By Rod Ritchie We all belong to the SurvivingBreastCancer.org community for different reasons. Many are variously curious and seek information, some of us are patients and caregivers or friends and relatives, some have lost loved ones to this disease, while others may wish to support a breast cancer charity. We also seek to learn from medical professionals, such as surgeons, oncologists, physicians, and other experts in the field. Regardless, every so often many of us feel a calling to become patient advocates. Being a patient advocate is satisfying, and advocating for anybody diagnosed with breast cancer very often means the patient has a partner throughout the stressful diagnosis and initial treatment phases. It can also involve giving practical support, from basics such as household chores and meals, to assistance when transport to medical events is necessary. Most importantly, it can mean sitting in on doctor appointments where another pair of ears can be invaluable along with a notepad for all that information . This is information that the patient often just doesn’t either comprehend or even properly ‘hear.’ My Advocacy Story After diagnosis in 2014, I was a regular poster on BreastCancer.org, one of the few communities that welcomed men. With a marketing and IT background, I soon worked out that you could reach a lot of people with the right forums. At the start, I was learning from the experiences of others, in later years, after training and learned experiences, I put newly diagnosed men in touch with the support systems developing on the various social media platforms, most of all Twitter and Facebook. While the traditional print and electronic media are still effective outlets, social media is the perfect platform for international patient advocates to engage with patients and medical professionals. It’s very easy on Twitter to reach out to the clinical and research communities around the world to spread your message. That said, at no time should a patient advocate give medical advice . In the beginning, I could see that most people just wanted someone to talk to, and that was fine by me. Isolation, lack of knowledge, and just plain embarrassment were what very many men felt. Knowing someone was out there having lived their experiences was often a great comfort. Looking for more opportunities, I underwent training as a telephone counselor for people in various stages of treatment. Often these people lived in remote areas. When an opportunity came up for volunteers at the local hospital infusion room, I jumped at the chance to sit with people at this stressful and vulnerable time. My introduction line was, “I’m just here to support patients. If you like to talk, fine, if not I’ll move on.” This had a 50 percent success rate! After attending conferences for patient advocates, I was fortunate to land a scholarship to the NBCC Project LEAD course in San Diego in 2018. In 2019, I received a scholarship to attend SABCS19, where I was impressed by the kindness of the many women who are mostly the patient advocates in this field, and who I only knew online. One thing leads to another. Now I’m writing articles, making videos, giving talks, and editing the stories from men for the Male Breast Cancer Global Alliance. I occupy a niche in breast cancer advocacy, and I’m always amazed at the number of medical professionals following me on Twitter. What it takes Patient advocates need to look at and respond constructively to different positions and issues, bounce back from negative or unresponsive patients and, most importantly, be resilient enough to handle the trials and tribulations of our disease along with that of the people they are trying to help. The best patient advocates: always listen and learn; are open to different ways to share messages; value support from others; and partner with like-minded individuals. Basically, I believe patient advocates have much to gain psychologically from helping others. In fact, we are healthier and mentally stronger for it. That aside, if we’ve benefited from the help of others, why not pay it forward? 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 SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Our Podcast Online Support Groups Free, Weekly Events

I know breast cancer can be an incredibly overwhelming and emotional experience. I'm preaching to the choir. It is common to feel scared, angry, sad, isolated, and uncertain about the future. Your scans and oncology visits are nothing if not stressful events. However, there are tools available for managing the flood of emotions that come with a breast cancer diagnosis, recurrence, and/or progression. One way we've found to be incredibly helpful at SBC is to begin working through your emotions through expressive writing and poetry. Expressive writing is any form of writing that allows you to explore your thoughts and feelings about a topic (and no, you don't have to be a writer!). It can be a letter, journal entry, poem, or anything else you feel comfortable writing and don't even have to share! This is just for YOU! Expressive writing has been shown to help reduce stress, boost immunity, and improve mental and physical health. Although there are many ways to cope with a breast cancer diagnosis, expressive writing and poetry can be two of the most effective tools. In this blog post, we will discuss how expressive writing and poetry can help with emotional healing for those diagnosed with breast cancer. We will also provide examples of how to get started with your own expressive writing or poetry project. Background Breast cancer is one of the most common cancers in women. It can be a very emotional experience, both for the patient and their loved ones. Breast cancer can cause a great deal of anxiety and stress, as well as sadness and grief. Many people feel scared and alone when they are diagnosed with breast cancer. Thus breast cancer can have a profound effect on your emotions and mental health. The experience can be overwhelming, and it’s often hard to cope with the changes in your body and life. It’s important to find ways to deal with the emotional challenges of breast cancer, both during and after treatment. Some people find it helpful to talk about their feelings with friends or family. Others find it helpful to join a support group or participate in counseling. Some find expressive writing to be helpful. This is when you write continuously about your thoughts and feelings surrounding breast cancer. It can be a way to release the emotions you’re feeling and to make sense of what’s going on. Studies have shown that expressive writing can have emotional benefits. In one study, women with breast cancer who wrote about their experiences had less anxiety and depression than women who didn’t write about their experiences. If you’re interested in trying expressive writing, there are a few things you should keep in mind. First, you should write about your deepest emotions and thoughts. It’s okay to write about the negative emotions you’re feeling, such as anger, fear, or sadness. Second, you should write continuously for at least 10 minutes a day. And third, you should do this for at least consecutive three days. A stressful event that has shattered the sense of security can result in emotional pain and psychological trauma. There is helplessness, hyperactivity and anxiety observed. There are upsetting emotions and making it look like having little or no control over the situation. Expressive writing has been shown to help reduce stress, boost immunity, and improve mental and physical health. Poetry can also be a powerful tool for healing. Poetry can also help you express your emotions in a creative and cathartic way. It can also help you make sense of your experience, connect with others, and find hope. Keep in mind that expressive writing is not so much what happened as it is how you feel about what happened or is happening. The connection between expressive writing and wellness has been notably explored by Dr. James Pennebaker at the University of Texas at Austin. 1 In his landmark research project, Pennebaker developed an expressive writing prompt to uncover the potential health benefits of writing about emotional upheaval. There are many ways to get started with expressive writing or poetry. You can write in a journal, create a blog, or even just start scribbling down your thoughts on a piece of paper. There are no rules – just start writing! If you’re not sure what to write about, try prompts like: “I feel....” “I need....” "I love..." "I appreciate..." You can also try free writing, where you just let your thoughts flow onto the page without worrying about grammar or punctuation. Don’t worry if your writing isn’t perfect. This is for you, and no one else needs to see it. Just let the words flow and see what comes out. You may be surprised at how therapeutic it can be. What Is Emotional Healing? Emotional healing is the process of acknowledging, allowing, accepting, integrating, and processing painful life experiences and strong emotions. It may involve empathy, self-regulation, self-compassion, self-acceptance, mindfulness, and integration. Many people have a tendency to want to control the process of emotional healing by minimizing the pain and controlling their emotions, but this can actually inhibit the healing process. Reclaiming your emotional health is an important part of the healing journey. Breast cancer can take a toll on your emotions, but expressing yourself in expressive writing or poetry can help you process your feelings and find peace. It’s okay to feel all of the pain breast cancer has caused you – it doesn’t make you weak or less than. By taking the time to express yourself, you can find solace and even strength in your own words. Take care of yourself and give yourself permission to heal. Writing can help you recognize and accept that Breast Cancer has had an impact on your life and work through all the emotions it brings up. The Emotional Challenge of Breast Cancer Breast cancer can have a profound effect on your well-being and mental health. The experience can be overwhelming, and it’s often hard to cope with the changes in your body and life. It’s not uncommon to feel down, anxious or stressed during and after treatment. If you’re having trouble coping, it’s important to seek help from a mental health professional. It’s important to find ways to deal with the emotional challenges of breast cancer, both during and after treatment. Some people find it helpful to talk about their feelings with friends or family. Others find it helpful to join a support group or participate in counseling. Some people also find expressive writing to be helpful. This is when you write continuously about your thoughts and feelings surrounding breast cancer. It can be a way to release the emotions you’re feeling and to make sense of what’s happening. If you’re interested in trying expressive writing, there are a few things to keep in mind: Find a comfortable place to write, where you won’t be interrupted. This could be at a desk, at a table, or even outside in nature. Start by writing stream-of-consciousness style, in the present moment, without worrying about grammar or punctuation. Just let the words flow onto the page. It doesn’t have to be perfect or polished. This is for you, and no one else needs to see it. Set aside time each day to write. This can be as little as 10 minutes, but it’s important to be consistent. Try to compose for at least 10 to 15 minutes a day, for 3 consecutive days. (This has become part of my morning routine while she drinks her coffee before starting her day!). Consistency is key and the more consecutive days you can string together, you will start to naturally find your own rhythm. Once you’ve written for a while, you can start to edit and revise your work if you want. But it’s also perfectly fine to just let the words be. Remember that there is no right or wrong way to do this. Just do what feels good for you and go with the flow. Once you start writing, you may be surprised at how therapeutic it can be. Writing offers us a sense of control. It can help us process emotional pain, make meaning of our present relationships and situations, and be an effective way to bring clarity to extremely personal situations that we may not necessarily feel comfortable talking about. According to the American Journal of Public Health, expressive writing increases positive emotions, reduces negative thoughts, and in term have a profound effect on our mental health, making us feel more confident, in control, and less overwhelmed. Additionally, according to the International Journal of Cancer Management, poetry therapy increased hope based on Miller Hope scale 1 week, 8 weeks, and 6 months after the intervention The researchers found that group poetry therapy can be a good psychotherapy and a way to increase the quality of life of people with breast cancer. Similarly, poets who have been diagnosed with breast cancer often share their work as an ode of strength, inspiration and courage to their community – so don’t be afraid to express yourself in whichever form that you feel comfortable with! No matter which form of expression you choose, remember Sharing your story Sharing Your Story with others can also help you feel connected and supported. Breast cancer doesn't have to define you, but it can be a part of your story. Embrace your emotions and don't be afraid to express them. There are many ways to share your story, including: -Writing a letter to your cancer - Starting a blog -Joining an online support group -Sharing your story with a friend or family member Whatever you do, remember that you are not alone in this journey. There is help and support available How to write a poem about breast cancer There are no rules for how to write a poem about breast cancer. Just let the words flow and express whatever you're feeling. Breast cancer can be a difficult and emotional journey, but poetry can offer you a way to process your thoughts and emotions. It can be therapeutic and even cathartic. So don't worry about rhyming or writing perfect prose. Just let the words come out however they need to. Write from the heart and don't be afraid to be vulnerable. Your poem can be as long or as short as you need it to be. And there's no right or wrong way to write about breast cancer. Let the words flow and see where they take you. When writing, you may experiment with typing in all caps. If you are writing with pen and paper, how does the pen feel? Are you pressing hard onto the paper or using a softer lighter touch? If you are writing in cursive, are your letters whimsical and dancing on the page, or are they structured and methodical? All of these elements help us express ourselves through the written word. When writing a poem about breast cancer, you may want to explore topics such as: -Your experience with a particular time during your diagnosis and treatment -Your experience receiving a specific chemotherapy, the first time you went in for radiation, or waking up from surgery. -A love letter to your breasts -A breakup letter as you experience grief. Take advantage of available resources We believe firmly in the power of writing as a tool for healing and encourage you to join us and take advantage of the free programs and services we offer at SBC. Questions to ask your doctor about expressive writing for emotional health: Asking your doctor about expressive writing is a great first step in getting started with your own project. Some questions you may wish to ask: 1. What are your thoughts on using expressive writing as a tool for emotional healing? 2. What are some of the benefits of expressive writing? 3. How can I get started with my own expressive writing project? 4. Are there any resources you would recommend for further exploring expressive writing and poetry? 5. Are there any risks associated with expressive writing? 6. What should I keep in mind while I am writing? 7. Who can I talk to if I need help or support while I am writing?

By Mandy Richardson You’re too young. You don’t have a family history of cancer in women under 50—only postmenopausal. Cancer isn’t usually painful. You’re breastfeeding ; you’re healthy. All of these thoughts and more are so reassuring as a 33-year-old mom with a 6 year old and a 7 month old who had been dealing with a “stubborn clogged milk duct.” So much so, in fact, that I leaned into these reassurances despite the lump getting bigger and more painful. I saw my OBGYN in late June 2021 for what we determined to be a tricky little clogged duct. I’d noticed it about three weeks prior. I’d had clogged ducts before with my first baby. This one felt a little different, which led me to making the appointment. But after a manual exam, the nurse practitioner came to the same conclusion as me (that it was nothing to worry about). She gave me some suggestions to help massage it out and told me to call back if I got a fever. I never got a fever, so I let it go. But it kept getting bigger. I wasn’t having any issues with supply, so I wasn’t so confident that it was a clog. I scheduled my annual exam early and made that my focus. My OBGYN put me on a round of antibiotics because the lump was now quite visible on the underside of my breast and very “angry” looking. It was a 10-day course of antibiotics, but I called back after eight days when I didn’t see any improvement. When I called, I was able to finally schedule an ultrasound. The nurse practitioner was confident they could aspirate it in the office. Except they couldn’t. The image on the ultrasound showed what appeared to be a non-solid mass. I now know that it was likely just pockets of breast milk around the mass. Using the ultrasound, the nurse practitioner inserted a long needle into the mass in an attempt to drain it. The first attempt yielded only blood. So did the second. Rather than poke me full of holes, she deemed the procedure unsuccessful and decided to send me for further imaging. I was sent for a formal ultrasound, which determined the lump was solid. Still, no one mentioned the “c” word. Lactating women get benign masses all the time, I was told. So I was still pretty unphased even as we scheduled the core needle biopsy. Until four days later. The results came through the portal application on my phone, before the doctor had a chance to call me. I didn’t know what grade 3 meant. I didn’t understand the percentages listed. But I understood the word “carcinoma.” The surgeon did eventually call. I don’t remember much of the conversation, other than I had a large, aggressive tumor and an oncologist would be calling me soon. I waited two days before calling the breast center, and was told everyone was just “very busy” and that someone would call me back soon. Deciding I had done enough waiting, I let a family member pull some strings and found a new doctor. I met my new surgeon and medical oncologist the next day. They explained that my tumor was 5.7cm, and was slightly estrogen positive. They said it was behaving aggressively and more in line with triple negative breast cancer (TNBC) , and they wanted to treat it as such. Because it was so large, the plan was to do chemotherapy first. The goal for my start date was two and a half weeks, right before Thanksgiving. I didn’t know then that in some cases, people wait multiple weeks to start treatment. I asked if I would be okay waiting that long. My oncologist said that two to three weeks would be okay; two to three months would not have been. I had to schedule my PET scan, a mammogram (no one could believe that hadn’t already been done), another ultrasound, an EKG, and my chemotherapy port placement. Everything was still backed up from the pandemic shutdowns and most places were scheduling into mid-December at that point. I called and called back. I begged and cried. My husband drove me to clinics as far as almost two hours in one direction, and then back an hour in the other, just to get all of the testing done. The ultrasound suggested possible lymph node activity, and the PET detected a mass in the area of my right ovary. My oncologist ordered bloodwork. The CA 27.29 blood test, which can potentially pick up breast cancer, came back high—as expected. But she ran another, one that could suggest ovarian cancer (CA 125), and that came back elevated as well. My daughter was eleven months old at this point, and despite all attempts was still consistently refusing to take a bottle. My doctors told me that I could continue to nurse, but to be prepared to wean her. I occasionally leaked breast milk from my biopsy hole. Nursing from my left breast was painful, but I was repeatedly assured that it would not hurt my daughter. We ended up weaning her cold turkey the day of my PET scan, since my milk would not have been safe after that test. The next day I was in an appointment with a gynecologic oncologist and scheduled surgery for the following day to remove my right ovary and fallopian tubes. Because my breast cancer was so aggressive, we could not afford to delay in order to test what could possibly be on my ovary. I had my right ovary and fallopian tube removed the week before Thanksgiving. Somehow, everything came back benign. My surgeon couldn’t find a mass. No one had an explanation, though my blood work has shown normal numbers since then. I started Adriamycin/Cytoxan (AC) chemo the day before Thanksgiving, and our wonderful neighbors brought us dinner so we didn’t have to cook. My hair started falling out 13 days later, the day before round two. I did four rounds of AC, followed by 12 rounds of Taxol . After completing chemo, I was given a couple of weeks to recover and we completed new imaging in preparation for surgery. My next tests were completed at the end of April: another mammogram, ultrasound, and PET scan. My tumor had shrunk to 0.8cm! Because of that, my surgeon was able to suggest a lumpectomy, followed by radiation. During my lumpectomy the surgeon removed three suspicious lymph nodes from under my arm, and there was no sign of the cancer spreading beyond my breast! The pathology of the remaining disease came back as triple negative, so I am currently taking Xeloda, an oral chemo that is sometimes recommended for TNBC patients . It’s been a long road, but I am so glad I didn’t wait any longer than I did to get my symptoms checked out by my doctor. I have one more cycle of Xeloda and then I will hopefully be finished! When I met with my new surgeon, Dr. Melissa Camp, at Johns Hopkins Hospital on November 5, 2021, she told me to give them a year. That I would look back at this whole experience as just a speed bump that I had to get over. We are a little over a year now, with the Xeloda regimen. The experience was everything her staff, as well as my medical oncology team, said it would be. I have been able to stay mostly active, and I want to spend all of the time that I can with my husband and my girls. We have done some traveling and hope to do more. I hope to complete section hiking of the Pennsylvania section of the Appalachian Trail. But what I really want to do is pay it forward. I want young women to know that we are not immune from this awful disease, despite what statistics show. I want to provide support for women I know, as well as strangers, who are going through this, like others did for me. But I really want people to know that our best—and sometimes only—advocate is ourselves. And that we should never stop fighting for ourselves. Learn more: Managing Breast Cancer During Pregnancy and Breastfeeding Taxol for Triple Negative Breast Cancer (TNBC) Triple Negative Breast Cancer (TNBC) in Your 20s and 30s Laura’s AC (Adriamycin and Cytoxan) Vlog Laura’s Xeloda Vlog Different Types of Breast Cancer Feature Friday: Adolescents and Young Adults (AYA) with Breast Cancer Feature Friday: Reproductive Health and Breast Cancer Thank you for sharing your story, Mandy. SBC loves you! SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Kelly Hsu My mother was diagnosed with triple-negative breast cancer in the winter of 2015. During this time, I was just a sophomore in high school. Everything in my life became peripheral as our family cared for her through her journey with cancer. After surgery and a grueling year of chemotherapy, she was finally cancer-free. Prior to a routine OB-GYN visit over the summer, I was sent an online screening questionnaire. This form asked me routine questions about my family history of cancer, and I provided information I knew about my mother. At my OB-GYN appointment, my physician explained the purpose of the screening questionnaire, and that based on the information I’d provided, I qualified for genetic testing . Because of my strong family history of cancer, this would be covered by my insurance. Since I was already getting labs drawn, I figured a few extra tubes of blood would not make a difference. About two weeks later, I got a phone call from a genetic counselor . She informed me that I tested positive for the BRCA2 mutation, which increases one’s predisposition to developing breast cancer. She set up a virtual appointment for us to talk. I had heard of BRCA before, on a TV show, “ The Bold Type .” In this show, the protagonist chooses to have a prophylactic double mastectomy to minimize her risk of breast cancer. Hearing and processing this news for myself was terrifying and overwhelming. Prior to my genetic counseling appointment, I pored over pages and pages of internet resources and journal articles. I obsessed over the different numbers and percentages that told me my lifetime risk of cancer, and the preventative measures that I could take to reduce or minimize my risk. I learned that my BRCA mutation increased not only my risk for breast cancer, but also ovarian cancer. In this age of digital connectedness, having an abundance of information is a great resource, but at times, can also be a tremendous burden. At my genetic counseling appointment, I listened as my counselor asked me about my understanding of my results. She began by drawing a comprehensive picture of my family tree, asking me about my family members and their different histories of cancer. She outlined the risks and management options and asked me about my preferences. This hour felt long, but after my genetic counseling appointment, I felt much more reassured and redirected in my knowledge. I knew that there was not one singular path that individuals with BRCA mutations take, and that there are different management options for a person depending on their goals and values. With my genetic counselor, I came up with a plan that would work for me. My personal plan involves getting a mammogram and breast MRI yearly, beginning when I turn 25. Genetic counseling can be expensive out-of-pocket, but many insurance companies can cover most of the cost, especially if you have a strong familial history of cancer. In my case, the company that provided my genetic testing offered free testing for my family members within 90 days of my test results. BRCA mutations are autosomal dominant mutations , which means that if an individual has the BRCA mutation, there is a 50% chance that they can pass it down to their child. My mother received genetic testing a month after I received my results, as evidence most strongly pointed to her being a carrier. Surprisingly, she was negative for the BRCA2 mutation. My father tested soon after, and results confirmed that he was the carrier of the mutation. BRCA affects men as well, and men who have the mutation have an elevated risk of breast, prostate, and pancreatic cancer. This emphasized to me how crucial it is to never make assumptions. Only through genetic testing can you confirm and truly understand everyone’s personal genetic risk . Your genetic counselor can not only help you assess your risk, but also help you understand how to communicate with close relatives who may also be at risk. Everyone has a different preference for how much information they want to know, and the decision to get genetic testing is a personal choice . However, knowledge is the best way to plan for early prevention and/or detection of cancer. Since my visit with my genetic counselor, I feel more empowered and adequately informed to plan ahead. As of now, I am set up with my local breast health center, and am scheduled to start my preventative visits in a few months. If you think that you may be eligible for genetic testing, you should speak to your physician or a genetic counselor to learn how to take the next steps. You are not alone. Your clinicians and genetic counselor can help you make informed decisions about your personal and familial risks, and help guide you as you make the most appropriate decisions for yourself and your loved ones. Learn More: Genetic counseling on the SBC podcast, Breast Cancer Conversations Genetic Testing for Cancer: What You Need to Know Breast Cancer and Genetic Testing Dear Kristen: Reassurance for Genetic Testing Living with the BRCA Gene Mutation Author bio: My name is Kelly Hsu and this is my first blog post for SBC. I am a recent graduate of Wellesley College (Class of ‘21), where I studied neuroscience. I am currently working as a Clinical Research Coordinator at the Massachusetts General Hospital Cancer Center on several patient-centered outcomes research studies. Through my experiences, I have developed passions for health education, psychosocial oncology, and palliative care. I plan to attend medical school next fall, where I hope to keep pursuing these interests. Thank you for sharing your story, Kelly. SBC loves you! SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Kelly Motley I was feeling stuck in my life, despite having a successful PR business and a wonderful family. One day I just wanted to hit something (we’ve all been there) so I did—I found a boxing class. I loved boxing so much that I hired a top-ranked professional super middleweight boxer, Sena Agbeko, and an Olympic boxing coach, Christy Halbert. I learned one of boxing’s most important principles while shadowboxing in the ring: Focus on you. You know your power. My coach talked to me about how vulnerability can be an asset. “Allow yourself to be vulnerable to create openings. You create the openings and opportunities, be willing to throw a punch, be vulnerable, act first—then when you do, effective things happen in the ring, then the opening to the body is available,” my coach told me. In the ring, my coach would say, “Sometimes a threat is disguised as an opportunity.” Shadowboxing allowed me to step out of my routine of self-judgment and self-editing to think about taking risks and creating my own experience. The principles I learned about boxing became lifesavers when I faced my most difficult fight: breast cancer. I was scheduled for a mammogram in late spring 2018. I was reluctant to go. I had disregarded the boob-flattening screening procedure as unnecessary and ridiculous, especially considering how healthy I was from training, Jeet-Kune-Do and boxing. I received a come-back-in phone call for more images, but dismissed the follow-up as just part of the healthcare system. Frustrated by the inconvenient disruption, I became even more confident that this was all a big misunderstanding, as if I had walked into the wrong party or had been placed in a high-level math class. Someone, somewhere in the healthcare ecosystem had made a big mistake. Perhaps it was in the testing process. Or maybe someone was overreacting. Being skeptical, I thought I had been randomly singled out. Motionless and sitting knee-to-knee with a radiologist afterwards, I calmly absorbed the strange words about finding tiny deposits of calcium that sometimes indicate the presence of breast cancer. She referred to them as microcalcifications. A month later, I ended up getting the recommended breast biopsy. I was at the mercy of two indifferent technicians who didn’t click, and both were enamored with their cell phones. After the breast biopsy, I couldn’t stop the unwanted calls from my doctor saying, “We need to talk…” that went to voicemail. I was annoyed by her insistent urgency. I rationalized that if I didn’t call her back, she’d pursue another patient and this just all would go away. Surely, she could see the timing for this wasn’t going to work for me. Eventually, I found myself on the phone, faced with what felt like the worst chaos imaginable. I was sweating because of the fast-talking doctor’s stream of foreign medical terms: “Biopsy path report: An early stage breast cancer that is triple positive. Breast cancer coming from the ducts of the breast, 1.4 cm, HER2neu positive. To treat cancer—surgery, chemo , plus or minus radiation; hormone blocking pills for the next five years. Surgery comes first. Lumpectomy removes that area. Spend the night in hospital and then remove cancer. Tissue expanders. Lymphoid testing during the surgery. Chemo—a lighter version with hair loss.” Reviewing the terrifying information on my computer screen, I couldn’t realize my own story presented there . None of this was plausible. I had been riding the crest of growing my business, and physically I was the strongest I had been in my life, feeling my personal power in a new way. Walking into the cancer surgeon’s waiting room with my husband John a week later, I awkwardly and passively averted eye contact with bald women brushing past me, as if by looking into their eyes I’d be desperately locked together with them. We were led into an awkward, jam-packed room with an examination table and only two chairs. I received what felt like a mechanical recitation from my doctor: the delivery of bad news, straightforward with the word “cancer” ; then some foreign medical terms, the need for surgeries, a port and 12 chemo treatments. Her precise words around the effects of chemo sounded strangely like she was singing a lyrical song, my own private version, similar to Johnny Cash’s rendition of I’ve Been Everywhere . “Persistent symptoms or treatment effects of chemo include the following: hot flashes, muscle aches, blood clots, uterine cancer, cataracts, hair loss, weight gain, nerve pain, scar tissue, decreased shoulder range of motion, chronic pain, lymphedema, neuropathy, low blood counts, decreased heart function, high cholesterol, high blood pressure, secondary malignancy, premature menopause and infertility. Chemo would damage healthy cells, causing loss of memory and cognitive abilities, my hair, eyelashes, and eyebrows. I might expect tooth decay and gum issues, mouth sores, a craving for comfort foods, nausea, constipation, and fatigue most of the time, with potential damage to kidneys, heart, liver, and lungs…” and I will have been everywhere, man . Two days before I was to start chemo, while preparing myself for what I thought would be the worst, I was blindsided. I was at my computer, right in the middle of work. The afternoon phone call came out of the blue, at a tongue-twisting speed, with sing-song urgency. It was my oncologist, and apparently, she was busy. I worked to decipher why she was calling me. She had already put the breast cancer plan in place. As I understood things, she was supposed to be my starting quarterback with all the cancer treatment plans in place, including scheduled surgery dates, a port in my chest, and the exact timing of 12 chemo treatments once a week. She’d string words together like: “We didn’t get approval from your insurance company for the recommended treatment, and we need to proceed with more aggressive drugs three times as long, with more harmful and stronger side effects.” My voice buckled as I broke the news to John in consonants and vowels, trying to form words that sounded primitive. He got on the phone immediately with our insurance company and by the end of the day, he and I had coordinated a conference call with the oncologist’s office administrator and an insurance representative.The insurance company communicated that all would be good and the oncologist’s original treatment plan would be approved. Kelly would win this battle. The link between boxing and my mind and body empowered me to shift my mindset and completely alter my cancer experience. Instead of catastrophic thinking, I started viewing cancer and chemo as manageable and achievable and acknowledging my body as capable and resilient. I found an unconventional approach to healing by finding a pre-fight boxing training plan, to minimize the side effects of chemo, with an intent to keep a healthier body and to manage the powerlessness and fear of a cancer diagnosis. I had intense training for two months before starting chemotherapy, and continued training during chemo. I had 11 rounds of chemotherapy, including Herceptin and Taxol. In addition to conventional cancer treatment, I found an unconventional way of managing the powerlessness and fear through a diet and lifestyle prescribed by Virginia Harper, an authority on healing the body through macrobiotic food. Right away I had to strengthen my immune system, increase iron intake, support my digestion and inflammatory markers with a goal to alkalize my blood, calm my nervous system and increase my Yang energy to balance estrogen and progesterone. A macrobiotic diet is a strict diet that aims to reduce toxins. It involves eating whole grains and vegetables and avoiding foods high in fat, salt, sugar, and artificial ingredients. Meat, sugar, poultry, dairy, caffeine, alcohol, eggs, bread, and carbonated beverages would go away. Raw vegetables were forbidden, along with tomatoes, potatoes, eggplant, and peppers. I was to avoid vegetable juices, alcohol, sparkling mineral waters, cold drinks, and sugared or stimulant beverages. I would cook only with gas and use pots and pans made of stainless steel, ceramic, or cast iron. All my new meals were prepared via boiling, steaming, or sautéeing with oil. I trained myself to learn a new way of slicing, moving away from the old haphazard way of chopping vegetables. I’d need to incorporate new behaviors around chewing my food slowly and telling myself repeatedly that my body is in the healing space , while thinking about and visualizing how each bite would heal me. I would take so many supplements that I felt like a pharmacist. It was through boxing and this macrobiotic diet that my soul was in perfect order right before my first big surgery: a double mastectomy. My thoughts were not scattered, and I was not startled by what I was getting ready to go through. Anchored by my pre-fight strategy, I started seeing myself in a state of progress rather than as a mess. It felt as if I’d done something miraculous. I was no longer crawling, operating from a place of fear and allowing it to direct my decisions, as I had before my surgeries and chemo. While studying my form in the mirror and jumping rope, I realized my training had toughened me up, my body was stronger than ever, and mentally, I had my approach in place. After jumping rope for 10 minutes straight without tripping once, the reality set in—I’d come a long way. I was pleasantly surprised that all the good stuff I had been doing for myself to get through the anguish of the past two months had paid off. In the two months between my diagnosis and my double mastectomy, I was in a boxer’s meditative training state as it related to my workout and the trauma my body was about to endure. Frozen in this moment, the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle found their correct positions. I had found peace and contentment. I knew I was ready to be in the ring. My eyes and body adjusted to something better. My body showed that it would not betray me. I had abandoned my established ways of being. Getting my body clean would be perfectly timed with surgery and chemo. I ended up with a Strep B infection in my port. There was a sudden reversal of course, minutes before what was to be my double mastectomy surgery. Calmly, sweetly standing over me, my plastic surgeon raised a red flag, sharing the news that there would be no surgery today. My white blood cell count was elevated from its usual three to 17. My body was fighting an infection. After eventually proceeding with my mastectomy, I had my final breast reconstruction surgery (fat grafting) in December 2019. Since then, my hair has grown back to its original length but in spiral curls that I never had before. I’m still strength training and practicing Jeet Kune Do with my coach, Richard. I’ve taken up dance again after 30 years, and also weight lifting inspired by my son, Alex. I am a survivor, one whose arms were held overhead alongside countless other survivors and others impacted by cancer; one who knows I can tackle the worst and still rise victorious, waiting for the victory bell inside the boxing ring of my journey. After being hit so hard, I had to pick myself back up and avoid the dreaded 10 count. I needed healing, I needed to get back in the ring and show life that I was not done, not knocked out in the final round like so many before me. Cancer is a formidable adversary. You never really win against cancer. You hope for a draw, to fight another time, to train and battle and be ready, if you have to return to the ring again. You are ready. Boxing has taught me discipline, greater awareness and an approach to life that requires a commitment to process. It demands mental, physical and spiritual fitness. It is grueling and exhausting, but it ultimately prepares you for the fight for your life. Learn more: My First Ironman Exercise and Breast Cancer Exercise is Good for Everybody Tips to Manage Chemotherapy Side Effects SBC Resources for the Newly Diagnosed Thank you for sharing your story, Kelly. SBC loves you! Follow Kelly on Instagram and Facebook SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Sara Kandler I bookend my days with the pop of a tiny white powder sphere toward the back of my throat then a gush of cool water. And you, I ask my friends, don’t you feel different? How do you process so much time past and balance on the slender edge of an entirely new universe? They appear stumped. So I meander on, turning over smooth grey rocks in the garden in hope of a hidden message (my mom’s whimsical “hello” and “stay cool” stones giggle from my kitchen windowsill) and stare up at the mysteriously amber stars in the deep winter sky. Follow Sara on Medium Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Brookshire McDonald I thought I was being smart And so you see, I started planning for Christmas As early as could be. With six children And spouses, too, There’s a lot of gifting For me to do. In addition I have 15 grands And a brother I love very much. I think of their personal passions To keep me well in touch. With iPad in hand And thoughts in mind, I begin my orders Including one of a kind. Then I search for flights To join daughter and family. Three of my grands are there Waiting their GeeGee to see. The month goes by Sorta fast, And Christmas Eve has arrived; ‘Tis here at last. Suitcase gifts from GeeGee Is a grandma tradition; So off I go With this addition. Arriving at the airport two hours early As directed, I soon found an adventure I had not expected. I settled in At my designated gate, Soon to find out My plane was late. I checked the schedule board As often as I could, But nothing was improving As it should. So there I sat Hour in and hour out While passengers Were mulling all about. In the meantime I met a couple of men Waiting for the exact same flight. The rescuer I am I thought about Taking them home for the night. My children I could hear In the back of my mind, M-O-T-H-E-R it could not be safe To be so kind. Two of my children Began to text “Go home; go home You don’t know what’s next.” You could get stuck in Orlando Four days or more Never making it to Birmingham That’s for “Shore.” Spending Christmas with alligators Was not a good thought, Because what about my grandchildren And the gifts I had bought? Heeding their advice To the baggage claim I went; A baggage claim was printed, And to the handlers was sent. They retrieved my luggage Off the cart at the cargo door. I was lucky to get mine As there were hundreds more. At the same time As I was stuck, My daughter’s family was in Colorado Trying their luck. They were trying To get home to Birmingham, too To host This planned Christmas to-do. Planes before and after theirs Were canceled that night; But a “Board now” Was announced for their flight. They arrived home And crawled into bed Just before Santa Appeared on his sled. After a night of being All nestled and snug Christmas morn began by screams of There’s water coming down on the rug! The ceiling began to stain And about to fall, As water continued to drip All down the hall. The water was turned off To stop the flood; And thus began Christmas Day Not as it should. Back at home Where I did retrieve Urgent care was my next step Back spasms to relieve. Seven hours sitting at the airport Had taken its toll But maybe not as bad as my daughter’s house Now growing mold. Yes as I said maybe It was meant to be; I was not in the midst Of their fiasco, you see. The next week I did go there With GeeGee gifts still packed For grands to share. I’m sure they were more appreciative Than alligators would be. And I hope the two men had as good a late Christmas As did “me”! Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Dawn Oswald Lymphedema What is it? Lymph is a colorless fluid, but I see black Edema is excess fluid in my arm, which I see red How angry I feel Why did I get it? Was I chosen for a reason? Did the cancer cause it? Yes, the cancer spread I did not deserve it Neither do you I don’t want it Be angry Get mad Do something about it Someone help me Can it be helped? Yes, it can be Helped by angels Touched by the angel’s hands An angel to perform a procedure Whatever the help you need, get it Do not let lymphedema ruin your life Take back your life Get your arm back Back to normal Normal as it can be Do the things you used to do You win by getting the right help The right therapist The right surgeon The right equipment You fight for you I did Fight for your independence You deserve it You deserve to be happy again Free from pain and deformity Free from losing your independence Get help I did Now I am back to being me Mrs. Independence Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Sara Kandler Valet parking, thank God steady now glass doors, sign-in line, Covid check we’re good we’re fine find a wheelchair hands grip tight tell graveyard jokes in fight or flight me in my bold print dress flying along you in your sporty sweats one arm out strong a lifeline from the second floor dangling the carousel’s golden ring Get admitted like it’s Harvard no ruby tee or ivied yard but endless beige and sallow walls bland maze of musty stalls floor sweepers, bed changers, pulse takers injectors, inspectors in green or blue color-coded costumes never once explained to you then the leads dash through drab curtains bleached white pockets cursive names say hey there, Sam or Jane no shame sling shot slung around the neck hearing hearts, scanning charts giving orders, signing off Ninety, sure, but I don’t see why he would say no to giving chemo a try there’s no guarantee (I’m not gonna lie) he could surprise us all teach class again this fall sunlight jars fumes from the car fold you in after journeying far to a clinical galaxy me, your novice proxy and settle you home too often alone long mahogany table newspapers strewn glasses, meds, radio a tall mug of decaf tea — It was worth it, Dad, see? 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

Have you ever noticed how Desperation sucks the oxygen Right out of a room, And yields a vacuum, devoid of space? What then? A noisy projection of anguish, torment and pain, Has you sliding softly along the hardwood floor Normalcy but a scant memory. In the moment - self discussion. Giving way to comprehensive dissatisfaction. A benign questioning A malignancy that shouldn’t be there A radical diffusion, The intermingling of tumor and tissue. Oh, but you do matter! Way too many underestimate the power of Purpose, passion and perspective. In due course it becomes necessary to Distance and separate yourself From those whose inspiration and motivation Run contrary to your own. Your life, your contribution to this world matters. YOU, matter…

By Donna Valentine, PA-C I have never had breast cancer, although it’s played a role in my daily life for over two decades. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. My career path as a Physician Assistant (PA) was introduced to me in the spring of 1999, when I was fortunate enough to do a clinical rotation in breast surgery at MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston. I knew the moment I stepped into the operating room with one of the premier breast surgeons in the country that I had found my passion in taking care of breast cancer patients. I liked assisting in surgery, but I loved helping breast cancer patients navigate their journey through an overwhelming and scary time. I’m an intuitive listener and have a fairly calm demeanor, and I knew I could make a difference in assisting their overall physical and emotional healing. I returned to school in California and declared my goal of specializing as a PA in breast cancer! My classmates and professors insisted I would never find a job in that field because it was too subspecialized. How wrong they were. After graduation, I spent five solid years working with a dynamic forward-thinking team of breast surgeons , assisting in surgery and patient after-care, educating patients on their diagnosis and options. In this, we saved hundreds of lives and affected thousands of others through their loved ones, because a person never goes through this alone. Cancer is a crab, reaching out in all directions of a person’s life, touching everyone who is close. Toward the end of my tenure in surgery (I had decided to change my focus to Medical Oncology), I received a call from my older sister Diane. She had been having some breast changes and the radiologists wanted to do a biopsy. “They think it’s cancer,” she said. And unfortunately, it was. My role as a PA for my patients would now include the role of caregiver for my sister with that one phone call. I’m not a believer in coincidence, but it wasn’t always that way. So I didn’t think twice when during my rotation at MD Anderson I came across Susan G. Komen founder Nancy Brinker’s book The Race Is Run One Step at a Time . It’s about the legacy she built to honor her sister Suzy, who passed away from breast cancer. The story resonated with me, and at the time I wasn’t sure why, but it was one of the reasons I became so interested in working with breast cancer patients. I would find out later that the story about her experience with her sister would be similar to Diane’s and mine. Not a coincidence. While Diane was going through the surgical portion of her treatment, I was still working in surgery. When she started her chemotherapy, I had already begun working with an oncologist. In retrospect, her treatment matched my career transition in a way that seemed “planned.” I would travel to northern California to go to appointments with her and help navigate her treatment and aftercare with her doctors. Walking the tightrope between taking care of my patients and being there for my sister took its toll on me — primarily because before starting chemotherapy, Diane’s body scans had shown the cancer had metastasized to her bones. Stage 4 breast cancer. In 2004, the prognosis for this was not good. Giving her hope every day came with a heavy burden of knowing what the ultimate outcome would be. My heart was breaking, but I wasn’t going to show it. Couldn’t show it. I needed her and my family to be strong. There were good times and bad times through her treatment, and then there were really, really bad times. And like Nancy Brinker’s sister Suzy, Diane passed after a three-year battle with breast cancer. Every day I was there for her, and I held her hand as she left this world. I saw and felt her fight. I still feel my own fight after 17 years, and I miss her every day. I consider myself a co-survivor because I discovered a strength in this fight and as difficult as it was, scars and all, I would repeat it again and again to help my big sister during the toughest and scariest part of her life. Donna (left) and her sister Diane (right). After Diane died, I did a lot of soul searching. But unlike Nancy Brinker, I did not start a global movement to end breast cancer. What I did do was continue taking care of breast cancer one person at a time. For another seven years I continued to work in medical oncology. Because of my journey with my sister through her breast cancer fight, I am a much more empathetic and compassionate clinician from a place of knowing. I engage with my patients and their families better. I am equipped to say the “right” things — which I’m embarrassed to say I didn’t always do prior to Diane’s diagnosis. There are times when a patient begins to cry in my exam room. Something I did or said allowed them to let their fear and anxiety out. It’s then I know I’m doing something right. They feel safe. Safe enough to let their feelings out — sometimes for the first time. And that release is so important to the healing process. The beginning really. I continued to work in medical oncology for a few years until I received an opportunity to be involved in another part of the breast cancer experience — survivorship. For six years I specialized in caring for cancer survivors from a primary care aspect. I managed my patients’ overall health; their high blood pressure, diabetes, elevated cholesterol, low thyroid, depression, anxiety, etc. All the while, I was taking into consideration their previous cancer, their specific treatments and all that entailed for them as a survivor physically and emotionally. It was during this time that I became very interested in ways of helping the emotional anxiety that cancer survivors experience. I feel it’s the most debilitating thing about having cancer that never goes away completely. I was so tired of writing prescriptions for anti-anxiety and anti-depression medications. I hated that my patients were living on these pills and needing more and more to get relief. I started exploring more complimentary ways of dealing with the emotional component of cancer, and what at the time I considered a type of PTSD (since then, there have been articles written about just that). I spoke to my patients about the benefits of therapy , meditation , mindfulness and gratitude work and movement therapies like Tai Chi and yoga . I also learned and shared more about nutrition , functional genetics that put some people more at risk for anxiety, and the importance of sleep on our overall emotional and physical health. Some of my patients embraced these things, and some did not. Getting people (cancer survivors or not) to take care of themselves is a difficult task in our society. There are a lot of things that get in the way — such as time, money, energy, all of which can be hard to come by these days. Diane (left) and Donna (right). People often ask if I chose to work with breast cancer due to my sister’s diagnosis. My response is: before my sister even had breast cancer I was guided in that direction. And I believe it was because my sister and my family would need me there at that brief moment in time. No coincidence there. The remainder of my work has been for others. And if I can be honest, for me. Because I am rewarded every day by helping my patients and their loved ones move through breast cancer. I am now back to my roots working as a surgical PA — so I’ve made a full clinical circle of a breast cancer patient’s experience. Treatments have vastly changed and improved over the last two decades. More people are surviving this dreaded disease, and I look forward to someone putting me out of business by finding a cure. But until then, I will be a dedicated caregiver of cancer survivors, hand-holder and hugger during good times and grief, educator, and advocate of all things that can be done to live a happier, healthier, and better life than ever before breast cancer. Diane. Be Well & Happy. Donna Valentine Learn More: Newly Diagnosed with MBC MBC Meetup Cancer Caregivers: Contending with Change Therapy and Breast Cancer Say Their Names SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

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