! I was overjoyed! I was grateful! Life was good! … Until it wasn’t. A new battle had begun. A different kind of battle. I was still alive and breathing, but felt a new disease spreading . I was STUCK! No medical team could save me. I existed as a much dimmer version of myself . It wasn’t that I was afraid of the cancer returning. If it did, we would attack it like we did the last time, me and my medical team with surgery, hormone blockers, etc... In that case, I knew the enemy. We knew what weapons to use. It was a no brainer, really. But this battle... this was different. Who and where is the enemy? Why won’t they appear? Show yourself, dammit! And then, one day she did appear. Staring back at the reflection in the mirror, I said, “l don’t know you.” She said, “I know you don’t, but you will. You WILL know me, and you WILL love me… like I love you.” Bittersweet tears fell from our eyes, just as they are now as I write these words. It didn’t happen all at once, but slowly... surely... over time... I fell so deeply and madly in love with her. We searched for ourselves. We rediscovered one another. We saw, perhaps for the first time, who we really were, or had now become. Together, we took selfies. We printed and displayed them on our living room wall. The scars reminded us not only of the battle we had won against cancer, but equally, if not more important (to us anyway), our victory over the battle within. Until this time, I can honestly say, I have never really loved myself. In my own defense, I didn’t know that I didn’t. Cancer took my left breast, but it was the catalyst for saving this life. Had I not gotten my second bout of breast cancer, I may never have found the courage to leave a relationship that had become toxic. I may never have met the love of my life: me! I am truly living proof that there is life and love after cancer. I also am living proof that you can be in love with two people at the same time. I recently met my “soulmate.” I am madly and deeply in love with both of us! What was that you said? “Who do I love more?” ;) I wish for all of you who read this… the absolute JOY of falling for yourself ! Read More: How Cancer Trauma Can Impact Your Life – and Ways to Move Forward Invasive vs. Non-Invasive Breast Cancer: Key Differences and What They Mean Parenting and Breast Cancer Navigating Relationships After a Breast Cancer Diagnosis Overlaps Between Breast Cancer and Domestic Violence 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 Meetup s Free Events

By Brookshire McDonald Another bad side effect Has come along. I’m really happy I’m not writing a song. A ruptured breast implant Is the diagnosis now So I’m looking for ways To face it somehow. The thoughts screaming at me Are it’s time to go flat; So that’s the journey I’m looking at. I’ve called my Urogyno doctor Out of the blue; Would he tack up my bladder At the same time, too? Well, before finishing this I was told, My leaky bladder is caused ‘Cause I am old; So tacking it up Would not do— Another case of Depends Is right for you. I’m back to gathering info For the implant that’s gone wrong; However I still can’t see Writing a song. I’ll keep you posted As to what the future does hold. For now I need to breathe And really be bold. Things in my past Have been much worse Those were written In a much prior verse. I’m back to the mirror looking To see the strong me. Clinging to my SBC sisters As you can see. So thank you my sisters For all your love; I can feel the hugs from you And from above! Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events