By Michelle Laflamme I raised my hand And took an oath With yesterday’s radiation burns In a dress that no longer fits I cried My husband swore me in Was it service? Was it integrity? Was it excellence? It was hubris Waiting for my mission Which finally came CCATT!!! And having letters After my name They had no choice It was what they needed I silent scream I am still smart Yeah, now I am broken Half a woman On borrowed time They didn’t want me Gold to silver oak leaves Meant nothing I didn’t belong My country let me down I cried Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Carol Collins During my breast cancer treatment, I came across Survivingbreastcancer.org. I soon saw a sign up post for Encourage & Empower , an eight-week program with Gloria Shoon designed specifically for those diagnosed with early-stage breast cancer (stage 0-III) within the last year. I was apprehensive about being in a Zoom meeting with people I didn’t know personally. However, Gloria immediately put me at ease! I felt completely comfortable sharing my story and it was so great to meet the other ladies in the group. Over the eight weeks of the Encourage & Empower Program, we connected with each other over so much more than breast cancer. We chatted almost daily through text and made sure we encouraged each other to see the good in each day. We were all in different stages of our fight, so it was great to hear what others had experienced during specific types of breast cancer treatment. At the end of the eight weeks, as our scheduled meetings were coming to a close, we all decided we did not want it to just end. We continue to chat now. Gloria and Brenda from my Encourage & Empower cohort will be friends for life. I finished my last active treatment earlier this year! Those are words I have thought about being able to say for over a year. Does this mean I am “done” with breast cancer? I know that’s what other people think: that life moves on and cancer becomes a thing of the past. I wish it were that simple. What I do know is I have found a wonderful support system in SBC and the Encourage & Empower Program. Meet the Facilitator, Gloria Shoon: Gloria is a Breast Cancer Thriver who has explored and continues to explore many adjunct healing modalities. Gloria leads Monday Meditation sessions for SBC Members, and she has been featured on our blog and on our podcast , Breast Cancer Conversations . She sits on the Hope Spring Cancer Support Centre and Groves Hospital Volunteer Association Board, and a number of committees within these organizations. In addition, she conducts Therapeutic Touch remote sessions for members of Wellington Hospice and HopeSpring Cancer Support Centre. Learn More: Read Carol’s Breast Cancer Story on the SBC Blog Read Gloria’s Breast Cancer Story on the SBC Blog Read the event description from the early 2023 Encourage & Empower Program Check out SBC Events for Future Editions of the SBC Encourage & Empower Program SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Dawn Oswald Sick Go take a lick Lick of some ice cream I scream You scream for some delicious ice cream Sick Pick Pick you some flowers Don’t prick your finger Or you might get a stinger Then you will sing like a sailor Sailors take care of each other I was once a sailor So I will take care of you When you’re sick as a prickly pear Do not fear The sickness is temporary Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Tammy Uhl In July 2011, at my first routine mammogram at the age of 40 , my healthcare team said there was a calcification they wanted to keep an eye on and asked that I have a mammogram every six months. I discovered a lump in my breast in June 2013, but I was scheduled for a six-month mammogram in July, so I knew they would look at it then. At that July appointment, they said all was clear, and I could go to once-a-year mammograms from there on out. At a routine physical six months later, I asked my primary care physician about the lump, which now was visible on my skin. She looked back at the images from the mammogram and said there was nothing abnormal there so it most likely was a benign cyst, which I could get drained if I wanted to. I decided to make an appointment with the surgeon to get that accomplished so I wouldn’t be bothered by it any longer. When the surgeon inserted the needle to drain it, he said there wasn’t any fluid to be drained. He was very confident it was a fibroadenoma, but wanted to do a biopsy just to be certain. When we met at the hospital the following week, the mood was light as we were told it was nothing to worry about, and the surgeon even said he would make sure the biopsy scar was done in such a way that it would be hard to see after it healed. He had arranged for a pathologist to be in the operating room so we would not have to wait for the results, and I was put under for a short nap. When I woke up from the biopsy procedure, the anesthesiologist was sitting next to my bed holding my hand, which I knew was not at all the norm. I looked out the sliding glass door of the room and saw the surgeon talking to my husband. As soon as I focused in on my husband’s face, I immediately knew it was not good news. On February 18, 2014, at the age of 42, I was a wife of 17 years, a mom to three young children, and I was diagnosed with breast cancer: Stage IIB IDC ER+, PR-, HER2- . I was an avid runner, watched what I ate, hardly ever drank, never smoked, and had no family history of breast cancer. And yet in the days that followed I learned I would need to have a mastectomy, chemotherapy, and radiation. I had a unilateral mastectomy on March 13, 2014. On April 17, I had the first of four cycles of Taxotere and Cytoxan. On July 29, I began five weeks of radiation. When I eventually walked out of the radiation oncologist’s office on September 4, 2014, I was confident the worst was behind me. I was reassured by all my doctors that I would one day look back at the entire experience as just a little bump in the road. I continued to go to the gym , challenging myself to remain physically strong. I continued to train for another race, as running was great medicine for my mental health . In June 2015, 15 months after my diagnosis, I ran another half marathon to celebrate the end of treatment. With active treatment completed, I was placed on Tamoxifen hormone therapy and continued with quarterly visits with my oncologist. Then, in June 2017, I was experiencing severe back pain. My doctor was out of the office when I called, but a PA ordered a CT. She called me the next day to tell me I had a lesion at my L3 vertebra that was suspicious for metastatic disease . An MRI was performed several days later, and the radiologist felt that it was actually a vertebral hemangioma, which is a benign vascular lesion. I didn’t know the right questions to ask, specifically to demand a biopsy to know for certain , and off I went with a referral to physical therapy convinced that all was well. In May 2018 I began losing weight, and over the next couple of months I lost over 30 pounds. My oncologist thought I was struggling emotionally with moving past my cancer diagnosis and that I should talk to someone for mental health support. I knew that wasn’t the issue, but I made an appointment with the oncology psychiatrist, and she told me there really wasn’t anything she could offer me as I seemed to be doing very well. Fast forward to the start of COVID in March 2020. I could no longer go to the gym, so I was doing home workouts with my youngest daughter, who plays college basketball. I was also running quite a bit outdoors. I started to have knee pain, which I had experienced in my marathon training previously, and also assumed it was due to my trying to keep up with my 18-year-old daughter’s workouts. In May 2020, my husband accepted a new job. Our family moved to a city 130 miles north, and I needed to establish new medical care . I mentioned to my new primary care provider that I was having quite a bit of knee pain, and off I went again to physical therapy. After three months with no improvement, my physical therapist referred me to a sports medicine doctor who was certain I had a torn meniscus and ordered an MRI to confirm. The results arrived in MyChart on the Friday afternoon of Labor Day weekend, indicating a moth-eaten pattern to my femur . Dr. Google told me this was a very bad thing. Because it was a holiday weekend, it was Tuesday morning before I could talk to anyone at the clinic. I met with a new medical oncologist the following day. He asked me if I understood what I was facing. Obviously, I had researched quite a bit about metastatic breast cancer (MBC) since reading the MRI report, and he reiterated that statistically I could expect to live about three years. What I know now is I should have run out of his office as fast as my gimpy leg would let me. Rather, he put me in a wheelchair until I could meet with orthopedic oncology the following week, as he said there was a significant risk of fracture to the femur. My orthopedic oncologist was a breath of fresh air. He basically gave me two options. Option one: do nothing, and stay in a wheelchair for the rest of my life. Option two: allow him to put a titanium rod in my femur. I told him obviously we were going with option two, and he said he was confident that would be my choice, and he already booked the operating room for two days later. He assured me I could live a long and active life with MBC, and he would do everything he could to make that happen. In the following weeks, my PET scan showed that cancer had also fractured my L3 vertebra, where that so-called benign hemangioma was located. I had kyphoplasty, which is an injection of cement into the vertebra, to stabilize it. There was also an area of concern on the right hip. I had been having pain there for quite some time, but I was told it was arthritic in nature due to my years of running. The radiation oncologist decided to radiate the femur, spine, and hip. I then started on Verzenio, a CDK 4/6 inhibitor; Faslodex, an estrogen receptor blocker; and Xgeva, a monoclonal antibody used to prevent bone fractures. In January 2022, I told my medical oncologist that my right hip was bothering me more than usual. He ordered an MRI, and based on those results he told me I had disease progression. When I spoke with my orthopedic oncologist, he wasn’t so sure it was progression of disease as he felt arthritis was playing a big part of the pain I was experiencing. We made the decision to go forward with a full hip replacement, and he would do a biopsy at that time. Prior to the surgery, I met with my medical oncologist. He again said I had clear progression, and his recommendation was weekly IV chemo. He said there were no other treatment options. I questioned him at length on this, because through my own research I believed I had other treatment options to consider. I also didn’t understand how he could be making this decision without even having the biopsy results back. He told me I should seriously consider not working any longer but enjoy the time I had remaining. I asked him if I would see my 16-year-old son graduate from high school, and his response to me was that it was unlikely. Over the next 24 hours, I had to work really hard at not going down a deep and very dark hole. I decided I had only one option…to fire my oncologist. I reached out to a breast specialist at a major university in my state to ask for her opinion on treatment options. Once I had that opinion, I asked for a recommendation for an oncologist in my area. Fortunately there was someone she had worked closely with in the past, and I made an appointment with him. I was pretty apprehensive as I waited for my appointment. That immediately dissipated when the first words out of the doctor’s mouth when he sat down to talk to me were, “We will have difficult discussions and have to make some challenging decisions in the years to come. The one thing I will never do is take away your hope. ” He has held true to his word and then some. He has been supportive of my seeking a fourth, fifth, and sixth opinion, keeps clinical trials at the forefront of our discussions, and never leaves the room until he is certain I have had all of my questions answered. The biopsy from the hip replacement was not the news we were hoping for. It indicated that the cancer’s hormone receptor status had flipped from estrogen positive to triple negative. However, the reliability of the bone biopsy of an area that had undergone radiation was somewhat questionable. After much discussion, we decided to continue the same ER+ treatment plan for just a bit longer. As it turned out, that was the right decision as I went another year with stable scans. My PET scan in December 2022 indicated progression, so in February 2023 I started oral chemotherapy Xeloda as my second line of treatment. We are looking forward to my getting several years on it. Otherwise, my doctor has reassured me that he has several more on the list as of now, and that is not taking into account others that may come. I have learned quite a lot these last few years. It is so important to gather as much knowledge from reliable sources as possible to make informed decisions, and it is wise to get a second or third opinion when exploring options. I keep in mind that a doctor who will not hear the opinions of others is a dangerous doctor, and it is necessary that I am completely comfortable with all those on my medical team. And most importantly, HOPE is my favorite four-letter word. Thank you for sharing your story, Tammy. SBC loves you! Learn More: Newly Diagnosed with MBC MBC Meetup Exercise and Breast Cancer Breast Cancer Conversations Podcast: Is it Safe To Exercise After Being Diagnosed With Breast Cancer? Clinical Trials 101 A Routine Mammogram Saved My Life I Refuse to Accept This as My New Normal Cancer Helped Me Find Myself SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Kristen Carter If you want to know what’s most important in life, just ask a woman who’s been diagnosed with breast cancer. Facing her mortality makes the little things fall away and the big things come into laser-sharp focus. For Ashifa Shaw, diagnosed in 2012 with ductal hyperplasia and in 2017 with high-grade ductal carcinoma in situ, the big things are her husband and daughters, time spent in nature, camping, and helping others. Ashifa particularly enjoys working with the homeless and victims of sex trafficking. “I realized that one of the things that was missing in my life was helping others,” she said. Her volunteer work has made her feel like she’s being true to herself and makes her life more fulfilling. This kind of shift toward a more satisfying life is common among women with breast cancer. In a study conducted among 15 women with the diagnosis, researchers found that while quality of life is important to every human being, this importance grows with the occurrence of disease. Debi Aldoroty would agree. Since being diagnosed with Stage 2 invasive ductal carcinoma and struggling with various negative effects of surgery and chemotherapy, she has done a lot to improve her quality of life. Physically, she has turned to alternative healers, a functional medicine doctor, acupuncture, and energy work. Because of her ongoing pain, she has hired a helper for some of her household chores. In terms of her emotional health, she prioritizes herself, sees a therapist, is more of a self-advocate , and has established stronger boundaries with people who drain her.In all, Debi says that while she isn’t necessarily glad she got breast cancer, it has made her a stronger person. I can say the same. As someone who has lived with metastatic breast cancer for almost five years, I’ve become much stronger and more resilient than I’d ever been before. My priorities shifted when I was diagnosed, too; I realized I was spending much of my professional and personal lives helping others, and it was time to put myself first. My other top priorities were my family and dear friends, doing things that made me happy, and working on “legacy” projects like my children’s baby albums . As Carl Jung said, “The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are.” Breast cancer might help us move in that direction. Learn more: Creating Your Legacy Putting Yourself First Reconnect With Your Inner Strengths Self-Love Comes First Being Your Own Advocate Author bio: Kristen Carter is a certified coach with a background in communications. She was diagnosed with stage zero breast cancer in 2008 and metastatic breast cancer in 2018. Writing for SBC — sharing tools that help her and others cope and thrive — is a creative outlet for her and one that gives her a sense of meaning and purpose. She can be reached at kristen@survivingbreastcancer.org . SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Pooja Jain Toss to your left Toss to your right Everything feels tight Skin feels rough Feet are cold Oh, I forgot my night routine Massage the feet, moisturize the hands and face Self-care never gets old Breathe in Breathe out Slow counts of four, make a square in air Math and numbers always help me zone out A to-do list running in my head I am getting ready to face a new day So tempted to open notes on my phone It’s ME time, enjoy it dear, till the alarm goes off Breathe in Breathe out Alternate nostril breathing, I have the power within No pills needed to pop in It’s dark and silence around I am trembling, crying, I begged the higher power to calm my fears Give me courage and shower me with miracle of healing I asked why me? Why my family? I heard the voice from within … Because Only deep-sea divers find the treasures and solve the mysteries You and your family can learn to swim together Be the student of “God’s night classes” Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Erin Perkins Read Erin’s TNBC diagnosis and treatment story: Walk Through The Hard Things And Keep Going My best friend Maura holds all my memories. We met at age six when our second-grade teacher placed our name cards across from one another. The first thing I said to her was, “Your name is weird.” She then no doubt sassed me back, and we became fast friends—like sisters—now for 31 years. Erin (right) with her friend Maura (left). Maura and I spoke a few days before my bilateral mastectomy with aesthetic flat closure . We discussed her memory of when we began to develop breasts as young teens. She said, “You always hated them. It totally makes sense that you would not get implants .” While I do not recall when my breasts came in, I can remember finding breasts annoying, like an added fatty component to my body that did not seem necessary to me. Though I did begin to understand their worth when my breasts became engorged with milk, so full that they felt like rocks, and I was able to nurse my two babies. The last time Erin breastfed. Also, there were elements of intimacy that made having nipples better than not having nipples. But as it came down to the impossible post-mastectomy decision to build new breasts likely without sensation or nipples, or just keep my chest flat without extra surgery or foreign objects in my body, I really had no personal reason left for building anything new out of what remained. While this profound decision basically chose itself in my case, it was also not easy. I didn’t want to lose a part of me, or have to make this decision in the first place. I know I am not alone in that. Throughout this cancer adventure, I kept reminding myself to take a step back (and I want to remind you to do that now if you haven’t). Really take in the truth that what we go through with cancer is not okay. It can start to feel so normal—not always, but it can. You get into the groove of cancer life and you forget that you should not have to be in this situation , you should not have to be making the decision of whether to keep your breasts, receive radiation, and live with consistent scanxiety at every subsequent mammogram, or take one or both breasts off completely—an amputation—and then have to decide how and whether to rebuild them. For me, I knew the aesthetic flat closure I expected to receive was not what I ended up getting the first time. There were these pockets in the middle of my chest, at the end of each scar, that I have heard people call “booblets.” While that is a funny name, I knew I needed them gone to feel more like the self I was deciding to move forward, given the impossible choices I was facing because of my diagnosis. Erin’s original surgery results. I had choices. You have choices. We deserve to love what we see when we look in the mirror, even after such loss. Also, I am happy to report that the scar revision was about a two-week recovery with a total of ZERO drains. I wish I still had my breasts that grew in when I was a young teen. I wish they were saggy post-nursing, and that I had nipples and sensation. But those things were taken from me regardless of which surgery I chose, and now I am flat and nippleless. Even a year and a half in, it is still surreal to have a sensationless flat chest. However, I do still feel like myself, and because I advocated for a second surgery which my surgeon called a “mastectomy scar revision,” and because my good friend from college tattooed over my scars, I love what I see when I look in the mirror. Somehow, even in the pain of loss, I feel completely whole now; I feel authentically me, and full of so much gratitude. Erin after her mastectomy scar revision. Her necklace was made with her breastmilk. Whatever decision you end up making, friend, I want you to know that you have options to make the best you can out of an unfair situation . You can shop for surgeons, advocate for a plastic surgeon, and ask to see pictures of the closures your surgeon has done. You can request whatever feels most authentic to you , and decline whatever feels inauthentic. If your surgery is first, before chemotherapy or radiation, you may not have a ton of time—but please know you still have choices . Don’t let your team pressure you into anything that isn’t right for you. If you do not feel whole post-surgery, see if there is anything that can be done, like my mastectomy scar revision surgery, or explanting , or fat grafting, or re-sensation, or tattooing, or nipple tattooing . Erin’s chest tattoo, featuring lyrics from from the song “Cattail Down” by mewithoutYou. Along with the flower to represent each birth month, the lyric “you’re everyone else” is a reminder that we are each other. None of the suffering makes sense. All that makes sense is that we are connected. Before surgery, I encourage you to take a picture , whether professional or not, of your body as it was before. I encourage you to check out the Treasured Chest Program by the Keep A Breast Foundation. They will send you materials to create a cast of your chest to keep as a memory. Mine was sent to me by a dear friend the night before my mastectomy, done by my husband and I, and painted by me and my beautiful artist friend Heather on a getaway months later. It’s on display in my living room. There’s something soothing about having it; about remembering who I was, and who I am still . Thank you for sharing your story, Erin. SBC loves you! Learn more: Aesthetic Flat Closure and Flat Denial Informed Decision Making About Going Flat Flat and Sexy Breast Cancer and Intimacy Going Flat and Explant Surgery 3D Areola Tattoo: Everything You Need to Know Walk Through The Hard Things And Keep Going SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Tywan Joe A woman of courage with modesty and humility for all to see. Admired for your endless capabilities Forcing reality out of small possibilities keeping a strong arm over every responsibility so diligently equipped with the Hidden Ability of Super strength no matter how heavy things appeared to be you made them seem light Breast cancer survivors 15 years is a tough fight. Honored to be given a teacher who can lead by example teaching the way of life not just to show it but to make sure we know it. A seed grows and it begins to sprout. The roots of our trees are our grandmothers that are giving to us to keep the family tree strong and nourished and together. But she can not last forever so she follows through to find the one she can pass down the treasure. that treasure is love and it’s going to need someone strong someone as loving someone as giving as grandma to carry on what is meant to be. representing love strength and power in every moment and every hour Love for yourself then reciprocated, is to conquer and devour. Author Tywan Joe with his grandmothers, who both had cancer. Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Brenda Coronado Brenda and her husband, Carlos Gutierrez, on their shared birthday, December 11. Hello! My name is Brenda Coronado. Fun facts: I am originally from Monterrey, Mexico, and I moved to the United States in 2008. I have been happily married for ten years and I am an industrial engineer, with Certified Production Inventory Management (CPIM) certification. I love supply chain, so I decided to get certified in my passion! I’ve received annual mammograms since 2014, when I found a cyst that proved to be benign at age 35. In February 2022, I scheduled and went to get my annual checkup. Of course they found something. My care team sent me to get an ultrasound, and after that they immediately scheduled a biopsy. I work full time, so April 7, 2022 was a regular business day for me. When I got the call around 3:00 p.m. from the clinic that did the biopsy, the nurse said, “Hi Ms. Coronado, we have your results. You have cancer.” I swear I started shaking and I froze; I couldn’t understand what she was saying. She tried to help me calm down and gave me the names of two breast cancer surgeons (What?? I never knew there was even such a thing). Imagine you are at work, and you have calls scheduled later that afternoon. I managed to get on that call and make it home. I called my husband, who was away on business in San Francisco. As a matter of fact, I called him before getting in the car and he immediately scheduled his flight back. I finally got an appointment with the breast surgeon for April 21. I remember this was three weeks out from my diagnosis, and I was in shock. First, why do they give you cancer results by phone on a weekday? Why would they even do that?? Of course I was scared of the unknown. What stage? What does this mean ? Was I going to die? Finally, the day to meet the surgical oncologist came. I was diagnosed with Stage 1 invasive lobular carcinoma (ILC) . She explained everything to me and my husband. She was very clear and answered all of our questions. She ordered some more tests. First was an MRI, which showed some extra spots, so I had to have three more biopsies. A week later, she called me to explain my results and the options available to me. The other breast had some suspicious spots that were biopsied. I opted for a double mastectomy as I was afraid that something was going to develop on the other breast. Brenda at her post-op follow up appointment. June 13 was my surgery date, less than two weeks after I was called in to the surgeon’s office for the follow up. Based on the pathology report from the double mastectomy, I was diagnosed with Stage 2B ILC. And because one lymph node was positive for cancer cells, chemotherapy was the next step. Brenda receiving chemotherapy. After meeting with my medical oncologist in early July, she decided that I needed more tests before talking about my treatment plan. The next steps were a CAT scan and a bone scan. My results finally came. It was confirmed as Stage 2B, with no spread, so it was on to chemo. I had my port inserted in August and started eight rounds of Adriamycin/Cytoxan (AC) to Taxol (T) chemo . I have to say, the AC had the most difficult side effects—I was feeling tired all the time, nauseous, and very sleepy. I am still suffering the side effects of Taxol (neuropathy). I finished chemo the day before Thanksgiving. For some reason, I didn’t think I was going to need radiation —so it was a shock when my medical oncologist told me that the next step was 35 rounds of radiation . I thought, well, at least I can rest over the holidays to recover from treatment, right? Brenda with radiation burns. I started radiation on January 4, 2023. By week 4 my skin was severely burned . I had to stop treatment for 10 days. This was by far the hardest part of my treatment. But anyway, that is what we do to stay alive, right? I was very scared and tired. I hated the daily drive to treatment and how it cut off my day. When I returned for radiation10 days later, I was supposed to have 11 more sessions, but the radiation oncologist gave me some news that made me cry. Because my surgery margins were clear, she told me we could reduce the remaining sessions from 11 to four. OMG!!! I called my husband and mom even before starting the drive home, crying happy tears!!! I am no longer in active treatment. Now, in survivorship, I am taking an oral aromatase inhibitor called anastrozole. I also met with my plastic surgeon, and we scheduled my reconstruction surgery for early fall! My plastic surgeon mentioned that implants would be risky because of the radiation, so I opted for DIEP flap reconstruction . I have been a member of the SBC community since May 2022, when I started attending the Thursday Night Thrivers program . When I connected with SBC, it really helped me to calm down, to listen and be part of the community . It saddened me that I was not able to find any breast cancer support in Spanish, my native language. Brenda at the SBC retreat in New Hampshire, September 2022 In June 2022, right after the American Society of Clinical Oncology (ASCO) conference, SBC co-founders William and Laura invited me to collaborate as the new Director of Community Engagement and co-founder of “ Después de un Diagnóstico ,” SBC’s new addition of programs offered in Spanish , where we provide educational information and support for the Hispanic community . This was perfect to me, because as a Hispanic I saw the need for support while we are on this trip. By the way, I do not like the word “journey,” because in my mind a journey is something that you are enjoying, and a cancer diagnosis is not that . The Hispanic team helps with a variety of tasks at SBC. Together with my colleague Lourdes D. Heras, I co-host a new podcast : “ Después de un Diagnóstico ,” craft a newsletter, and host our Tuesday support group , which meets on the second and fourth Tuesday of the month. We also offer an art therapy program every first Tuesday of the month. We collaborate in planning programs, communicating with members, and participating in events and conferences. We are here for all new patients and caregivers. Do not hesitate to contact me or any of the SBC team members. We do this from our hearts. This is our passion, and we are here for you. Team SBC at SABCS 2022: Laura Carfang, Brenda Coronado, and Lourdes D. Heras Thank you for sharing your story, Brenda. SBC loves you! Learn more: Después de un Diagnóstico homepage Después de un Diagnóstico podcast Tuesday support group Art therapy in Spanish See all programs in Spanish Breast Cancer Conversations Podcast: My Black Experience with Stage II A Lobular Breast Cancer Breast Cancer Conversations Podcast: Energy Healing from Lobular Breast Cancer No Less of a Woman: Standing Tall Through Hardships SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Dawn Oswald Words Where did the words go? I am here to listen Just a little hello would do Why did you lose your words? Did the cloud roll in? Is it covering what to say? We used to talk for hours Now silence What happened? You used to check on me You stopped answering me Did the cancer scare you? It scares me That is normal, but I’m still alive They say many of us don’t make it past 3 years I’m going on 5 years Time to celebrate Celebrate with friends and family Celebrate 5 years living with breast cancer stage 4 5 years, wow let’s celebrate Let the sun come out Shine your words on me Care, love, laugh with me Cry if we need to Celebrate my life with you Celebrate our friendship Celebrate being my family Celebrate by loving me Show me your words Let’s party Let’s talk Let life shine on us What we had It can be again Just say the words Words, they are powerful Shine on us Be bright with your words I hope I have 5 more years I will have more years with or without you You chose I’m going to keep celebrating life Life is too short Know I am here for you Whenever you want to talk Words are powerful Silence is more powerful Even deadly It only takes 1 word So let’s start with hello Hello, my name is Dawn Would you like to celebrate with me? Yes or no Words have the power But so do you Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Mandy Richardson Mandy with her husband, Brendan, and daughters Abby and Maddie. Read Mandy’s diagnosis and treatment story : Breast Cancer at 33: A Young Mom’s Story of Self-Advocacy As a mom to two young kids, the last thing I expected was breast cancer. I’ve been told again and again, even through my anguish, that my diagnosis was a difficult one, that nearly any provider could have missed it. I was 33 when I originally had symptoms of breast pain. I was breastfeeding my nearly eight-month-old baby girl. I was otherwise healthy. It only made sense that I had a clogged milk duct. Maybe a stubborn one; maybe an angry one; maybe mastitis. It should have been a clogged milk duct. But it wasn’t. I received my diagnosis five months after the initial breast pain symptoms , after several instances of what we thought were breastfeeding-related issues. I saw the words in the online portal before my doctor had a chance to call me: “ invasive ductal carcinoma .” I stepped outside to make the phone calls, because my then six-year-old daughter was off school that day, happily coloring in the living room. I would have to tell her — but not yet. I was grateful that my little one (by this time a year old) was napping. I called my husband, my mom, and a good friend who had just beat this awful beast. I made the necessary appointments and had the appropriate tests, but even from the onset, my thoughts were focused on how I was going to keep being a mom to my little girls. We knew that my breast cancer diagnosis would impact our family, and sought out all the information we could about parenting while navigating cancer treatment. My husband and I talked to family and friends; we researched; and eventually I reached out to a family friend who had been a school counselor for many years. We borrowed books and got advice on how to talk to our six-year-old daughter. How do you tell a young child that mommy doesn’t look sick, but that she is very sick , and that the medicine that is going to fix her, is going to make her look and feel worse before she actually gets better? We got amazing advice. Our daughter was sad and scared, but she was brave and resilient, too. I had to worry about things like how close I could be to our children after my PET scan. At the time, the medical staff suggested that I not spend any time in close contact with anyone, especially small children, because of the radioactive tracer that is used in the test. The staff recommended no cuddles with my girls, and absolutely no breastfeeding for a full 24 hours. Obviously I had to stop nursing before I could start chemotherapy. I had to make sure I put the toilet seat down and double flushed so the Red Devil chemo (doxorubicin) couldn’t affect them by accident. My husband had to play mom and dad on the days after some of my chemotherapy treatments. Santa Claus had to get started wrapping presents much earlier that year so they could be finished in time. Birthday parties were foregone while I was immunocompromised. There were so many things that made going through chemotherapy, surgery and radiation as a mom to two young children difficult. But they were also my blessing. I couldn’t just hide away and feel sorry for myself like I wanted to do every now and then. My husband still had to work. And the girls still needed their mom. In the middle of the night. At bedtime. Getting to school — although we did have some wonderful neighbors step in and help when we needed a little extra. They got me outside. I sat in the sunshine and watched softball games, even when I didn’t have the energy to do much else. I chased a walking toddler around the yard when the weather was nice. I got up on Christmas to watch them open the presents that it took Santa two weeks to wrap. As difficult as it was to juggle treatment and being a mom, I think they gave me the energy and the extra motivation I needed to face my fight head on. Learn more: Breast Cancer at 33: A Young Mom’s Story of Self-Advocacy Parenting and Breast Cancer Cancer as a Parent Parenting Toolkit Managing Breast Cancer During Pregnancy and Breastfeeding Thank you for sharing your story, Mandy. SBC loves you! SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Mandy Richardson Read Mandy’s diagnosis and treatment story : Breast Cancer at 33: A Young Mom’s Story of Self-Advocacy In some ways, once I received my breast cancer diagnosis in November 2021, life felt a little easier. There was nothing easy about fighting, begging for diagnostics and cramming the tests into a two-week period before our goal of starting chemotherapy before Thanksgiving. There wasn’t anything easy about dealing with how the chemo made me feel , or adjusting to losing my hair. But suddenly I knew what my role was: to get better. I knew when I had doctor appointments; I set timers to remind me when to take certain medications and reminders for when to take the medications to counter the side effects. I fell into a routine of fighting. After ringing the bell when I finished my last round of radiation in August 2022, things changed again. Active treatment was over. I started on an oral form of chemotherapy for several weeks, but it didn’t feel the same as actively fighting. Then that stopped, too. I started living life again, and the doctor appointments became routine follow-up appointments, spaced by months and not days or weeks. But then it was November 2022, and I was one year post diagnosis. It was time for my follow-up mammogram. I certainly tried to play off the nerves and the “what if” feelings, but it mentally took me back to the beginning all over again. Even “all clear” results don’t completely pacify those feelings, but you go on with your life after cancer anyway, falling into the routine of the “new normal.” But then suddenly I was six months out from the mammogram, and now it was time for the follow-up MRI. Everything was good six months ago, so surely there isn’t anything to stress about now, right? But the nerves still come . And even if these results come back normal, there will be another mammogram in six months’ time, followed by some other test in the future. It’s all done for good reason. And that itself is reassuring. But just as I begin moving on from feeling like a patient and returning to life, it’s time for something else to happen that makes me feel like a patient all over again. Learn more: Breast Cancer at 33: A Young Mom’s Story of Self-Advocacy They Were My Blessing 9 Essential Tips for Breast Cancer Survivors The Breast Cancer Care Continuum Self-Love Comes First New Meanings and Shifting Priorities Thank you for sharing your story, Mandy. SBC loves you! SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Ashley Bell In April 2021, at age 34, I was diagnosed with stage IV de novo (from the start) HER2+ ER- PR- metastatic invasive ductal carcinoma. I don’t necessarily have a history of breast cancer in my immediate biological family, and I don’t carry the BRCA gene mutation. Back in 2019, I’d found a lump in my right breast. I immediately went to the gynecologist to express my concern and she blew me off, no hesitation. She told me I was too young to worry about cancer and it was probably just hormones. I had to live with this growing lump for a year because COVID shut everything down. Finally in 2021 I went to another physician and she immediately gave me a referral for a mammogram. The mammogram led to a biopsy, and I found out I had cancer two days later. A few weeks later I became a patient of MD Anderson Cancer Center, where they ran a variety of tests to stage my cancer. The results later declared that I was stage IV with metastasis to my liver. I started receiving my first line of treatment in May 2021. My chemo cocktail was Taxotere, Herceptin, and Perjeta with a monthly Zoladex shot to preserve my fertility. Being put into medical menopause was out of this world – the hot flashes were brutal. After eight cycles of chemotherapy treatments, I had a right breast mastectomy (RIP LOUISE) with a tissue expander, followed by a liver resection, and removal of all my lymph nodes under my right arm in June 2022. I then started radiation, which was planned to be 30 daily treatments. I thought that my little body was set to return to business as usual once I finished radiation, but NOPE. That was the thought process of a very energetic, independent, and stubborn 35-year-old. I started to have really bad headaches and vomiting, which was peculiar for me. I also started rapidly losing weight which was a cause for alarm, so I went to the emergency room where they gave me a CT scan. There I found out that my breast cancer had spread to my brain. August sucked! I only completed about 12 of my breast radiation treatments. All my positive progress came to an immediate stop. I had to have emergency surgery to remove my tissue expander just so I could get an MRI. Long story short, it’s been a roller coaster. Two lesions were found in my brain and I had a craniotomy to remove the lesions while minimizing damage to the brain. I did five proton therapy brain radiation treatments. This process has hit me hard. I plainly remember thinking how a 35-year-old could feel so much older in such a short time frame. I could barely walk at times. They gave me a cane….an old lady cane…no disrespect! At one point, I remember sitting on the edge of my bed, too weak to walk to my bathroom, so I got down on the floor and crawled there. I often refer to these side effects as my battle wounds, and they serve as constant reminders of how the effects of metastatic breast cancer treatments can be a whole other beast to deal with. Going into my metastatic journey, my main goal was to treat my diagnosis as aggressively as I could so that I could have a greater chance at life. I remember having bursts of strength at times, just because I knew that I needed to be strong. Even while fighting for my life, I was Ashley first – and this girl felt that she had to do all that she could to be here annoying y’all FOREVER. Looking back, I realize that the focus of dealing with the possibility of long-term side effects was not on my mind at all when I was first starting treatment. I had adapted to my circumstances. I remember just wanting to get through my diagnosis, one day at a time. My diagnosis is aggressive but so am I! For my stage of breast cancer, I will be on some type of treatment for the rest of my life. So, now what? It is putting a game plan in motion to deal with the onset of those painful side effects that will come along because of metastatic breast cancer treatments. I have learned how to manage my side effects to a level that makes it bearable for everyday life . And if you’re wondering what I do, I honestly just do me. I do, go, and eat what I want when I want. I do all of this at a healthy level, but I don’t put too many restrictions on myself and that helps me deal with this disease. I stopped beating myself up for how I felt; I accepted fear as normal, as part of me. And I tapped into another part of me that I discovered could beat back the fear: resilience. And when nothing else worked, I just faked being fearless, even when I felt like a fraud. Until the balance finally started to tip. I fool y’all every time, so I guess I’m mastering it. I decided a long time ago that I was not going to give up on my diagnosis. I feel that I would be doing myself a disservice if I did not provide myself with as much self-care as I possibly can, so that I can be a better me. How much help or support can I give to others if I am not seeking the help that I need? Learn more: Dealing With the Stress of Having Metastatic Breast Cancer (MBC) I Live a Little More Hope is My Favorite Four-Letter Word Newly Diagnosed with MBC De Novo Metastatic Breast Cancer Thank you for sharing your story, Ashley. SBC loves you! SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Dawn Oswald Joy What brings you joy What does it mean to you? Joy can be a new friend A new job A new adventure Don’t be sad Find a new joy in your life Buy that new toy Go shopping Get that new shining diamond Or even a new puppy Remember what gave you joy Can you remember it? I remember buying a new puppy I remember that upgraded diamond When you’re blue Think of joy Joy of my colors How did you feel? Did it bring you happiness? Did you cry with the joy? Don’t be sad Think Think harder What gave you joy? What was the moment? How did it feel? Remember that time Relax Breathe Get rid of unwanted thoughts Be joyful Live for the joy Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Sara Kandler The last time I saw you in that wine-colored polo sweatshirt was at the so-called rehab center just before your right leg started to swell, hives rising like a red tide toward your chest drawing you back to the ER where your clothes were tucked under the gurney and three days later stuffed into a Stop & Shop bag along with your hearing aids and extra batteries, nose spray, toothpicks and scraps of paper on which you wrote notes barely legible — don’t forget to call Audrey at the hospital, answer the email from the investment fund, there’s an old friend named Deborah on the list… The Stop & Shop bag rides in the back of my Honda atop a pile of posters by eighth graders, poems and drawings of love and devastation. I’m told to unpack my sorrow, my regrets. I can’t bring myself to unpack a thing. A small white hair, a tiny crumb, the scent of you, preserved. I keep these piled up artifacts with me, instead. Follow Sara Kandler: https://medium.com/@sarakandler Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Gloria Shoon Who are we? Whole, complete, innocent children of the Divine How do we express our Divine consciousness? By living life in the present to the fullest of our potential What does that mean? Getting to know yourself and your gifts; AND using them in service and support of others Why do that? To assist humanity's ascension to enjoy the Golden Age of love, joy, peace and abundance When? Now, today, this moment!!! by Gloria Shoon Friday August 13, 2010 Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By William Laferriere I’m sitting quietly, sipping, and enjoying An amazing, rich, dark cup of coffee, Colombia’s bitter, black gold elixir. The open door yields a lively, beautiful, early spring day, April’s showers have given way To a glorious, welcoming, body-warming sun, carefully addressing The blooms of azaleas, forsythias, and lilacs. The oaks and maples align with their new buds, As if slipping into something more joyful, A light, effervescent shade of green, Nature’s sweet renewal. My puppy sniffs once, twice and again, Before launching onto the stoop, Eyeing the shadows moving under the camouflaged canopy Of the neighboring preserve. He watches intently, wishing only That he could join the new coyote (Canis latrans) offspring As they playfully wrestle with each other Under the watchful eye of their alpha parents. Once they break into the sunshine I notice the pointed ears, slender muzzles, Grayish brown faces, reddish tinges at the ears, Silvery-gray coats adorning their backs, And a fine, drooping bushy tail, resembling my old German Shepherd, Zappa. Mother waddles around her pack, Still recovering from the birth of these same 7 puppies, Knowing they are safe within the confines of this fenced enclave, Both parents dutifully hunt breakfast, Nourish their offspring, and display a primal caregiving. At long last I’m left with the following rumination: There is order in the natural world, For every call a response, For every punch a counter, For every torn leaf, a new bud, For every death, a new life. To everything there is a purpose! Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Michelle LaFlamme You were in love Longing to covet One body part Fierce on the outside Unfixable cracks The inner core Was not nurtured Striving continued Both day and night To make the “perfect home” Three offspring To carry our names One beloved grandmother Carried to the grave Weeping cracks A broken foundation I jumped the wall I built a future Peter had other ideas Shame and doubt Became my friends And CANCER Came for a visit Now is the moment Let’s sell her home Almost, but not enough Shall I cheat? And try to get caught It will be enough There are no more Happy Pills 24 years, mostly bad You called down to me From your successes Happy anniversary! I went to bed Closed my eyes Waiting for just one Brave Moment Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Ann Fonfa Never again will I be able to serve dinner, lift up my top and be the topless waitress (with something on top). Never again will we walk arm in arm in the rain with his elbow bumping my breast (we talked of this in later years as one of our memorable moments). Never again will I wear a 34D bra. Good and bad. He remembers the first time he saw me without my blouse. He was stupefied. That memory lingers still. I was 19. Never again will I fill out my silk high neck blouses. Never again will crude men admire my “hangnail.” Never again will my breasts be crushed in a mammography machine. Never again will my breasts be crushed against my lover’s chest or breasts. Never again will my breasts ache before my period. That could have been changed by menopause if it had occurred first. Never again will I catch men addressing my chest instead of my face. They certainly used to. Never again will I be so relieved to remove my bra at the end of the day. I won’t have deep red marks on my shoulders anymore either. Never again will I fill out that black corset that Barbara bought for me at a tag sale for $0.50. It looked so good too. Never again. But then again, I’ll never be 25 again either. And life goes on its merry way. And my husband just called me gorgeous in that totally believable way he has. © Ann Fonfa 1997 Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Sara Kandler A trip up to the Cape in early July preposterous says Mom August is the time my dear to gaggle on Ballston haggle at the flea market pant up the cliff at Longnook But this trip feels different because it is forty years hence no low picket fence dissecting the dune buoys slung over the back rail outdoor shower bodies wet and naked stark tan lines We’re bringing you back as promised that’s why I whisper an inn a pilgrimage clandestine mission your wishes Pack tee shirts toiletries a talisman Nestle you together mounds of gray powder heavy as clay of clay We hike far enough find the spot immerse ourselves release you Dad sifts into the dashing waves reflecting the setting sun Mom swirls in the wind paintbrushes poised singing spirits free and what of us of me? Follow Sara Kandler: https://medium.com/@sarakandler Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Shelley Caruso The morning always greets the horizon with color... The disappointment that sometimes enters our lives is just a period of reset. A reminder of how fragile all our tomorrows are, but at the same time how resilient the soul is. Adjusting your journey just for a time keeps us from becoming shipwrecked. Sometimes storms can take the wind out of your sail, but when the storm comes pull down your sails and weather the storm. I have been in a lack of energy. I have just realized I have been fighting to gain it back, which is actually more draining... My mind keeps racing to do this and do that and I am watching life speed past me. I’m so afraid I’m missing out on something when all the while I am, because my focus is just on that. It may take me a little time to get my groove back, but learning how to get there is part of the process. Today I choose to enjoy the sunrise with a grateful heart, knowing my time now is to continue to dance in the rain. Follow Shelley: @artofthebeholdershop Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By William Laferriere I’ve taken such great pleasure In watching a few of the latest Tour de France Bicycle race segments. I’m captivated and cannot help but draw Upon the many parallels of the peloton To our extensive breast cancer community. I dwell on it as a metaphorical gestalt: The peloton represents the community, The coaches, strategists and drivers Our myriad medical teams The spectators our friends, families, caregivers, & coworkers. For the peloton serves admirably as a collective body Depicting a united front and Represents our community writ large. The suffering, crashes, heat, crosswinds, Constant elbows, technical bike issues, losses, wins, Resemble our many successes, difficulties, setbacks, & colossal side effects, As we too seek to drive forward, To survive and prosper And to enjoy the road ahead of us. We observe the peloton as the bicyclist’s best weapon against The many provocative challenges, Mountains, weather, slick roads, Incalculable distances, Pedestrians clogging the pathway, And represents how We as a community Can best beat back our many tests Trials and travails. The peloton serves a familial duty In retrieving & returning the breakaway/lead riders, It also performs the admirable task Of recovering those that fall behind, & protects those Who have tumbled. The teammates and coaches within Constantly remind each other To take advantage of drafting techniques & of hydration and nutrition’s vast import For all recognize the significance Of appropriate fueling, output and rest. And so we too head towards The legacy of a finish line And know that our collective efforts Are most certainly appreciated, Respected, admired, and acclaimed. Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Conny Reichardt I wanted to share my story of being a previvor.  A previvor is someone who has taken preventative measures to decrease their chances of getting a cancer they may be predisposed to.  I have been lucky enough to know I have a BRCA1 genetic mutation  so that I can make choices that will be a win not only for me but my family and generations to come. I do not have a strong family history of breast cancer; the only person is my paternal grandmother, so it was not as much of a concern as if it had been on my maternal side. So, I did as I should and went to the doctor for my annual visit every year. At 39, I did my first baseline mammogram.  From there I went yearly. I did get called back in once and had to have an ultrasound. I just had dense tissue, nothing to be concerned about. I’ll share a little more background on my health history, which has also made me proactive in my health. I got married at 26 and of course was ready to start a family as soon as my husband was. Unfortunately, it was not that easy. After many tests and being referred by my great OBGYN to an amazing fertility specialist, I was diagnosed with polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS).  After trying many different options to get pregnant, we knew the best option for me was in vitro fertilization (IVF) with intracytoplasmic sperm injection (ICSI). Did I get lucky; I got pregnant with twins on my first try! I did manage to get pregnant without fertility treatments about three years later, only to lose that baby around 12 weeks. After that, I had to have precancerous cervical cells removed that were found during a routine Pap smear. We were told that in order to have another viable pregnancy, I would need to go through the whole IVF process again. We decided life was good as a family of four, however that is not what was in the cards for us; we were meant to be a family of five! I managed to get pregnant again without fertility treatments. After putting extra hormones in my body during the IVF process, I knew that I would always be at a higher risk for some cancers. Little did I know, that is not what was putting me at a higher risk for breast cancer and ovarian cancer.   A few years ago for Christmas, we were given an ancestry DNA test which included a health option that gives you some insight into your genetic data. I got my results back and learned a lot of interesting things about my ancestry that I was not previously aware of. I have no Native American in me, I am 25% Ashkenazi Jewish, I have an aversion to cilantro (YES, I hate it!) and my husband and kids are more Polish than me!  I also learned I carry the BRCA1 gene mutation.  I had heard of it, I knew it put me at a higher risk of breast cancer, but I had no idea how it would impact my life! I already had an appointment scheduled with my OBGYN, so I decided I would bring my test results and share them with him. Well, he had a different reaction than I ever expected. The first thing out of his mouth was, “Let’s get you scheduled for a hysterectomy with oophorectomy.” This is the removal of tubes and ovaries—or, as we like to say in layman’s terms, a total hysterectomy. I was 50, and I was not having any more kids, so I agreed. Because the BRCA1 mutation puts you at a high risk of ovarian cancer (which is very hard to monitor), and after knowing people that have had reproductive organ cancers, I was okay going ahead with the procedure. My OBGYN also had me see a breast specialist right away. The breast center I went to wanted to confirm with a genetic counselor that I indeed had the BRCA1 gene mutation , as the home genetic testing kits may not always be accurate. And it was my lucky day, I still came back positive on the tests ordered by my genetic counselor. The counselor went over all of my risks and gave me a lot of information. I then met with the breast specialist, who was an advocate for a double mastectomy for me.  I had just scheduled my hysterectomy; can we deal with one thing at a time!? My doctor was very honest and helpful. Together we decided to alternate between breast MRIs and 3D mammograms every six months. Thankfully, each test that followed came back clear, which was a relief knowing I am considered high risk. I got my initial BRCA results back in February 2023, went to my OBGYN in March, scheduled my hysterectomy for June, and was set on a plan for monitoring for breast cancer. After my second MRI, it was time for my annual visit with the breast specialist. After meeting with her and talking with my husband, we decided that a double mastectomy with a DIEP flap reconstruction was the best choice for me and our family. In late August after sending two kids to college out of state and the youngest starting high school, I was scheduled for another surgery. As I write this, I am still recovering from my double mastectomy with DIEP flap reconstruction .  I do not know where I inherited the gene mutation, although there is a much higher percentage of those that have it in the Ashkenazi heritage than others, it really doesn’t matter. I know I have it, and I have to be proactive to prevent cancers.  There are other cancers that can be at a higher risk with the BRCA1 gene mutation, but I now have much lower risk for the two that are most pronounced (breast and ovarian cancers). I will still meet with my OBGYN and breast specialist once a year for checkups. If my story does nothing more for you other than make sure you have annual checkups, then I have done what I have set out to do. I could look at all of this and think, “I got dealt a bad hand of cards,” but I would rather look at it like this is the path I was given.  We don’t always like the path chosen for us, but hopefully we learn from it and can teach others. Learn More: Understanding Genetic Testing for BRCA1 and BRCA2 Mutations The Power of Knowledge (My BRCA Story) Breast Cancer & Genetics Exploring Breast Reconstruction Surgery On the Podcast, Breast Cancer Conversations: Prophylactic Mastectomy and BRCA Mutation Share your story: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Lourdes D. Heras After a breast cancer diagnosis… My life, your life, our life changes and the lives of those around us are impacted. I’m not going to lie. During this diagnosis, on several occasions I have felt defeated, but I know that I have to get up , and boy is it hard sometimes. One medicine results in certain side effects that require other medicines, and it’s a never-ending cycle. Beyond this, the fear of cancer recurrence is on our minds, some days more than others. This creates a significant impact, both mentally and physically. AND, when it happens, not only is the person experiencing the recurrence crushed, but so are loved ones. Remember you are not alone – focus on that light of hope and in the present of each day.  Not long ago, while on my way to see my oncologist, a person in the elevator rushed in a little agitated, turned to me and said, “Today has been such a bad day.” I turned to her, smiled, and said, “The day is not over, it can’t go on this bad.” As the elevator door opened, she turned and thanked me: “That is what I needed.” Of course it may not be that easy, remember that each person is different, and what works for one person may not work for another. But it is up to us to demonstrate empathy, to be understanding toward ourselves – practicing self-love, taking it one day at a time , even on those difficult ones, there is always something to be grateful for. Encourage a gradual process toward a self-loving mindset. Putting ourselves first is not selfish. By doing this, we will be better for our loved ones. If you have not been able to join one of SBC’s weekly support groups , I recommend that you do it. You will really feel better, especially on those days when you didn’t think that a meeting would help you at all. Learn More: Cancer Sucks, and That’s Okay Moving forward but not moving on… The Psychological Impact of Breast Cancer: Strategies for Coping Share your story: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

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