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

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

By Kathleen Friel I had the great fortune of attending the Living Beyond Breast Cancer (LBBC) Metastatic Breast Cancer (MBC) Conference from April 19-21, 2024, in Philadelphia. I was able to see several members of our SBC family in person, and my mom joined me on the trip! Seeing people in person is such a treasure. This year, I was a participant in LBBC’s Hear My Voice (HMV) advocacy training program, which dovetailed with the conference. About 30 people were selected to be in the 2024 class. If you applied and didn’t get in, keep trying! It took me a couple of tries. We met as a class for about 10 hours of Zoom-based and offline training in April. We learned how to be stronger advocates for ourselves and our friends with MBC in many ways. We learned about ways to advocate to legislators, encouraging them to increase research funding for MBC and pass laws that will bring people with MBC more medical benefits. We learned about research advocacy – serving as grant reviewers or patient advocates in research studies. We spent time brainstorming fundraisers and social media education content. We laughed a lot, we shared our stories, and we grew close. At the LBBC conference, we sat together, with our caregivers. It was amazing to meet people in person. Cancer is a strong bond. Similar to in our SBC family, we can meet someone and quickly dive into the intimacies of living with cancer. Everyone in HMV has MBC, which I think gives us even stronger connection. We’re eager to work hard to advocate for the MBC community, while also living with the side effects and uncertainty of MBC. We don’t know how much energy, time, or even life we’ve got in our future. I found it very uplifting to know these lovely friends who are committed to making a difference for others in the MBC community amid their own MBC struggles. We also had a class Spotify playlist! I’m not sure if I correctly submitted mine, though here it is . The writer and singer, Nightbirde, died of MBC in 2022, after shining on America’s Got Talent. I honor the bravery of our class, and all living with MBC. Nightbirde’s definition of bravery is to live authentically. I just love her music! The LBBC conference was short but full of information and connection! All presentations are online for viewing! We heard presentations from panels of people with MBC, sharing their tips for navigating this wild ride. One panelist brought me to tears – diagnosed with MBC at 18 years of age. Unreal. She just got married and seems to be doing quite well. Every year, there’s a presentation about the newest medications and clinical trials for people with MBC. It’s always a session that brings me mixed emotions. It’s great that new drugs are being developed. I have several dear friends on a drug that was only approved last year, and the drug is working for most! Still, the timelines give me chills. Drugs still don’t work for very long, as MBC is like an evil shapeshifter that mutates to become drug-resistant. At one point in the conference, a speaker asked people to stand up based on how many years they’ve lived with MBC. Lots are at 1-2 years. Once the speaker got up to 7-10 years, not many stood up. But some did! And then the super responders got a standing ovation, those living 15, 20, or more years with MBC. It was a mix of hopeful and sobering to me, as I near my 6 th anniversary of diagnosis. Getting to see my friends in person is the best part of the conference! There was social time, which included time to visit exhibitor booths. The SBC booth rocked!! Even @ImLoganTheGolden  Laura, and William’s dog, made an appearance. There were many exhibitors from organizations that provided support to people with MBC. Since I’m writing this on Mother’s Day weekend, I also want to celebrate my mom! She’s come to LBBC with me for two years now, and her support every day means so much to me. I spent a lot of time in doctor's offices and hospitals as a kid, and my entire family has been there for me throughout. The love, advocacy, and resilience of my mom are huge sources of strength and example for me. Thank you, Mom!!

By Conny Reichardt Read Conny’s BRCA1 Story: My Previvor Story Be Still  seems to be a statement that has to be drilled in my head time and time again. So, when my daughter said, “I am going to go get a tattoo, and you should come with and get the Be Still  tattoo you have wanted,” I said, “OK!!” August 28, 2024 marks one year since my preventative double mastectomy with DIEP flap reconstruction . I feel like I have taken Be Still  more to heart this year than I have in the past. Some of that time has been forced on me, as DIEP is not a surgery that you just bounce back from. I also think I wanted to slow down and enjoy what I have. I chose to have the surgery so I could spend more time and be more present with family and friends. The first time I faced being still was when the fertility doctor  said that in order to get pregnant, in vitro fertilization was our best bet. That bet paid off in the form of twins! Then getting pregnant with our youngest after having a miscarriage in between the twins and her, living in fear that I would lose this baby also made me Be Still . Not an easy task when you also have five-year-old twins! A few years later, while on our last ski trip of the season, I fell and broke my leg. I had to wear a brace for eight weeks and be non weight bearing. I didn’t yet know what this season was trying to teach me. Two weeks after the break, my stepdad who helped raise me and who I was close with died unexpectedly. Being forced to be still during grief  is hard when you don’t want to sit and have every thought go through your mind. After many more Be Still  moments in my life, I found out that I carry the BRCA1 gene mutation . I wasn’t still; in fact, I really had no idea what to even do with the information, so I just kind of ignored it until I went to the OBGYN for my annual exam. Then, my journey over the last two years with being proactive in prevention began. Don’t get me wrong – I have always been very good at getting annual mammograms and exams, and always lecture my friends that they need to do the same… but what am I supposed to do about a gene mutation? I started with my hysterectomy , and during that recovery my grandmother – who was one of my biggest cheerleaders and heroes – started to decline in health. She was in the hospital and went home on oxygen (she was a young 91 years old at this point), so I went to spend a few days with her and play cards and even snuck out without the oxygen tank, upon her insistence, to have pedicures. What a sweet time for me to Be Still . A few months later, at the age of 92, she went to dance with Jesus. I was at her house when she passed and went home a day later to be with my husband and daughter until the funeral. Well, they went to the funeral while I was in bed with Covid, followed by three weeks of laryngitis. Be Still . So, when I decided to have my double mastectomy with DIEP reconstruction , did I remember I would need to be still? Nope! Instead, I thought, “What, 11 hours forced to be still while under anesthesia for the surgery, and another three to four days in the hospital?” Little did I know that this time of stillness was just what I needed. This last year has been one of healing, physically and mentally. Growth in my relationships , new friendships, some that came about because of me being open and sharing about my BRCA gene mutation and preventative surgeries. But, most of all, remembering to enjoy the moments I have with those that I really wanted to have the surgeries for. Our kids are all growing up: the twins are 21 and my youngest just started her sophomore year in high school. My husband and I are trying to figure out what empty nesting is going to look like very soon. This was one of the most memorable summers I have had with them, as we were able to enjoy a cruise together and the time the kids were able to spend at home was special. Were we perfect? No, but it was different for me as I didn’t want to rush and do everything else. I wanted to Be Still  and enjoy every moment I could with them. Does having these preventative surgeries mean I will never get cancer? No, but it did decrease the chances. Most importantly, I think I have it engrained pretty well now to Be Still . Enjoy the life we are given and those in it. Read More: My Previvor Story Breast Reconstruction Surgery Understanding Genetic Testing for BRCA1 and BRCA2 Mutations Exploring Breast Reconstruction Surgery: Pros and Cons Navigating Relationships After a Breast Cancer Diagnosis On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations Michelle Sandlin, Living Her Best Life with BRCA 1 Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Charlene Meeker September 7, 2022 marked the beginning of my fiftieth year navigating the complexities of the human condition. I found myself at a crossroads of personal transformation. Between 2019 and 2021, I had extricated myself from an abusive relationship, weathered the challenges of the pandemic, and mourned the losses of both my birth father and my stepfather. I was ready to embrace life’s brevity. FEAR was an omnipresent force, and instead of expecting it to magically dissipate, I set tangible goals for the gifted year ahead. Foremost among them was a comprehensive evaluation of my health. In April 2023, I received word that I had tested positive for the CHEK2 genetic mutation . As I began meeting with my medical team, I found myself also confronting a familial legacy of breast cancer . My paternal grandmother’s tragic battle with breast cancer, which metastasized to her bones and claimed her life at age 32, is a story of loss that haunts my family. My maternal grandmother and my mother’s sister, facing breast cancer later in life, underwent double mastectomies and grueling treatments. In the delicate space between trepidation and resilience, I confronted a pivotal choice that would redefine the trajectory of my life. Confronted with the stark reality of an elevated risk of breast cancer due to my CHEK2 gene mutation , I stood at the crossroads of uncertainty and courage. It was not a decision born of surrender, but fueled by an unwavering determination to seize control of my destiny. The looming prospect of a risk reduction mastectomy  became a surgical dance with both fear and hope.  As I carefully considered the gravity of this decision, I realized that within the scars, a testament to battles fought would be etched — a declaration of an unyielding commitment to life. In that transformative moment, I chose the path of empowerment, understanding that by sacrificing a part of myself, I was affording the chance for a future unburdened by the shadows of what might have been. The operating room became my battleground, and the scars, my victory marks — a tangible symbol of the strength summoned to safeguard the precious gift of life.  Apologies are owed to Angelina Jolie for the ignorance I once carried regarding her prophylactic double mastectomy . Initially dismissing it as a purely cosmetic and vain choice, I now recognize the courage it took to make such a personal decision. Her celebrity status drew valuable attention to this potentially life-saving decision to greatly reduce breast cancer risk, and I commend her bravery.  The decision to proceed with the surgery was daunting but undeniably right for me. Opting for reconstruction  added another layer of fear, yet it, too, felt like the right path. Graced with an exceptional healthcare team at Vail Health in Colorado and supported by a beautiful circle of friends, I embarked on a journey that my insurance covered comprehensively, alleviating the looming stress of potential debt . Recovering from my mastectomy, I often thought of my family members who had gone through breast cancer as I faced the challenges of surgery recovery without  the added burden of cancer treatment. Their grit, courage, and tenacity shine through the genetic codes we share.  As of this writing, one week post-reconstruction, my mind races ahead of my healing body. The haunting question, “What do you truly want to do with the time you have left?” persists. I cannot revert to life before my mastectomy now that I have newfound tools and experiences, and my commitment to share my story, advocate for healthcare options, and support others on this path remains steadfast. Living a long, healthy life demands a renewed commitment to making sound physical and emotional choices . And punctuating it all is the imperative to overcome fear and embrace creativity — a step in the direction of a new chapter. In fifty-one years, I’ve navigated my fair share of frightening situations, but my mastectomy stands as the catalyst — a personal manifestation of fear. I can confront it squarely, acknowledging the depth of my abilities. The next chapter awaits with excitement.  Here’s to health, fears conquered, and the embracing of new beginnings! Read More: Genetic Testing for Cancer: What You Need To Know A Patient-Centered Approach to Plastic Surgery Reconstruction My Previvor Story On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations Prophylactic Mastectomy and BRCA Mutation: A Personal Story Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Stacey Fannon I have a voice of my own. Sometimes I have a frog in my throat. Sometimes my voice needs to say something, to bring comfort to a crying daughter. My voice expresses my emotions. My voice is a release of something heavy on my heart, mind and soul. My voice is a tool for well-being. My voice cannot tell a lie. If it does, inner peace eludes me. I am sorry for saying “I don’t like you” when I hear a recording of you. My voice calms me when I hum. My voice makes others laugh when I laugh - so in a way my voice is contagious. My voice speaks for my higher, wiser self. My voice reminds me that I am strong and courageous, gentle and kind. The voice in my head tells me to be positive. My voice says “I am healthy and strong. I am already healing. Healing takes time. Be patient. My body is designed to heal. Speak healing into existence.” Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Sara Corckran It was 2002, and I was a 30-year-old pregnant teacher who had taken the day off of school to sit next to my husband, Alex. I perched in the visitor’s chair, a packet of tissues tucked away in my very first purse . I loved that purse—I think I still have it today. It was blue with a subtle plaid and red handles, a gift from my mother-in-law that made me feel very grown up. As I reached into the purse for another tissue, I dropped the crumpled one in my lap. The tiny movement startled Alex, pulling him from his chemo daze . He noticed the tissue exchange and, for the thousandth time, asked why I was crying. It surprised him every time. To me, it couldn’t have been more obvious. I didn’t have the words yet to tell him I was exhausted from the fight. While he was battling cancer, I was trapped in my own kind of war —a relentless boxing match with my thoughts. My thoughts had gloves—a right hook, a gut punch, a knockout. I never saw the punches coming, but I felt every single one of them. I felt alone, powerless, and scared. I believed that darkness was inherent with cancer. Fast forward 18 years. I know it was 18 years because just a week before my daughter’s 18th birthday, I went in for a routine checkup. And that’s when I heard the three words I never thought I would hear: “ You have cancer .” The floor dropped out from under me , taking my breath, my balance, my blood pressure with it. Here we go again. On the morning of my first chemo treatment, I laced up my sneakers and took my dog, Oliver, for a walk. My husband walked beside me, quiet but present. The air was crisp, the water shimmered in the early morning light. It should have been a peaceful moment, but I felt the familiar weight settle in . That sinking feeling—like I was stepping back into the boxing ring. I braced myself for the punches. For the fear. For the darkness I thought was inevitable . But something was different. This time, I noticed the lights were on. I could see things coming . And I realized I wasn’t defenseless—I had gloves of my own. I had a strong stance, a steady foundation. And I had something else, too: a backpack filled with tools. These weren’t just ordinary tools. They were hard-won, tested by time, and refined by experience. They were the 11 strategies I had learned over the years—through my work in positive psychology, through the practice of resilience, through the quiet lessons of struggle and survival . They weren’t just theories or feel-good ideas. They were what kept me upright. What reminded me that I wasn’t powerless. What helped me choose hope instead of despair. Hope isn’t just something we feel—it’s something we practice, something we build. And when life hands us the unthinkable, it’s what helps us rewrite the story. That’s the difference between who I was in 2002 and who I became in 2020. I no longer believe that darkness is inherent with cancer—or with any adversity. The darkness comes when we don’t have the tools to see the light. But light exists, even in the hardest moments . It’s in the people who show up for us, the small joys we allow ourselves to notice, and the practices that help us shift our thinking from fear to possibility. I carried those 11 tools with me through every infusion, every surgery, every moment of doubt. They reminded me that even when I felt weak, I was strong. That even when I felt alone, I was loved . That even when I felt like I had no control, I had choices. And those choices—how we respond, how we show up for ourselves, how we frame our story—make all the difference. Actionable Tool: Shift your thoughts to shift your reality. When you’re facing difficult moments, ask yourself: What would I choose if I wasn’t afraid? Or:  What would I do if I truly believed I was capable of handling this?  This question has the power to pivot your mindset. Instead of reacting out of fear or doubt, start making choices aligned with your values. This practice empowers you to build resilience with intention . Resilience isn’t something we’re born with; it’s something we build . And no matter what life throws our way, we all have the power to pick up the pen and write a new ending. Reflection Questions: What is one story you’re telling yourself about your current struggle? What might I see or learn if I approached this challenge with curiosity instead of fear? These tools aren’t just about surviving; they’re about thriving, no matter the circumstances. About the author: Sara Corckran has been on both sides of a cancer diagnosis—first as a caregiver, then as a patient. The first time, she didn’t have the tools to cope. The second time, she did—and it made all the difference. Now she shares what she’s learned in her book Grit and Grace and in her free weekly newsletter, The Heron’s Perspective . She believes that while pain is part of life, suffering doesn’t have to be the whole story. Read More: How Cancer Trauma Can Impact Your Life – and Ways to Move Forward Breast Cancer and Mental Health: Recognizing and Addressing Depression and Anxiety The Psychological Impact of Breast Cancer: Strategies for Coping On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations Emotional and Physical Challenges Post-Treatment: Katrece Nolen on IBC Survivorship Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Andrea Berting Two weeks after my second chemotherapy infusion, I found myself feeling somewhat normal - at least, as close to normal as I would manage during this phase of treatment. I could keep down solid food with some level of nutritional value, my bones barely hurt, and I was mostly functional with only one nap per day. I was unstoppable! A force to be reckoned with! But what should I do with this extremely limited amount of energy? I realized that my favorite burlesque and variety show here in Chicago - Bad Taste - had a performance on an evening that I felt more or less like a human. Strolling into the theater in my comfiest cardigan, lowest effort makeup, and baldest head, for a moment it almost seemed like I had achieved something resembling my pre-diagnosis existence. Sure, a few strangers threw some pitying glances my way, but the crowd was mostly made up of friends who were happy to see me there, cancer or no cancer. After finding a seat, I looked up and happened to make eye contact with an acquaintance who I hadn’t seen in several months. Immediately, she gave me the Sad Eyes ™ that I’m sure every cancer patient knows too well. Approaching cautiously, as if I was a precious piece of porcelain that might shatter at any moment, she told me how glad she was to see me - after all, she was “following [my] journey on social media”. Using most of the finite energy reserves I had set aside to get through the evening, I managed to stifle an exasperated sigh and simply gave her a pained smile. It’s difficult to put into words exactly why calling my illness a “journey” inspires such revulsion in me. So difficult, in fact, that it took me nearly a year after finishing what one might call “active treatment” to even begin writing this post. In 2010, I took a two-week solo road trip from my then-home in northern Virginia to Austin, Texas and back. It was the first time I ever traveled alone, and it was exhilarating. That was both a literal and figurative journey for me - I visited cities and landmarks I had never seen before, and exposed myself to a variety of landscapes and cultures I wouldn’t have come across otherwise. I came away from that trip with a newfound sense of who I was, and who I wanted to be. Doing something huge like that on my own felt powerful. In 2012, I quit my job as a high school teacher to pursue a career in theatre. That decision took me halfway across the country to Chicago, and kickstarted a convoluted path that started in part-time retail and brought me exactly where I had hoped to end up. Those feelings of unrest and disappointment, of taking two steps forward and one step back, and ultimately of accomplishment and pride in my work were all critical points along the way of an extremely satisfying journey. I have taken many “journeys” along these lines - physical trips, emotional challenges, spiritual transformations, blah blah blah. There is nothing about my experience as a cancer patient that I feel remotely resembles any of that. Overall, I find it extremely off-putting when people feel the need to use flowery language to talk about something as awful as cancer. No, I didn’t “fight like a girl”. I’m not a warrior (ugh), or an inspiration (yuck), or anyone’s sister except for my actual brother's. In my mind, calling cancer treatment a “journey” falls under this umbrella. It’s just another way to make it sound somewhat pleasant or tolerable, even borderline fantastical. Please, please, please, do me a favor and just call this BS what it is - a f***ing awful ordeal that nobody should have to go through.  “But wait,” I hear you saying, “My mom/aunt/best friend/dentist calls their cancer treatment a journey! What about them? Are you saying that they are BAD and WRONG???” You’re right - there are lots of people who refer to having cancer as a journey they’ve taken. And guess what? That’s totally fine! If you’re a person who has had cancer, then you can call it whatever the hell you want and I’m not here to stop you. Plenty of folks find it empowering to use this type of language, and I fully support them. We lose control of a never-ending list of things when we go through treatment, and speaking about it in a way that works for you is important! So yes, if you hear your grandma refer to her “cancer journey”, then she probably won’t roll her eyes at you if you use that phrase. Listening to the cancer patient in your life, and really paying attention to the way they refer to their experience and treatment themselves, will give you all the clues you need to talk to them in a non-exhausting way. (This works for all kinds of stuff, by the way - nicknames, pronouns, job titles, etc. Paying attention to the way others refer to themselves is a great way to make sure you’re speaking about them respectfully!) Until you get a chance to observe what language they prefer to use, it can be difficult and scary to reach out to someone dealing with a cancer diagnosis. After all, you don’t want to make them feel worse than they already do! From my experience, here are some safe things to say that pretty much every cancer patient will appreciate: “Everything about this is awful and I hate that it’s happening to you.” This kind of statement is empathetic, acknowledges that the person is hurting, and uses straightforward language. Win-win-win! “Please let me know if I can make you dinner/drive you to an appointment/buy you weed/walk your dog.” It’s tempting to simply leave it at “let me know if you need anything”, but what seems like a flexible offer to you can feel overwhelming to the patient. They very likely have no idea what they’ll need, and won’t reach out to you because they don’t know where to start. Offering specific, concrete things you know you can do will make it more likely that they will take you up on it when those needs arise. “If you ever need to vent, I’ll listen.” This is a little more open-ended, but I find that it’s a good approach because it doesn’t put pressure on the person with cancer to spill their guts immediately. Personally, I know I felt like a few people expected me to cry on their shoulder on command, and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was because they actually cared about me or because they wanted to feel like a good person for “supporting” me. If you’re open to listening, then YES ABSOLUTELY LET THEM KNOW, but follow up by being ready to talk about non-cancer things until they feel like emotionally unloading. “I don’t know what to say.” Probably the # 1 most painful thing you can do to your friend or loved one with cancer is to completely disappear. Hearing “I don’t know what to say, but I want you to know that you’re great and I love you” is one billion times better than feeling like you’ve driven someone out of your life by being a scary sick person.  This is by no means a comprehensive list! Everyone is different, so use your best judgement. If you know that your friend has a weird sense of humor, then sure, tell her that her hair loss from chemo is simply the first stage of shedding her mammalian traits so she can transform into a beautiful snake girl. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.

By Kristen Carter Dear Kristen, I had these great dreams for the future, but now that I’ve had breast cancer I’m afraid to look ahead. What can I do to feel positive about life again? -K.J. Dear K.J., Dreaming of the future is a uniquely human thing to do. We are the only species (that we know of) that can project ourselves into an imagined future. And those futures can be so lovely! Filled with love, babies or grown children, travel and adventure, professional success, and on and on. Other species live in the moment, satisfying basic needs like eating and not being eaten. It makes me wonder who has it better, them or us. What you are experiencing is unfortunately so common among women with a breast cancer diagnosis and anyone who comes face-to-face with their mortality: we somehow lost trust in the future we’ve imagined. On one hand, this should come as no surprise. Nothing is guaranteed, after all. On the other hand, it is so human to dream, and therefore we can’t stop ourselves from doing it. What’s required here is radical acceptance. As the life coach Martha Beck says, “So what? Now what?” What do we do with the reality that is staring us in the face? The answer is, we embrace it. This is our truth, right now, in this moment. Once we’ve done that, we can move forward. Until we accept what’s real, we carry our future dreams around like a giant piece of baggage. Acceptance and setting down that bag of hopes and dreams will require some grieving. Let yourself mourn for what you’d hoped for. Then you can begin looking for what is actually around you, and go from there, perhaps even discovering new hopes and dreams. What is around you? Family? Friends? Work? Hobbies? Take stock of what IS in your life, rather than what isn’t. How can you make the most of what you already have? If you can enjoy what is present, you have the key to happiness. I believe there is always something to be grateful for if we look for it. And that is the way to feel positive about life again. Tools I love to use when I need to feel grounded and to cultivate hope: Writing in my gratitude journal before bed. Calling an old friend I haven’t spoken to in a while and catching up on the phone (not zoom). Making plans for the short-term future. It doesn’t have to be settling down and starting a family in five years, or a dream vacation; it can be a 5K road race coming up this summer. My favorite tool is cutting up old magazines and making vision boards. It’s creative and gets me inspired every time I look at them. In fact, I have several around my house. Know that you are not limited to just one! xo Kristen

By Survivingbreastcancer.org Some things are priceless. For people affected by breast cancer, support, information, and community top the list of essential items with no price tag. They are the very pillars of the mission of Surviving Breast Cancer. At the heart of our mission is the belief that well-being and quality of life are fundamental parts of the breast cancer journey and a significant complement to a person’s medical treatment. While the above may be invaluable, providing them still costs money. We greatly appreciate our donors’ support, and we think it’s important to explain all the wonderful things your contributions provide. One of our supporters thought it was important enough to mention it in a note to us: “ My wicked smart friends at Survivingbreastcancer.org are starting Pinktober off right by highlighting a story that goes beyond the pink ribbon. Please listen and if you do support a breast cancer cause this month, make sure you know where the money is going.” Noel, MA Support Groups/Meet and Greets Fostering community is at the very core of our mission. Breast Cancer Survivor & Friends Meet and Greets is one of our premier events. Like many other events, since the pandemic, the meet-up happens online now and continues to build a strong sense of community. The importance of community to humans can’t be understated. A growing body of research shows that the need to connect socially with others is as basic as our need for food, water, and shelter. There’s also growing evidence that social support is good for a person’s health—even improve cancer survival . Each $25.00 donation enables us to host a Thursday Night Thrivers meet-up and participants share the impact of those events with us: “Thank you for hosting this amazing event, and for all of the other things, you continue to do to keep us all educated. I feel such a sense of community, and I’ve only come to two Thrivers’ meetings!” Charmica, MI “Thank you for last night! I was so happy to celebrate the start of 2020 with such a dynamic and friendly group of women. The conversation transcended even beyond breast cancer stories, thus creating even stronger connections.” Laura D., MA This summer, we convened 155 Survivingbreastcancer.org community members for our first annual Summer Soiree! Attendees received care packages to enjoy an evening of making connections, laughing and enjoying some relaxing rock painting! Check out the video to catch the highlights! Educational Materials Donations also make it possible for us to ensure that our nearly 6,500 website visitors each month have access to valuable information, including necessary information about breast cancer, risk factors, symptoms, genetic testing, and more. Educational information is provided in many forms, such as podcasts . Each contribution of $250 makes you a member of our Producer’s Club and enables us to produce a podcast that features conversations with medical professionals (doctors, radiologists, oncologists), caregivers, and advocates. Unless you wish to remain anonymous, we like to give a shout-out to our P roducers during a podcast episode that corresponds with their contribution date. And in true producer style, members of the Producer’s Club are also invited to share feedback with the podcast host and share suggestions for future podcasts. To date, 30,000 people have downloaded our podcasts, motivating us to continue to bring podcasts to our community. “I just finished listening to the most recent podcasts with Alicia Duncan and WOW!!! I wanted to laugh and cry! So much of what she said was so relatable!” Tammy, CA The financial support we receive also makes it possible for us to create blogs that cover a wide range of topics. Each post costs $100 and allows us to share timely information, helpful tips, and personal stories that resonate with others. “Oh, how I can relate to ALL of this! I was 35 and pregnant after two miscarriages...Thank you for baring your soul. The waves that your words create are a never-ending ripple.” Trish, NH A Boost of Confidence A $500 contribution allows us to mail out a care package as a surprise to someone diagnosed with breast cancer that would not otherwise receive such a gift. When someone is diagnosed with breast cancer it is hard to take the time they need to prioritize themselves with self-love and self-care. Beauty may only be skin deep, but sometimes just looking good can deliver a boost of confidence! These gift packages are filled with a combination of non-toxic makeup and other products and serves as a fantastic opportunity to help someone feel good. We are grateful for every type of generous support we receive, whether it’s an annual contribution , a legacy donation, or an endowment that helps us create educational material, host meet-ups, or support our health and wellness programs. We also welcome and encourage donors to design their fundraising efforts and provide suggestions to help you get started. Taking Our Minds Off of Cancer Our newest initiative, the Breast Cancer Book Club will be launching November 1st. In partnership with the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center (UPMC) we will be hosting our community Breast Cancer Book Club. The Breast Cancer Book Club is a monthly virtual book club for breast cancer patients and survivors. Unlike the traditional support group, where breast cancer is the usual topic of discussion, this book club is designed to take our patients minds OFF of cancer, while still providing opportunities for support and connection! Your $35 donation enables us to provide a book for a breast cancer survivor in our Book Club. We believe that there should be no barriers to access and your donation helps us insure that anyone interested in joining our Breast Cancer Book Club is able to without worrying about the cost of the materials. Make a recurring monthly donation to sure we can fund our survivors for one month and beyond! Learn More . You can be sure that all gifts serve as a foundation of our community. With your help, we can continue to deliver hope. Please feel free to contact our Executive Director Laura at, laura@survivingbreastcancer.org to discuss legacy endowments as we honor the living and memories of our loved ones. Want to know where we are headed? Below are our Current and Stretch Charity Fundraising Goal and Funds Disbursement $5,000 website development · Flush out members area · Special content for members only or early access to sneak peaks of upcoming podcasts, etc. $10,000 provides experts in counseling, grief services, social workers, physical therapist and nurse navigators to moderate group discussions boards. · Can also help us secure experts and medical professionals to review our blogs and content so that we can say “Written by xxx and medically reviewed by xxx” thus strengthening our content. $25,000 Build out a breast cancer buddy program matching the newly diagnosed with a breast cancer mentor with a similar diagnosis who is a few years out. $100,000 Build a curriculum around breast cancer prevention and disseminating it into high schools and freshman seminar classes around the county. $500,000 purchase Retreat House/Farm. $1,000,000 hire 5 FTEs (IT, Marketing, Events Planning, Distribution, and Education) $5,000,000 hire 20 FTEs to extend personal outreach into 20 Regional Territories (working with the Underserved Communities) $10,000,000 scale up BC Virtual Patient Care Platform to serve global community (UK, Australia, Canada, India, S Africa, China, Japan) Love What We Do? Start Your Own Fundraising Campaign on Social Media It's easy to start a fundraiser on social media! Below are tutorials on how to set up your fundraiser on Facebook and Instagram and raise donations for survivingbreastcancer.org

By Kim OBrien Originally published on YogaVista.tv as "Surviving Breast Cancer: My Personal Experience" A Breast Cancer Diagnosis Hey Yogis! I typically follow that tagline with an enthusiastic Chair Yoga Class, but today I share something more personal. For the past year, I have been working my way through a breast cancer diagnosis. When I first heard the news, I was caught completely off-guard. I thought I was doing everything possible to make myself “bullet-proof” against a disease like cancer: I cleaned up my diet years ago I swapped out my beauty and home cleaning products with natural, non-toxic alternatives I exercised regularly — practiced Yoga, Qi Gong, meditation and breath relaxation techniques daily I kept up with the latest in natural health and well-being I have no family history of cancer (zero, zip) At the time of my diagnosis, my only risk factors for breast cancer were being female and over 50. Cancer was NOT on my radar! My Doctor found the Lump September 16th, 2022 marked the one year anniversary that my lump was found. I dislike using the word “anniversary” because I prefer to associate the term “anniversary” with special occasions and this one is not special in any way. My lump was not detected by a mammogram , but instead at the hands of my most excellent doctor. Every year she takes the time to check for lumps. Are Annual Mammograms Enough? Like many women, I did not have my annual mammogram in 2020 due to Covid and unfortunately, I was not diligent about doing self breast exams. By the time things settled down with Covid I didn’t get back in for my annual physical until September 2021. Even if I had had my regularly scheduled mammogram in May of 2020, there is no guarantee that my lump would have been found. For one thing, I have “dense breasts”. It is harder to see tumors on a mammogram because dense breast tissue and tumors both show up white. That makes it hard to identify cancerous growths. Secondly, as my surgeon advised and I later confirmed through my own research, many cancers are fast growing. You can have a clean mammogram Tuesday and by Friday of the same week a tumor can begin to form. Regular Manual Breast Self-Exams Waiting an entire year for a mammogram is simply not enough. Regular, manual, self-exams must be part of your breast health protocol. As one fellow breast cancer “thriver” suggests, “squeeze your stuff” and I could not agree more with Fitz Koehler. Laid-Back Attitude around Breast Cancer Aside from being caught off-guard by my diagnosis, I was equally floored by the laid-back attitude around breast cancer. The number of people who told me it was not a big deal and there is no need to worry is too long to count. I kept hearing: Breast cancer is “curable.” “Treatment has come so far and you will be fine.” “My aunt had breast cancer 20 years ago and she is still alive.” “I believe God chose you for this, so that you could be an example to others.” and my all time favorite, “Well, my church teaches that greed causes cancer…” Okay, so if I have this right, breast cancer is a cakewalk, I will live for another 20 years and God chose me because I was strong or because I was greedy or is it both? Breast Cancer is a BIG DEAL! Well, I am here to tell you that breast cancer is a BIG DEAL! Even though treatment options have come far, they are still hard, uncomfortable and DO NOT come with any guarantees of longevity. I am NOT “the chosen one”… that’s Harry Potter. And if in fact greed does cause cancer, then there is a whole lotta greed out there because statistically speaking, “1 in 2 men and 1 in 3 women will be diagnosed with cancer in their lifetime.” Source My Cancer Treatment This is what my treatment involved: Two Biopsies — I passed out cold during both procedures One Surgery — successful, but I dealt with a very uncomfortable Seroma post-surgery for weeks 3 Months of Chemotherapy — of which I am here to tell you honestly, that losing my hair was NOT the worst side effect; in fact, having no hair ANYWHERE on my body was very freeing in a peculiar and humorous way 6 Weeks of Radiation — which I chose to drive myself to every single day because I needed some “me time” without the eyes of loved ones looking at me with compassion tinged with pity And it is all topped off with the prospect of several years of drug therapy which comes with many uncomfortable side effects that may reduce the future risk of recurrence. However, as I have said before, there are no guarantees or certainties with cancer treatment. And that, my friends, has been the hardest realization for me to come to terms with: “MAY reduce the risk of recurrence.” We all have Cancer Cells In the beginning, I thought all this toxic treatment would heal me and kick cancer out of my body for good. However, the truth is that we all have circulating cancer cells in our bodies and there is no way to eliminate them, not even chemotherapy can do that. We can only tune our bodies in a way that hopefully makes our “soil” uninhabitable. Working through Breast Cancer How did I work through my experience with breast cancer? And please take note that I didn’t call it a “journey”, because I have decided when I am on a journey it’s going to be a path I choose to explore, not endure. I wish I could tell you that it was Viktor Frankl’s writings that inspired me to seek a reason beyond myself to keep my fight to stay alive strong. Actually, it was more Winston Churchill’s words that motivated me: “When you’re going through hell, keep going.” So I kept going, because at times, it was Hell. Healing through Yoga And how did I keep going? As soon as the strong effects of chemo wore off at the end of each week, I was back teaching Chair Yoga on zoom, at least until my next chemo infusion. I learned quickly that sharing my love of yoga was as healing for me as it was for the participants. I am blessed to have a local community who didn’t care if I was sick or bald or had to cancel class at the very last minute. The yogis kept showing up week after week to zoom with me, to support me, so together we could heal our hearts, bodies and minds. My yogis, my family and my tribe showered me with kindness, compassion and a love as I have never experienced before. But that last sentence is not completely true. The love that I received was always there… I simply failed to see it. But I see it now and I will never take a smile or a warm hug or a kiss for granted again. Laughing Out Loud During treatment I stopped watching or reading anything that was sad. I was sad enough and I didn’t need to add to it. So every single time when I took to the “cancer couch,” I binge-watched The Big Bang Theory or Friends or Seinfeld or Ted Lasso… Anything that offered me the opportunity to Laugh Out Loud. Laughter heals or, at the very least, it distracts. “We can either change the complexities of life – an unlikely event, for they are likely to increase – or develop ways that enable us to cope more effectively.” – Dr. Herbert Benson. The Slow Process of Recovery I will never be fully cured of cancer, and I am in no way fully healed, but I have started the slow process of recovery. I am far from being the person I was pre-cancer and I am not sure I will ever be her again. My heart is broken. The conventional treatment may be in the rear view mirror, but learning to live with cancer creates new challenges. The Struggle of Surviving One final thought I’d like to share is that cancer is hard on the body, but even harder on the mind. For me, recovering physically has not been nearly as hard as recovering mentally. Yes, I am currently surviving cancer, but some days surviving is not merely enough. Every day I have to convince myself to keep going and keep moving forward. Here is where Friedrich Nietzsche’s eloquent words guide me, “He who has a WHY to live for can bear almost any HOW.” I have many WHYs to live for, but I am struggling to navigate the HOWs. My Daily Affirmation I cannot recall exactly where I read this next line, but it has become my daily affirmation: I have decided to stop trying to Save My Life and instead Start Living It. I know that I am not alone in this experience. One thing I have come to fully appreciate is that Pain is Pain; Sadness is Sadness; Loss is Loss; Disappointment is Disappointment. It all feels the same way on the inside. Sending you health, awareness and light for a renewed spirit, Kim OBrien P.S. Finding Answers in Books There were several books I read during my cancer treatment to help me find answers and peace. Some of these books were extremely hard for me to read like Chris Wark’s: Chris Beat Cancer . Chris chose to bypass conventional cancer treatment and take the “natural” path, yet within this book I found pivotal information that helped me recognize that some of the side effects I was experiencing from chemo were toxic. This knowledge which I shared with my oncologist resulted in a down-dosing of my chemo regimen. Sadly, my oncologist admitted to me that I was probably “overdosed on chemo”. I found comfort in Kate Bowler’s books, Everything Happens for a Reason: And Other Lies I Loved and No Cure for Being Human . I recently tore through Jeffrey Rediger’s book Cured and I took copious notes. That book led me to the one I am currently reading, A Year to Live by Stephen Levine. This last book may sound bleak, but it is turning out to be one of the most important books for my mental health. And, if you believe that we have the power within us to heal, then Jose Silva’s book, You the Healer , just might be something you’ll want to pick up when your mind is open and your spirit is ready to receive. --- Thank you for sharing your story, Kim. SBC loves you! SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Our Podcast Our Weekly MeetUp Online Support Groups Free, Weekly Events

By Aneela Idnani Warning: This blog contains medically graphic images and nudity which may be triggering or upsetting for some. “BREAST CANCER SUCKS, WHAT GOOD CAN WE SUCK OUT OF IT” I have the best kind of breast cancer: early stage, slow growing, and positively life- changing. After a 20-year tango with trichotillomania (a mental health condition affecting 1 in 20 people, where emotional imbalance triggers compulsive hair pulling), I understand that our bodies communicate with us - to get us to see, think, feel, and act differently…for the better. So when my breast cancer diagnosis came knocking at age 41 , I opened the door, invited it in for tea, and asked, “Why are you here? What do I need to change?” I, of course, already knew the answer, and was working toward it without this intervention from the Universe. But work, kids, friends, and volunteer obligation after volunteer obligation kept pushing it further down my to-do list: -Take better care of myself by eating healthier and exercising more, -Stop “should-ing” all over myself, -Stop “doing” to the point of exhaustion, -Stop taking on more just because I could, -And just let myself BE . A week before my breast cancer diagnosis, I was poised to add a few new projects to my already-full plate. My need to “always be doing” stems from core negative beliefs that “I am not enough,” or “I am not doing enough.” I trust that my breast cancer diagnosis is the Universe’s cheeky way of encouraging me to slow down & stop adding to my plate, to take care of me, & to focus whole-heartedly on that constant, but quiet, voice in my heart telling me to take action on what I really want and stop pushing it off. My Annual Physical In November 2021, I went for my annual physical. I’m not one to have a “family doctor,” rather bouncing from doctor to doctor as needed based on convenience of scheduling and drive time. I connected with this doctor when I met her back in the Fall of 2020 when I needed help with a new diagnosis of Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder (PMDD), a mental health condition of anger triggered by the hormonal changes of my menstrual cycle. Her clinic was a 5 minute walk from my house. When she moved, I followed her to her new clinic, a 20 minute drive away. After the routine pap smear, she looked up and asked, “You turned 40 this year, right?... You should start your routine mammogram screenings. We can do those here, just make an appointment on the way out.” Ever the people-pleaser, I did as I was told. The radiologist who smooshed my breasts between two cold, plastic plates said my breast tissue was very dense. She suggested I go for an ultrasound to get a better baseline for future comparisons, “totally routine,” she assured me. With winter holidays fast approaching, I could have brushed it off and waited another year - until my next annual check up, but ever the people-pleaser, I did as I was told. As I chatted with my ultrasound technician, she went from cheerful to “click, click, click.” I stretched my neck to see what looked like an old school TV with no signal - all “snow” except for a tiny pocket of clear, blackish-gray. I waited for minutes that seemed like hours to talk to the radiologist via speakerphone. “We see a small suspicious area in your left breast...you'll need to come back for another ultrasound and biopsy to confirm what it is,” she said. Though I was trying to keep my typical anxious thinking at bay, my first thought was financial, “Is my insurance going to cover this!?,” I whispered in my head as I held back tears in my eyes. At this point I still was thinking, “this is all routine…this is gonna be nothing…my tissue is just too dense…this can’t be happening to me.” I was in denial and I think my anxious brain chose money over health as its focus because it was an “easier” worry - I had insurance and it was going to be “good enough” to support me through this. The Diagnosis Two months later, on February 2nd, 2022, after winter break travels and COVID hit our house, I was finally able to get my biopsy. On February 3rd, 2022, as I tried to keep it out of mind, the lab electronically spilled the beans by releasing the detailed report to my digital e-health account. My mind got messy. I held onto my anxiety in silence for 24 hours wondering if I was reading the lofty medical terminology correctly. “Invasive Ductal Carcinoma”....“Positive…” I held my two young boys, ages 5 & 9, a little tighter that evening because I was feeling all the feels. As we watched “Encanto” videos on repeat, the tears trickled and I tried my best to hide them. I wish our healthcare notification system shared medical reports AFTER the doctor discussed the analysis. However, it is a federal regulation to "ensure greater transparency and personal access to our medical records" -- at the detriment to our mental health! The next day, February 4th, 2022 - “World Cancer Day,” the radiologist called and confirmed the details: I had a small growth in my left breast. My routine screening was now cancer. After my panic attack set in, I took a breath and reached out to a friend in New York who is a radiologist. She shared a bit of what to expect next in the process and even reviewed my scans and reports. She shared how many friends in the past few years have been diagnosed. This is what early & often mammogram screenings can do: save lives… …Hopefully. My Breast Cancer Tour As I started my tour of Minneapolis breast cancer surgeons, plastic surgeons, oncologists, and radiologists, I kept hearing “This is the best breast cancer to have.” I was interviewing for my care team , and making sure I answered these questions before choosing: -Who heard me? -Who spoke to me in a way that made me feel safe? -Who didn’t sugar coat this “ish”? My initial tests showed that the tumors in my left breast were: *Invasive Ductal Carcinoma (IDC) - the most common kind, which means the doctors know more about them *Early stage (1A) and small in size (1.3cm), meaning it hadn't spread *Growing slow, with a low Ki-67 score of 8% There was hope that this was treatable with surgical removal (mastectomy) and that I could close this chapter quickly! One doctor said, "It's probably been there for years...it's just now big enough to see." This comment triggered memories of my first pregnancy 9 years ago. While breastfeeding, I got mastitis. I had to be aspirated multiple times to surgically drain the abscess infection. Perhaps all those needle pokes 9 years ago triggered aggressive cellular growth cycles in the area? Thinking back to my dad’s battle with cancer - a year prior, he had slipped on ice and broke the bones in his arm. His cancer? Leukemia, which is abnormalities of the bone marrow. While it is only two anecdotes it makes me wonder if trauma to an area of the body increases the chance of cancer . I hope this cause/ effect is studied more in future. Then came confirmation that the cancer was ER/PR positive and HER2 negative . These tumor markers indicate that the cancer is "fed" by estrogen. My jaw dropped. For the past year I was on birth control due to the PMDD diagnosis. I was feeling positive emotional changes with regard to the PMDD, but, I wondered, “was the birth control, by keeping my estrogen levels steady, rather than an ebb and flow, feeding my cancer!?” I don’t want to know the answer, but again, I hope this cause/ effect is studied more in the future. Knowing the small tumor was in my left breast, I was looking at a lumpectomy . But, I was still sent for an MRI as a precautionary step to ensure there were no other tumors in either breast. Magnetic Resonance Imaging (MRI) is a noninvasive diagnostic technique. After being injected with a radioactive dye and laying in the tube of the MRI machine, a magnetic field and computer-generated radio waves create detailed images of the organs and tissues. My MRI "lit" up a few more suspicious areas . But to know how suspicious, I had to go back for another ultrasound and biopsy that provided more detail: the tumor was 1 "large tumor" (1.3cm - still small) and a scattered cluster of 4 more smaller tumors. (Perhaps each needle prick of the mastitis aspirations!?) What was one a simple lumpectomy to get 1 cancerous lump out, was now a mastectomy - full removal of the breast. Reconstruction or Going Flat Despite being a poster child for early detection, it still felt drastic. Whether the cancer is early stage or advanced, surgical removal of the breast tissue seems to be the primary solution. I pray for a day when we have a less extreme solution, and I pray for the doctors, patients and researchers who get us there. Until then, I had no choice but to accept the shift from lumpectomy to mastectomy , while still having to choose whether or not to remove my right breast, and if I would do reconstruction . If I kept my right breast, I'd have to undergo annual “surveillance” to ensure a new breast cancer did not arise. With my mental health history, I decided that would cause too much anxiety. I also wanted symmetry. I grappled quietly in my mind with what to do after removal. I could undergo additional surgeries to reconstruct my breasts , or I could join a growing group of women who opted to “go flat.” I sat with the question, "Am I still a woman without my breasts?" and I worried what my husband would say. I thought about my childhood. Gender never mattered. I was a tomboy and more comfortable playing baseball and legos with the boys than whatever the girls were playing. When my elementary school librarian would not let me read Hardy Boys, I was confused and angered... I could only check out Nancy Drew. When I started working in my 20s, I never felt like the only woman in the room, because I wasn’t! Whether it was accounting or advertising, I was surrounded by strong female leaders. I felt no sense of loss at the thought of removing both my breasts and no desire to go through the added surgeries and potential infections of getting implants. My Decision I decided “Am I a woman without my breasts?” was the wrong question. My breasts never made me who I am: human. Instead, the question became, “What will get the cancer out and get me back to life the fastest?” The answer: aesthetic flat closure (AFC), the medical term for going flat. This procedure would be 4 weeks of rest and recovery versus 6 weeks for reconstruction. Also NO additional surgeries! In the past, women who opted for AFC were either very old, or very sick. The end result of their surgeries were not the prettiest. It was almost as if doctors thought “my patient doesn’t care, so why should I even try to make the closure look nice,” or there would be doctors that thought they knew better and would leave extra skin “in case” a woman changed their mind and wanted to do reconstruction later, at the detriment to their mental health and ability to reconnect with and accept their new body. But in recent years - as early screenings lead to early diagnoses, there has been a cultural movement amongst younger women to go flat AND want the closure to look aesthetically pleasing. However our healthcare system has not caught up with the trend. A plastic surgeon is not covered by insurance for an aesthetic flat closure, only for reconstructive surgery AFTER the breast/oncology surgeon performs their expertise of breast tissue removal. This is why it was important for me to find a breast surgeon that gave me confidence in their ability to perform the AFC operation - and in their ability to adhere to my wishes. Here again, I hope the healthcare system will catch up to patient needs. I would really love to understand why insurance companies are OK with putting me under again and going through pains of a subsequent surgery with a plastic surgeon for “touch ups” (which is covered by insurance!). Post- Surgery and The Mental Toll The first few weeks post-surgery threw me into a deep depression. It was the showering that broke me. Seeing the scabs made it all too real and finite. As did the hematoma on my right side (see below). My breast was gone, but I was left with this giant black and blue blood clot that I was told would reabsorb with time. It was such a monstrosity of a deformity that left me so angered. “How could my doctor do this to me?” I thought. Of course, she didn’t. I know she saved me and Every body heals differently. My tears flowed faster than the shower. I refused to let my mom, sister, or kids see what had become of me. But I forced myself to welcome my husband’s help as I could not shower alone, physically or mentally. I nearly fainted out of exhaustion the time I did try on my own. Sameer was and is my rock, lifting me out of the ditch my mind was driving me toward. During the first week post-surgery, friends and family would call to check in. When they asked “How are you feeling?,” I would not answer with the truth: Guilty. Watching my dad battle leukemia, I've seen what real “big C" Cancer can do. The toll the sickness took, the toll the chemo took. Seeing him tied to machines to help him breathe, so weak he couldn't move. I'm not THAT kind of sick. After seeing 3 radiologists and 3 oncologists , I received the good news that my case of micrometastases in the lymph nodes post surgery is “too small and gray area” and my oncotype score of 10 is too low for the research to direct a strong recommendation for either radiation or chemotherapy. My breast cancer, contained to my now non-existent left breast, was cancer with a “little c.” There should really be another name for it so as not to confuse others who immediately take the leap that “cancer” means “chemo.” The worst of it is the mental toll that it's taken on me. I was ridden with guilt as friends and family took that leap, especially those that saw my dad’s journey & then realized, “Oh it’s not that bad.” I recognize that this cancer is different from the hardship others endure. I'm not "big sick" -- I just have “a little sick." While I am blessed to not have to undergo additional treatment, I will have to take tamoxifen, an estrogen-blocking pill (hormone therapy), to keep the cancer at bay. My recovery from trichotillomania taught me that health is a spectrum and comparing my highs or lows to others’ experiences is a downward spiral. Cancer is not a contest. Cancer is triggering though! In the midst of medical appointments, researching my surgical options, and sitting with uncertainty, I found my trichotillomania urges spiking, causing my hands to play with my eyebrows and lashes again. Trichotillomania recovery has never meant being "pull free," to me. This would mean complete abstinence from the act of hair pulling to self soothe. Trichotillomania is a medical condition. “Pull free” is like asking a diabetic to “just stop” having diabetes. Or hey you, reading this article, “just stop” having breast cancer.” Obviously not possible, but we can take action to manage these conditions, and reduce the space they take up and the hold they have on us - little by little. Rather, when it comes to trichotillomania, I strive for shame-free and being "pull less" - a few hairs here or there after highly triggering moments, and then reigning back control by taking care of myself in healthier ways. My brain needed lots of self-soothing after finding out I had breast cancer, and it took to it’s old ways: pulling out my eyebrow and eyelash hair in order to meet that need. But this is what control over trichotillomania is: awareness to make space for grace, a few hairs between my fingers, and then saying, "enough," and having the strength to move on to a healthier strategy that shows my self love. What I Have Come To Believe If you are facing a breast cancer diagnosis, or any adversity really, here is what I have come to believe through this experience and the experience of turning my trichotillomania pain into my purpose. Before you read this, I will fully acknowledge that some of these points may anger you. Sit with it. Do not deny yourself any feelings of anger, confusion, frustration. Do not swallow those feelings and slap on a cheerful veneer. Also, do not allow those negative feelings to consume you. Please do not take these strategies for “toxic positivity.” Rather, these are about mindset shifts that allow you to accept your circumstance, but not be defined by it. Trust me, it takes effort to believe in and act on these strategies and there are certainly days that I don’t put that effort in and sit with my sadness and grief and frustration! But the more I do, the better I feel and the better I feel, the more I act with love instead of fear. Take.your.time: Turn the gloom into bloom. It is not easy to give up control and “go with the flow” on a breast cancer journey. But we must try. The more we push back - questioning the necessity, the absurdity and the drasticness, the more we fill with sadness and anger. When we accept the situation, we can face the future with hope. Look beyond the ditch. In journalist Frank Bruni’s memoir, he shared a friend’s anecdote - when learning to ride a motorcycle the instructor said, “Don’t look at the ditch, else you’ll go right in.” It’s the same with our depressive thoughts - we can’t look at them for too long - we must look beyond to where we want to be. Embrace “thoughts and prayers.” Thoughts and prayers get a bad rap. If something bad happens and you are in a position to act, then thoughts and prayers are not enough. For example, politicians have the power - and responsibility - to act and set policies that prevent a bad thing from happening again and to ensure those policies do more good than harm going forward. But, if you are a friend and something bad happens, like, say another friend has tumorous growths in their body and they have to remove their breasts to get better, sometimes your only course of action is thoughts and prayers. So request and receive that positive energy, resonating through the universe and reaching you in your time of need. Thoughts and prayers are healing powers. Make lemonade from our melons. Adjusting to a new normal is a trying process from surgery to recovery. When things go wrong in our lives we have a choice in how to respond. When my “melons went bad,” I could - and did cry - as each breast surgery and oncology visit triggered memories of the loss of my dad to cancer. I could - and did get angry - that I had to go through this pain, yet another pain in the multitudes of pain in my life. But that “why ME?” attitude is not one that I wish to invite in any longer. Nor the endless suffering that negative thinking brings. We must find purpose in our pain. All the pain I’ve gone through - my dad’s death, to my battle with trichotillomania, to incredible heartbreak, and other painful events I still struggle to talk about - have brought me out farther and stronger, than I could have ever imagined. Only by embracing the pain, instead of pushing it down, by acknowledging its existence, making space for it in my life. But how do we find purpose? How do we not go down the tangent of lamenting “why ME?...What did I do to deserve this?” By shifting emphasis, with curiosity: “WHY me?...What am I supposed to make of this?” And for us with breast cancer, we have our melons and we gotta make lemonade. Allow time to heal. No one wants to hear “time heals” when they are in pain and suffering, but there is truth. Space, time, and distance make the feelings you are feeling feel smaller. It took almost 20 years to find healing from the loss of my dad, but I got there because I did the work my psychologist asked me to: “Identify 5 good things that came from his loss.” When it came to my breast cancer, I was so angered by the hematoma. Now 5 months later, it’s nearly fully reabsorbed AND the scarring on my right side is barely noticeable as compared to my left, which is still bright red. Now, I’m wishing I had two hematomas! Ha, here I am wishing for more suffering upfront, to allow for greater healing in time! Listen to the whispers of our hearts. If we don’t listen to our heartsong, the Universe will continue to throw lightning bolts and intervene. If you are pushing down the voice in your heart, I implore you to grab it by the hand and pull it back up to a decibel you can hear. Listen to your small, inner voice - the one telling you what you REALLY want, else the universe will keep trying to get your attention! And if it gets to the point of the Universe intervening, like, say, a breast cancer diagnosis, remember that crying is 100% part of the process, and so is looking at that intervention with hope and possibility. As I moved out of surgery and back to life, I moved back into my old ways - taking on more than I really needed or wanted to, but should do because I could. And you know what happened? The Universe intervened and threw a new lightning bolt. I got COVID. My body, so focused on healing my chest post-surgery, had no fight left to give the virus. I was hitting 103 fevers, sweating, and shivering simultaneously, and hallucinating. I didn’t listen to the cancer. I had to listen to the Covid. In a literal fever pitch, I resigned from two non-profit boards via text and let go of the last few extracurriculars that no longer matched my heartsong. With this breast cancer, I say “no” and declutter my plate of external obligations that are fueled by core negative beliefs of not doing or being "enough." With this breast cancer, I take the opportunity to rest and reset: *To reignite the love + laughter in my marriage *To build stronger bonds with my sons *To connect with my trichotillomania community with authenticity and courage *To strengthen friendships that have weathered from distance *And to carve space and time to really focus on what my heart has been whispering I hope my story and new way of seeing what breast cancer can bring to your life inspire you to listen to the whispers of your heart. Please feel welcome to connect with me via instagram at @aneelaidnani . I am wishing you love, strength and awareness in all you are and all you do. Thank you for sharing your story, Aneela. SBC loves you! Connect with Aneela here: Twitter: @ak310i and @habitaware Instagram: @aneelaidnani and @habitaware SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Our Podcast Online Support Groups Free, Weekly Events

By Renata My name is Renata, and eleven years ago I moved to the US from Italy with my husband and our two children. In February 2022, I was doing a regular check in the shower, when I felt a mass on the exterior side of my left breast. I immediately called for an appointment with my doctor. I had to wait a few days because I wanted to change doctors and I had to wait for the insurance to confirm it. In the meantime, my breast started swelling and it hurt. I was worried, but at the same time I knew that tumors don’t cause any pain, so why worry? I didn’t say anything to my husband. I tried to hide the swelling and the pain, and found excuses when he wanted intimacy, up until the day of the doctor appointment. Last year my husband lost a dear aunt to a neglected breast cancer, and it hit him hard. Showing him that the woman he sees as the column of the house, was vulnerable, wasn’t easy for me. But probably, I didn’t want to be seen as vulnerable. When the doctor saw me, he confirmed that it was most likely just a cyst, as tumors don’t generally hurt. But still, I was worried. At this point I talked to my husband, explaining to him it was just a cyst, but I had to do a mammogram and an ultrasound the week after. Testing and Diagnosis The mammogram was concerning because it didn’t show anything, but obviously something was there. The ultrasound however, showed more. A young doctor came into the room after he checked the results, and said he thought it was Inflammatory Breast Cancer and it was imperative to see a surgeon sooner rather than later, and my doctor would call me in a few days to schedule an appointment. This was on Monday. On Thursday, I called the doctor because nobody had called me. A nurse said the doctor was on vacation and would be back the following Monday. I gently explained the urgency, and she said she would put my note on top of the pile. I know how these things work. I understand that they probably have tons of patients who say that it’s urgent and want to be a priority, but mine really was a priority. I thanked her and hung up. Quick suggestion, keep nurses on your good side. My brother is a doctor, and this probably helps me see the doctor’s side. But still, I was a little nervous. The practical side of me said, “Hey, one day won’t change a thing,” but the patient side wanted this to be done sooner. Thinking about that now, I know why I was so nervous: when you go through medical issues in Italy, the waiting time is very long. I didn’t know that in less than a month I would have started chemo. Less than an hour later, the same nurse called me back to tell me that she checked my report, and she already called the surgeon, Doctor J., who was waiting for me to call. So, I did it immediately. He fixed an appointment for the following Monday and my husband went with me. The doctor performed another ultrasound and said he didn’t like what he was seeing. He wanted to perform a biopsy right there. The needle to numb the area went under the nipple, and it was a sharp pain. After drawing a few samples, he then went to numb the armpit, which was way sharper. I screamed a little and tears rolled down my cheeks. The surgeon called me on Wednesday after lunch. “It’s cancer.” These words echoed in my head like a death sentence. The day after, on March 31st, my husband and I went to his studio where he explained with drawings and words that were totally new for us, about the different kinds of cancer, the different stages, and different therapies. Mine was apparently Stage III Invasive Ductal Breast Cancer involving the lymph nodes . The good news, because apparently there is one, was that while Estrogen and Progesterone were negative, the HER2 was positive, and the chemo would work. Thank God for my husband, who recorded the meeting, because I was confused. Next Steps and Treatment The doctor scheduled for me a series of exams and a procedure to insert the IV port. The first exam was the MRI the day after, and with the result I got promoted from Stage III to Stage IV, Metastatic Breast Cancer . With the help of my husband, I talked to my children. It wasn’t easy for me to tell them something so hard and cruel, that their mother was sick and needed help. After 20+ years in which I was the one taking care of them, it was now their turn to return the favor. Something a mother would never want to do, would never plan to do, is ask her children for help. I started my first chemo on April 19th, with Taxol every week, Perjeta, and Herceptin every three weeks . It’s not the chemo that knocks me out, but the Benadryl they give me to prevent allergic reactions. The moment it runs through my veins, I feel myself losing power over my body. It’s a horrible feeling. I’m at the end of this round of chemo. Next Tuesday, with the results of the CT scan (performed today, July 15th, 2022), the doctor will tell me what the next steps are. No Major Side Effects I’ve been lucky so far, no major side effects. I shaved my head, not because of the loss of hair. It was because my scalp hurt so badly I couldn't even sleep. Shaving my head was the right choice for me. My husband trimmed the first layer, then my daughter shaved it. I still don’t like how I look bald, even after two months, while everybody else says I actually look pretty. I bought several beanies on Amazon that are specifically made for cancer patients. They are very pretty, and I had a couple of friends who made some for me. I never had vomiting , but I did have some nausea at the very beginning, though the medication they prescribed helped me. I took it two or three times. I sometimes have episodes of diarrhea , and that required some adjustments. For example, I can’t spend a day at the beach or hiking because, believe me, having to use those restrooms in the parks or at the beach when you have diarrhea, is not something you’d like. Then I had to accept that my house is not always clean and shiny, because most of the time I’m too tired to clean. I had to change jobs, because the previous one required standing for long hours, and it was a full-time job. Now, I have a part-time job and I’m sitting. This allows me to be home in the afternoon and take a nap. Yes, every day I take a nap because the fatigue is tough. I struggled accepting it, and it’s my husband who makes sure I take my daily nap. Sometimes, I think I’m okay, but I am not, and that’s why we need a husband or a good friend who will be honest with you and kick your butt, metaphorically of course, if you don’t rest. Exercise, Writing, and My Now One thing that I didn’t compromise on was my morning swimming . Every morning I go swimming for an hour. The only difference is that while before I used to swim 45 laps/hour, now I can barely swim 20, but the important thing is to keep doing it. Physical activity is one of the most important things we can do to cope with chemo. The water is perfect for the joints and in the water you move all of the body at the same time. I alternate ten laps swimming (cardio) with ten minutes of exercises, then again ten laps and ten minutes. It doesn’t help to lose weight, but it helps with the pain and side effects. I generally wake up at 5:30 and have a light breakfast while I chat with my sisters in Italy. At about 7am, I leave to go swimming and then to work. I work in the gym where I swim. At 1pm I go home, have lunch with my husband and sometimes one or both children. After lunch, my husband sends me for a nap (he comes to check if I’m really napping or if I’m on my phone!). I don’t want to take too long a nap, so I set the alarm for 45 minutes. After a nap I generally write a little. I love writing stories, watching documentaries, or reading. At about 6:30pm I start fixing dinner, and after dinner I continue what I left in the afternoon. At 9:30-ish I get ready to go to sleep. About the eating part … Since I started chemo, I was assigned a nutritionist. She explained to me that chemo would change my taste perception and also that I needed nutrition, so she didn’t want to take off some foods when maybe those were the ones I liked, and vice-versa. She asked me about my habits and when I explained that being Italian, I cook our every-day meals from scratch, she said to keep my habits and to be sure to have enough proteins in my diet. So, I did, and I didn’t change a thing. It’s true, my taste perception is completely altered. Salty food is never salty enough and often has no taste at all, and some foods are bitter. For example, I loved salad with lettuce and tomatoes, but now it tastes awful. On the other hand, sweet food is always too sweet, but I can really appreciate it Take good care of your skin , head to toe, because it gets really fragile and dry. Use lotion, a hydrating one, in the morning and at night. Even if you don’t have hair, use shampoo, one that’s sulfate free, and then an oil on your scalp. You lose hair, not only on your head, but everywhere. Not at the same time, but later in the journey. Hair loss, especially in the intimate parts, can cause itchiness. Don’t be shy and tell the doctor. Mine prescribed a cream that helps. There were things I wish I knew before, like the reason why some cancer patients are bald is not always for the hair loss, but also for the scalp pain.The second thing is the side effects don’t show up all at the same time and not right after the first chemo, but some show up almost at the end. My Suggestions I’d like to give a few suggestions of what really helped me. The first suggestion is physical activity . Swimming is amazing, the water hugs you, supports you, and water is healing. While you’re in the water you really can forget you have cancer. Just for an hour, but believe me, it’s a good thing. Sometimes, I let the water lull me, and some other times, when anger was taking over my mood, I went underwater and started screaming. It’s been so liberating. Any other activity is fine, just do it. The second suggestion is journaling . Oh my, how helpful this is. I make it double because I journal in two languages! Finally, my last suggestion is to surround yourself with people who make you feel good, who listen to you, and who understand you even when you don’t talk. Just be yourself, and they’ll love you for what you are. If you don’t have supportive family or friends, or if they’re not enough, find a good support group . I had to search a little longer to find what was good for me. At the beginning, I thought I didn’t really need a support group. I have an amazing family, here and in Italy, and great friends to support me. Then, further in the journey, I realized that, as great as they are, my family knows nothing about what I’m going through. Nobody knows how chemo makes you feel like a person that went through it. I needed to talk with someone that went through my journey, that understood what I felt. We human beings are all different, even the same therapy has different reactions on two people, and the cancer is not the same for those two people. That’s why I couldn’t limit talking with only one person. I needed to talk with more people to have a better outlook of what I’m dealing with. That’s true for me. The first support I found was a mentor . But that is a one-to-one relation, and only by phone. That wasn’t what I needed, but it can be what you need. I then found a support group with weekly zoom meetings and a chat group available 24/7. This was exactly what I needed. Perfect for me. SurvivingBreastCancer.org was my answer. Find what works for you. Thank you for sharing your story, Renata. SBC loves you! Connect with Renata on Instagram: @momrenata SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Our Podcast Online Support Groups Free, Weekly Events

By Rachel Bennett Steury I checked in at the same admissions counter as my husband did for his own cancer surgery seven years prior. The cubby for the phone connecting surgeons to family members in the lobby was the same. The TV showing the patient status for the day was the same. Even the chairs were all arranged exactly the same. I find myself reflecting on the time when Mat was faced with his cancer diagnosis a lot, while I traipse through my own . As my friend Gayle once said, “Damn, you two have some really radical cells!”  My co-pay was processed and my honorary bracelet was affixed to my right wrist. Thank you to Obamacare, once again. The clerk directed me out the door with the point of her finger, “Follow the blue tiles on the floor until you see A1.” The pre-op wing of the hospital was all abuzz at 7:00 that morning. The first round of surgeries for the day were being prepped. An overflow of blue gowns and white coats. An abundance of people hovering over hospital beds, saying goodbye to their loved ones before they went under the knife. Patients move in and out of here like an assembly line, I think. A sophisticated machine with an endless supply of sick people churning out an extended lifespan as the final product. The tech took my vitals, then asked me all of the mandatory questions to ensure I was fit for my lumpectomy . After I nearly had to pinky-swear that I did not have cream in my coffee earlier that morning, I was cleared to proceed. Indeed, I had an empty stomach and a mind full of wonder for how the day would transpire. I was escorted to my quarters for Mat to douse all of my skin with disposable wipes soaked in germ killer. They say this practice decreases postoperative infections. At that moment, it just made me cold. I put on my gown and tucked myself into bed. I was skeptical that a thin piece of foil would be enough warmth for me in that ice box. But thankfully, it wasn’t your typical sheet of Reynolds. This had a vacuum attachment blowing warm air into the pockets of the foil. It’s safe to assume, the inventor of the mammogram machine is not the inventor of this cozy blanket. Scribbles on the dry-erase board explained the game plan for the day, with me scheduled to leave the premises by 2:00 p.m. It’s wild to think this sort of surgery is outpatient. Modern medicine has come a long way.  The only other time I’ve had a major surgery requiring anesthesia was when I gave my kidney away. My hospital stay was extended an extra day since it caused me to lose my lunch and my water and anything else I ingested. After a thorough retelling of my medical history, the anesthesiologist stuck a patch behind my ear called scopolamine, designed to help with nausea and motion sickness. It looked like a round Band-Aid that I was forbidden from touching and then rubbing my eyes. My doctor came by to check in and answer any last-minute questions. She autographed my breast as if she were LL Cool J, circa 1990. She told Mat to expect a call when I was out of surgery . Then, the lights went out. I woke up from the heaviest sleep I’ve had in a long time. The first person I saw was Mat. The second person was the nurse who wasted no time with small talk. “Are you ready to go?” Mat assured me our exchange wasn’t as abrupt as my foggy brain remembered it being, but they were definitely ready to turn over my room to make way for the never-ending line of patients. Mat said the surgery was a success. Instead of taking just one lymph node, my doctor took out three because they were so close together. And of course, with a second incision, she evicted my cancer, the Rat Bastard, once and for all. If my doctor flipped it the bird on its way into the metal pan, I’m not sure. She struck me as the kind of radical-guerrilla-revolutionary that would, right before putting on her shades and walking into the sunset. Thank you for your badassery, Dr. Sinclair. The nurse helped me get dressed while Mat brought the car around to the front of the building. My throat was raw from the breathing tube and my brain was in a haze, yet I remember being surprised by my ability to move my arm  so freely. I anticipated feeling crummy and unable to do much at all. Perhaps the pain meds gave me a false confidence that would wear off. Or maybe arm limitations don’t apply to all breast cancers like I originally thought. I couldn’t see Doc’s handiwork until I got home and wow, was it a beaut. A 3-inch curved slice on the side of my breast and a 3-inch slice under my arm, both sealed up tight with clear tape. My skin was doused in that yellow stuff, and there were extra letters and numbers written all over my chest. Red, purple and blue bruises were beginning to take shape like an abstract art exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art. None of it hurt, but I guessed it soon would. Folks who’ve been through this may relate to the feeling I had of “just get it outta me.” That is where I had been living ever since I knew it was in there. Sometimes with healthcare, you have to hurry up and wait, sometimes things don’t work as fast as they should, and sometimes you can be surprised at how it all comes together. I’m privileged to be here. Fortunate for many reasons. You might even say lucky. I know this to be true.  About the author: Rachel Bennett Steury was diagnosed with ER+ PR+ HER2- Stage 1 invasive ductal carcinoma (IDC) at the age of 46. Under the pseudonym The Real Rachel BS  on Substack, she shares reflections of her experiences with IDC through Stories From the Cancer Trail: A Breast Cancer Retrospective. Rachel’s writing has been featured in magazines such as Wildfire Magazine , IndustryWeek , Indianapolis Business Journal  and Building Indiana , and in regional outlets including The Sacramento Bee , The Indianapolis Star , The Fort Wayne Journal Gazette  and Valley Scene Magazine . She is a digital nomad who lives everywhere, but can typically be found in Hawaii, California or Indiana. She can be reached at rachel@bennettsteury.com   Read More: Empowering Yourself: Questions to Ask Your Doctor After a Breast Cancer Diagnosis Understanding the Different Stages of Breast Cancer: What You Need to Know What is Breast Cancer Rehab? I Refuse to Accept This as My New Normal A Patient-Centered Approach to Plastic Surgery Reconstruction On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations Beyond Medicine: Forest Therapy and Cancer Recovery with Regan Stacey Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Marie C. Zoutomou-Quintanilla Before cancer entered my life, I was a vibrant 31-year-old juggling a demanding career and an active social life. I was deeply involved in my community and took pride in living healthfully. Like many young women, I rarely gave serious thought to my health—until everything changed. It began with a lump I discovered during a routine self-exam. I was concerned, but two doctors dismissed it, assuring me I was too young for breast cancer and advising against further testing. Still, something in my gut told me not to ignore it. As the lump grew, I knew I had to push harder for answers. When I finally received the appropriate tests, the diagnosis was life-shattering: stage 3 breast cancer . Looking back, I wish I had trusted my instincts sooner. The delay in diagnosis meant the cancer had already advanced. It’s a hard lesson, but one that fuels my mission today—to help others advocate for their health without hesitation. The day I heard the words “you have cancer” was the most difficult day of my life. I felt frozen, unable to process the news . When I called my father, his words cut through the fog: “Pull yourself together.” I did. After shedding a few tears, I chose to face the battle head-on. I was diagnosed with invasive ductal carcinoma (IDC) that had spread to my lymph nodes. It was estrogen receptor-positive, which meant hormonal therapy was part of my treatment plan. Treatment: Chemotherapy, Surgery, and Radiation Treatment began almost immediately. I started chemotherapy on November 18, 2010—a date forever etched in my memory. I endured 16 rounds of chemotherapy. Each session drained me physically and emotionally, but I held onto hope and resilience. Following chemo, I had a mastectomy and breast reconstruction . The surgery was tough, but it gave me a renewed sense of agency and optimism. Then came five weeks of radiation—short daily sessions that left lasting effects on my body. Life After Treatment Healing didn’t end when treatment did . Recovery was slow, and at times, deeply emotional. I was fortunate to be surrounded by family, friends, and a supportive work environment that gave me space to recover. The physical pain faded eventually, but redefining my life after cancer—finding my “new normal”—was the real challenge. Today, I am proud to stand as a breast cancer survivor. My story is proof that with determination and hope, even the darkest chapters can lead to something meaningful. Giving Back and Moving Forward Surviving cancer gave my life a new purpose. I now dedicate myself to raising awareness about the importance of early detection and screening. I mentor newly diagnosed patients and work closely with the American Cancer Society to provide support and resources. Whether through speaking engagements, my book You Are Being Tested, Do Not Worry , or one-on-one coaching, I’m committed to helping others navigate their own battles with strength and positivity. A Message of Hope To anyone currently going through cancer treatment: you are not alone. The road is hard, but you are stronger than you know. Cancer may be a chapter in your life, but it doesn’t define your whole story. Keep fighting, keep believing, and keep moving forward. If I made it through, so can you. Read More: Empowering Yourself: Questions to Ask Your Doctor After a Breast Cancer Diagnosis Addressing the Unique Challenges of Breast Cancer in People Under 40 Why a Second Opinion Matters for Breast Cancer Understanding the Different Stages of Breast Cancer: What You Need to Know Invasive vs. Non-Invasive Breast Cancer: Key Differences and What They Mean A Patient-Centered Approach to Plastic Surgery Reconstruction How Cancer Trauma Can Impact Your Life – and Ways to Move Forward On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations Breast Cancer in Younger Women: Navigating Survivorship, Surgery Choices, and Lymphedema with Dr. Kohli Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Ida Goeckel September 2023 I.  I never use a rounded oversized tablespoon  For soup Nor a small narrow teaspoon for cereal Like Goldilocks I use an in between sized sugar spoon Petite, but wide enough  For a satisfying, just right mouthful I only have one I use no other spoon to eat  The others wait with bated breath in the drawer And hope they will be called to other active duties I also prefer salad forks to dinner forks And unless I cook pasta and sauce, Which, is preferred in larger portions, I almost always use a sandwich plate And bless the genius who invented The bagel guillotine Cutting even halves with a serrated knife Was never in my skill set I never bother to pull out The fancy spreading knifes  When a butter knife will do Juice glasses Suffice for wine Neatly stacked cups and saucers eye My oft used mugs Jealously from the cupboard II.  A creature of habit In my OCD world Inanimate objects and tasks carry energy And I make important daily decisions About which eating utensil Which drinking vessel Which pen Which medium Which item  On my to-do list Will have the honor  Of being chosen above the others I establish order in My domestic domain III. Everything has a purpose  And a place Everything must have equitable distribution Like how I arrange my place setting At the table How my garden beds, Like matching bookends, Are designed symmetrically When I buy a decorative garden item I usually languish  Over whether I can live with only one Usually though, they are bought in twos  IV. Breast cancer has had a way Of making me feel Like my world is not correctly calibrated  My control  A charade and  Overruled by medical recommendations As a mature seasoned woman Specialists and surgeons often pretend to care About my need for a matched pair When to them  It’s perceived as trivial and superficial For someone of my age I no longer possess A perfect set of twins And opportunities To remedy this Have been primarily disappointing  Looking in the mirror, My alignment thrown off kilter,  I choose my spoon with intent About the Author: Ida Goeckel is a poet, musician, philosopher, humorist, and two-time poster child for early detection and breast cancer survivor, who had been diagnosed with DCIS in 2003 and 2012. In 2013, via genetic testing, it was determined that she was BRCA mutation positive. In both cases, she had a lumpectomy, followed by radiation treatment, 5 days/week for 8 weeks. She also is the author of a chapbook entitled Haiku Madness, published by Foothills Publishing in 2018. All the proceeds from this chapbook are donated to an annual benefit that she founded and organizes called Female Musicians Fighting Breast Cancer. October 2025 will mark 22 years that this event has been held to raise funds for the Resource Center at Roswell Park Comprehensive Cancer Center in Buffalo, N.Y. To learn more about this event and Ida’s story, please visit www.benefitfmfbc.org   Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Pam Mendelsohn The caretaker: ‘Role Reversal’ - a succinct phrase that never covers a complex dynamic. Daughter: Bury your despair, you’re her lifeline now. Aide: Transfer, toilet, try, try, Try. Survivor: Both removed. Radiation skin damage. Mile wide scar when Aesthetic meant nothing. Patient, Patience, Pamela. After a trying day, I knelt on her bed and hugged her for a while, comforting us both. She knows me. She wants to help. Dementia repeatedly forgives. I had no time for cancer. So it left me. Only time for love for my mother now. Family: We’re resting. Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

Meet Keishawn, And Connect With Her Strength, Faith, And Resilience At the age of 31, two days after losing my dad to colon cancer, I was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer. On September 6, 2017, it instantly changed my life, and immediately I knew I had to TRUST GOD . After watching my Mom and sister (both deceased from ovarian cancer) go through chemotherapy and the surgery, I knew the side effects of chemotherapy and how it would take a hit on my body. I knew I was going to have good and bad days. I was ready to fight and win . ​ My Treatment Plan My treatment plan consisted of 16 rounds of chemotherapy, a double mastectomy, and 28 radiation treatments. During chemotherapy, I didn't experience the nausea or vomiting as others do, but I did have body aches, blurry vision, and intense headaches. But even during my hardest days, I TRUSTED GOD! He knew the plans He had for my life. On April 19th, 2018, I lost my breast. I knew my beauty wasn't defined by my breasts, and after realizing these things (that my breasts were trying to take me out), I was immediately set! ​ I agreed to 28 radiation treatments, and I didn't realize how it was going to affect me. My faith was tested many days, and I wanted to give up. My skin was sensitive, I couldn't be in the sun, and going to treatment Monday-Friday was difficult. Just lying on that hard table for 15 to 20 minutes-I was over it. But faith got me through. How Did I Get Through It? I've built a closer relations with God, remained positive, and kept my faith! Sometimes circumstances happen to build and help us become who God wants us to be. I believe this. After losing many family members to CANCER, I did everything in my power to survive. I listened to my doctors, stayed hydrated, exercised, and listened to my body. The key is letting your body rest. Give your body time to heal. Also, try to do something you like to do. I enjoy food, so I went on lunch dates every Friday with friends. It helped me feel normal, and it helped me realize creating memories is all I want to do. My goal is to continue to promote early detection and spread breast cancer awareness, not only in October, but every single day. I want to inspire, empower, and motivate others to not only take their health seriously, but to know your current situation is not your destiny. You will get through it! Thank you for sharing your story, Keishawn. We love you! SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Breast Cancer Risk Factors Online Support Groups

By Gloria Shoon As I celebrated my 66th turn around the sun Purple was the colour of the day From the huge purple chair at The Chilled Cork for lunch To the photos on the wall that said Dream Big The Universe Speaks A turn too soon brought us to an 8 And Happy Birthday in rainbow colours on the front door appeared But it was the wrong 8 At Katherine’s B&B the right 8 What do you know The entire room was purple and yellow The Universe Speaks The side table in our B&B had a vase with hummingbird At the little reading nook there was a book titled Girlfriends On to dinner and what do you know I had packed a purple top Seated at our table And to my eyes What do I see A huge painting of a Fire Rooster The Universe Speaks At TJ Stables with Indigenous Spirit Horses The mare that chose me, her Ojibway name when translated means Skunk, Humility with Confidence The stallions’ Ojibway names mean Magic & Milky Way The Universe is always speaking Are you listening??? Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Kristen Carter The medical part of my story My first brush with breast cancer was in 2008, when my annual mammogram spotted something suspicious in my right breast. A needle biopsy showed it to be ductal carcinoma in situ (DCIS); what my radiologist called Stage 0 breast cancer. I soon found myself in the office of the city’s (Johannesburg, South Africa) preeminent breast specialist, who told me from the beginning that her approach was aggressive. For someone with “busy breasts” like mine, she recommended a double mastectomy, with or without reconstruction; my choice. But I couldn’t get myself to have something so radical done to my body. It was only Stage 0 after all! There was no spread to my lymph nodes and no other signs of cancer in either breast. Instead, I opted for a lumpectomy, followed by an oral estrogen blocker. Because there had been no history of breast cancer in my family, I thought this was a fluke; I was confident that with careful monitoring, I could prevent a recurrence, or at least catch it early. I was diligent about follow-up mammograms and ultrasounds, but in 2018, I got the shock of my life: not only had cancer come back, it had spread throughout my body, mostly to my liver and bones. I didn’t even find out from a mammogram; I went to my primary care doctor after my skin started itching all over and the whites of my eyes had turned yellowish; I thought I’d picked up hepatitis! The truth was so much worse: tumors were blocking the bile ducts that drain from my liver into my digestive tract, and the bilirubin was flooding my bloodstream. My new oncologist said that Step One was to try and open those bile ducts; until then, my body wouldn’t even be able to handle chemotherapy. The first surgical procedure to try and do that was unsuccessful, and things were looking bleak. My bilirubin levels were soaring. Fortunately, a new surgeon was brought in and the second surgery was successful. Within a couple of days, I was on a massive dose of carboplatin; an old-school chemotherapy they hoped would begin shrinking my tumors, particularly the ones in my liver. Once my liver was functioning, they could put me on the hormone-targeted therapies appropriate for my estrogen-receptive cancer. I got better. My cancer responded and by late that year, my cancer had receded throughout my body. But the joy was short-lived: by Spring 2019 it was back again, spreading even further through my spine, ribs, and pelvis. Further hormonal treatments weren’t making a dent in it. My oncologist wanted to try one more hormonal treatment, but his outlook was pessimistic. He even told me once that, with the average life expectance of someone with metastatic breast cancer (MBC) being between two and five years, some people had to be on the low end. I left that doctor. I found someone at our region’s number-one hospital who would take me on as a patient, and she immediately put me on a drug (capecitabine, or Xeloda), that is not specifically for breast cancer but for a variety of metastatic cancers. The side effects were known to be severe, but she thought it was my best bet at the time. Thankfully, it worked and continues to work. I’ve now been on it for more than two years and at this writing (November 2021), my scans and bloodwork continue to show no active cancer. The personal side of my story From the day of my diagnosis, my many external roles and responsibilities faded into nothing. I had been working as a certified positive psychology and family coach for many years and had several hundred people on my newsletter mailing list, and I closed up shop like *that.* I sent an email to clients and subscribers saying I was on medical leave, and turned my attention fully toward healing and spending precious time with my family. If you ever want to know how much something means to you, just imagine it being snatched away. That’s how I felt about my life and the loves of my life: my husband, son, and daughter; my father and brothers; and my dearest friends. They continue to be my primary focus; nothing else will ever matter more than me and my people. Even though I have slowly started building up my coaching and my writing, I will never feel more devoted to my work than to myself and those I love. The roller-coaster ride of treatment and watching my numbers go up and down was and is exhausting; I’m sure you can relate. But I have found some effective ways to cope with some of it, drawing on all the useful coaching tools I learned and used to teach other people. Now I use them on myself, often with real success. I keep a gratitude journal. I plan my life around six categories that I drew from positive psychology (“the science of well-being”) that I crafted into the acronym “SIMPLE:” Success (as I define it) Inspiration/interests – what fills my bucket and what I like to learn about and do Meaning – offering things to others: time, energy, money, the lessons I’ve learned People (the most important category, in my opinion; it just comes fourth because of where the P falls in the word simple) Living – tending to my body, mind, and spirit Engagement, or what makes me lose track of time It isn’t always easy or smooth sailing. Scans can still bring on fear, as can my wandering thoughts. Panic, even. But I am grateful for the practices that bring me back to center; that bring me back to ME. If there’s one gift I’ve received from getting MBC, it is a clearer vision of what really matters to me. Thankfully, I’ve had some time to put that into practice: to care more lovingly for myself, to decide what really “fills my bucket” and get as much of that as I can, to heap love on my family and friends, to create things (such as my children’s baby albums, finally—they are 25 and 23!), to spend time in nature, to whittle out things and people and responsibilities that don’t serve me anymore. I don’t know if I’d go so far as to say I’m grateful that I acquired MBC, but I can honestly swear that I am grateful for the lessons I’ve learned and the true-me I’ve found because I did. I’ll continue learning this as long as I possibly can. I hope that’s a long time. Kristen Carter is an author, coach, and blogger living with MBC. She is based in the mountains west of Boulder, Colorado. You can read her blog at www.kcarter.com/blog . Thank you for sharing your story, Kristen. SBC loves you! SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Our Podcast Online Support Groups Free, Weekly Events

By Andrea Hans I recently spoke to a group of high school students about my breast cancer story. I don’t think a breast cancer diagnosis is harder for young women, it can be daunting at any age. What is different is because you are young, it’s so unexpected. Young women aren’t screened and therefore tumors can be more advanced and aggressive by the time they are found. For me, I was at a point where I was focused on my career, excited about starting graduate school, I was happily in a long-term relationship; and in an instant, my entire world changed. I first found the lump before Thanksgiving of 2020. I scheduled a mammogram as a precaution, but due to my age and negative family history I was confident and reassured it was “probably nothing.” With the dense nature of my breasts it was hard to determine anything. However, by December 2020 the tumor had almost doubled in size. I returned for another mammogram and this time they scheduled a biopsy. In January 2021, the biopsy was inconclusive but the surgeon recommended we remove the 5cm tumor as it seemed to grow quite quickly. I slowly started to inform close friends and my parents that I would have a small surgery, unaware of what would come. As a result of the pandemic, but also out of fear, my lumpectomy was postponed to March 2021. That’s when everything changed. The “nothing” I had been reassured of was actually a stage 2B phyllode malignancy. They advised a mastectomy and radiation. I thought it was a mistake. I didn’t think breast cancer could affect me, I thought it was something to worry about in your 50s or 60s. Overnight I was hit with a wave of questions, worry, and fear. As an American there was the added stress of dealing with insurance coverage issues, and in my case, I was also navigating through a breakup. All at the same time. Because I had already had a lumpectomy, my mastectomy could wait. This allowed me time to research different options, seek other opinions, and manage the insurance coverage side. I finally had a double mastectomy with immediate reconstruction in August 2021. Eager, I returned to start my master’s program in September and began radiation, but stopped after 10 sessions due to some side effects. For me the mastectomy was the hardest part. I thrive on my independence and self-reliance and I needed a community, but my friends and family showed me you could be both. You can be strong and vulnerable. I speak candidly about my story not to scare young women, but to encourage them to know their body, their risks, and talk to their doctors immediately about any concerns. Most importantly, if you are newly diagnosed: know your options! Don’t be afraid to ask questions. It is overwhelming but you aren’t alone! I also tell my students that through adversity comes growth, and the challenges we face aren’t our story. Breast cancer isn’t who I am, it’s just a chapter of my story. Connect with Andrea via Instagram: @andreahansoc Thank you for sharing your story, Andrea. SBC loves you! SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Our Podcast Online Support Groups Free, Weekly Events

Explore The Incredible And Heartwarming Story Of Terri And Kirstin This is the narrative of two strangers, both breast cancer survivors, whose worlds unexpectedly collided. Now, they work together as patient advocates in two different states. Terri and Kirstin met in the summer of 2017 at a program they both applied to for scholarship, The Project LEAD Institute . Serving separate communities as patient advocates, Terri and Kirstin bonded that summer. Terri saw Kirstin standing at the hotel registrar checking in for the week-long conference. She noticed the lymphedema sleeve that Kirstin was wearing, walked up to her slowly and said, “Nice sleeve”. A breast cancer friendship was forged in a singular moment. They spent late nights pouring over homework assignments during the week of the conference. Kirstin and Terri labored over understanding and comprehending the intense amount of breast cancer biology and information given to them during the week, and realized they had a very common goal- serving other breast cancer patients , after both having been through the disease, Kirstin once and Terri twice, and both having had different types of breast reconstruction. The conversations continued after the conference. Terri and Kirstin sought opportunities to share their collective energy and resources with breast cancer communities. They both applied for scholarships to the San Antonio Breast Cancer Symposium. Terri attended the conference previously and was accustomed to the rigors of the schedule. She promised to be Kirstin’s mentor. The two ended their days at the symposium exhausted from attending general sessions, meeting with scientists and physicians, networking with other patient advocates, and walking too many steps to count. This experience forged their friendship and determination to advocate even more. They speak frequently on the phone about how they can help each other through advocacy work. Kirstin is a leader in the Bay Area and has immersed herself in various activities and organizations. As a member of the board of directors for the HERS Breast Cancer Foundation , she focuses her efforts on survivor support programs and fundraising that serve breast cancer patients regardless of financial status. Kirstin has logged countless hours as an ambassador for Bright Pink , educating and empowering young women to be proactive advocates for their breast and ovarian health. In addition, she is a member of the UCSF Breast Cancer Advocacy Core. She also serves as an advisory board member of Terri’s nonprofit, DiepCFoundation.org . Terri, having survived breast cancer twice, began her nonprofit foundation after her second diagnosis and a double mastectomy with a successful DIEP flap breast reconstruction. Through her research, she found that less than 25% of patients are given information about their options for breast reconstruction. She wanted to improve and change those numbers. Her foundation focuses on providing the necessary education and resources to empower patients to make an informed decision about reconstructing their breasts after losing them to mastectomy. Terri is a conduit between patients and world class physicians using various social media platforms to engage a global audience about the breast reconstruction process. Together they brainstorm and plan advocacy work to support survivors. Recently, Terri traveled to San Francisco and produced several videos with Kirstin to educate about various topics for the breast cancer community. They are stimulated and energized by conversation about breast cancer, breast reconstruction, and ways to help survivors. Why? Because they have walked the walk. They are examples of what two advocates can do together to serve their community and help them through survivorship after breast cancer. There is nothing better than lifelong friends, even if the friendship was forged in steel through breast cancer. And there you have it, a day in the life of two survivors, friends, and patient advocates. Thank you for sharing your story, sweet friends. We love you! Follow Terri on Instagram: @DiepCFoundation Follow Kirstin on Instagram: @kk_says SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Lymphedema Resources Reconstruction Options Online Support Groups Breast Cancer Book Club

By Dawn Oswald – In Loving Memory Hello everyone, I'm Dawn. How is everyone doing? I am good because every day above ground is a good day. I was dx with breast cancer in March 2008. No one in my family has breast cancer. Why Me, God? I found a lump in my right breast. I got a lumpectomy and they also removed 8 lymph nodes, which were also affected by the cancer. I was stage 2 and received 6 rounds of chemotherapy and 12 weeks of radiation. I was on Tamoxifen for 2 years and then which to Aromasin for 8 years to keep the estrogen low, because the estrogen feeds the cancer, and the estrogen will make the cancer grow. For some reason God had something else planned for me. They say God only gives you what you can handle. Sure, I was mad, even a little depress, all normal things. I have no regrets and I am not mad now because they say there is always a reason why. Sometimes you don’t know why, but I believe I got cancer so I can take care of my daughter who also had cancer, Hodgkin's Lymphoma, 2007 and 2 total hip replacements 2008. She is cured and we are blessed with 2 grandbabies from her. I needed to stay home with her to take care of her. We were home together fighting cancer and watching the same boring regular TV channels. After a few months, I finally broke down and order cable. I think I was the last one on my block to get cable. We just ran out of things to watch. I was getting ready to celebrate my 10 year of being cancer free by having a pink T-shirt burning party, but that didn't happen. I never owned anything pink before I got breast cancer. I received the results of my mammogram of May 2018. I was diagnosed with breast cancer again. Really!! Why? And now twice. I thought it was bad enough hearing it the first time, but to hear it again. I saw the surgeon to prepare for a mastectomy and the surgeon told me I was a stage 1, and the insurance will not pay for a PET scan because I was a stage 1. What, I was upset. I have heard horrible stories about cancer coming back, and when it does it comes back worse than before, So I was not excepting that answer. I told him I want a PET scan. I am a veteran, so I talk to my VA doctor and told him what was going on and he ordered me a PET scan. Meanwhile I was waiting on the PET scan I saw the surgeon for the reconstruction of the breast. I got a phone call from the nurse saying the surgery is scheduled for June 5. I told the nurse I am not ready for the surgery. She said well that is when the 2 doctors can get together and do the mastectomy and reconstruction. I again told her I am not ready, not mentally ready. Plus, I was still waiting on my results from my PET scan. I cried. My head was spinning. They wanted to hurry and do this surgery. I was just not ready to have the mastectomy. I called the surgeon for the mastectomy and told him I have not heard what the results are for my PET scan. He was surprise no one had called me for the results. He put me on hold to go read the PET scan. He told me the cancer did show up in other areas that I needed to talk to my oncologist. I called my oncologist to make an appointment to find out the results. My doctor told me that I was now stage 4, metastatic and there is no cure. It had spread to my bones and lungs. I took one look at my husband and noticed tears in his eyes. I then took a deep breath and knew I had to be brave and strong, brave for the both of us. I then asked my doctor: “ how long do I have .” She said: “you have 10-20 years.” What! Did I hear that right? Then, I thought to myself, I’ll take that . That was great news because some people do not even have 10-20 months, weeks, or days. She also said you will have to be on chemo for the rest of your life. What does that mean? Will my hair fall out again? Is that what I was really thinking about. Worrying about my hair falling out. She said: “it might, and it might not.” I told her it took 10 years to grow this long. It was hard losing my hair, but a good thing came out of it, it did grow back, and it grew back curly . Now, I can save money, I do not have to pay for perms anymore or hear my husband say:” you’re getting your hair done again .” He tells me I am beautiful no matter what- hair or no hair. I am so glad I advocated for myself, I would have had the mastectomy for no reason and would have went through all that pain and mental problems I was having before the surgery. I had anxiety. I told my oncologist about the insurance not paying for the PET scan and I almost had the surgery. It was unfortunate she was out of time during that time, but she told me she would have ordered the PET scan before I had the surgery. That is comforting to know that. My question is why didn’t she just order the PET scan before sending me to the surgeon? It would have solved a lot of heartache and anxiety for me. Speak up ladies, it is your body. I also developed lymphedema in 2012. I would like to explain what Lymphedema is so you can educate yourselves and keep an eye on your arm. Wants you get it you have it for the rest of your life. We do not need any more complications in our lives, we have enough to deal with. Lymphedema is the swelling of my right arm because my lymph nodes were affected by the cancer. The lymphatic system moves fluid around your body and mine where removed or damaged and the fluid cannot be removed from my arm properly. However, there is a pump to help pump the fluid out of my arm. I also wear compression sleeves and a night garment to assist with keeping the swelling down. Please educate yourself on lymphedema if you had any lymph nodes removed. I take chemo pills every day and I get 2 shots in my buttocks, so now I have new lady lump- “baby got back.” The chemo will keep me alive. There is hope even getting cancer twice. I am however, on my 3rd line of defense for my cancer. I was first on Ibrance, then Xeloda and now on PIQRAY . I am not worried, because my doctor told me when one chemo drug stops working, we find another one. The side effects are what I worry about. With PIQRAY I have high sugars and I am on 4 different types of medicine to lower my sugar. At first it was scary. I did not have anyone following me for my sugar levels. My sugar got up to 400. So again, I called my VA doctor and they got right on it and started helping me. Speak up ladies it is your life. We only live once. Please be your own advocate. Ask questions, even get a second or third option, and have the doctor order all the scan you need to find out what is wrong with you. Cancer does not care who you are. I advocate for myself and even then, sometimes the doctors do not listen. Make sure they hear you. They could have caught my cancer 2 months earlier if the VA doctor were listening to me and where I was describing my pain. See I was preparing for another 5K breast cancer fundraiser run in February 2018 when I was having pain in my left hip. I called my VA doctor and requested an X-ray for my left hip. I might have had cancer on my hip back in 2008. They tried doing a biopsy on it, but said it was probably too small. The biopsy was very painful because they did it when I was awake. Plus, I fracture my hip from falling out of a golf cart during another breast cancer fundraiser. Yes, alcohol was involved but I was not driving, but that fracture did not stop me 2 days later I ran a 5K for breast cancer. Yes, it was painful, but at the time I did not know it was fracture until I was getting my 6-month scans from the oncologist. The pain I was experiencing was the same pain from the biopsy and the fracture. The doctor explains to me it was fractured because it was weak from the radiation. They had radiated that spot incase it was cancer. My VA did not listen and ordered a low back X-ray, which I did not find out until later when I questioned them on it. Listen to your body if something hurts and does not go away call the doctor. Just think if the VA would have done a hip X-ray, I would not have to have gone through any of that mess with the surgeons or even my oncologist. The VA would have just ordered the PET scan in February and would have been done with it and started treatment right away. Wow. Life is crazy. I am medically retired 2019, and after I retired, I adopted a baby girl, What a handful. She was 4 months old when we adopted her. She is now 1.5 years old. What was I thinking back then at the age of 50 adopting a baby? The sleepless nights, every 2-4 hours feeding and potty training, but my little puppy makes me happy, she keeps me busy and my mind off my cancer. She is my emotional support dog and she is great pet therapy. Pet therapy does wonders for people. Her name is Pixie. We are in training to be a pet therapy dog and a service dog for me. We almost finished the classes when COVID-19 happened. They cancelled our classes. We waited months for classes to started up again. I stayed busy by training her and going for walks around the neighborhood. In October 2020, my husband and I got covid-19. I was not scared, I just thought great, what now. As soon as we drove away from the ER my breathing started to get worst. I development a fever that night and had a fever for 4 days. I was coughing and the stuff I was spitting out was green. I called the ER back and they said to take over the counter stuff, that they could not give me anything. I called my oncologist; she most thinks I have her on speed dial. I told the nurse what was going on and she talk to my doctor and they order me a Z- pack. That I had a sinus infection, so the sinus infection was secondary, and it helped me out a lot. I was taking every vitamin possible and over the counter cold/flu stuff. On day 3 my daughter asked me to smell the candle, I tried and could not smell anything. Then it became a game, going around the house trying to smell everything. Well, we could not smell anything and then we realized we could not taste. So, I guess it is true, we have COVID-19. I felt like myself again after 17 days. I took my dog for a walk, not far, I was still tired. Being tired with COVID-19 was worse than being tired from my chemo medicine. I thought to myself COVID-19, you will not take me out, I got cancer and let the cancer take me out, especially that I know I have at least 10 years to live, well now 7. I hope to get at least 10 years. April 2021 will be 3 years for me with metastatic breast cancer. I prayed and prayed, and I am doing fine. Husband has a little bet of chest pain here and there from COVID-19. He is being followed by the VA. They are monitoring him. I am grateful for my husband; he is my greatest supporter, and he goes with me to every appointment. I believe I will get the covid-19 shot. My oncologist recommends it. There is so much unknown about the shot, but I do not want COVID-19 again. I feel we had a mild case the first time and we were very lucky, so I do not want to risk getting it again. I also thanked God for giving me cancer again so I can retire, take care of myself and to take care of my parents, that also have cancer. Which unfortunately my dad past last year from Mesothelioma. I am no longer afraid to die. I am at peace with my cancer. I told my patients to take 1 day at a time, so I am taking my own advice. I am going to stay strong, positive, keep my faith and trust in God. Thank you and God Bless you all.

By D evorah Borenstein My breast cancer diagnosis wasn’t what I imagined. Indeed, this is a very common experience. We all assume we won’t get breast cancer — until we do. None of us knows what will await us tomorrow when we open the door. However, it is less about knowing what will be, than how we will react to it. We can’t stop breast cancer from coming, but we can stop ourselves from becoming an object of breast cancer. If we give ourselves permission to let go while insisting on the type of advocacy we deserve, we will achieve a well-being we also could not have previously imagined. Advocacy means making sure that there’s enough space for who we are and what we need after the diagnosis. That is our right. In January 2018, a ductal carcinoma in situ hijacked my left breast. As a result, I underwent a lumpectomy. Later, I met with a radiologist who entered the consult with my entire medical history on a 3x5 index card. I was very impressed. Though I think that the doctor was even more impressed when he saw that I not only came with a pen and a pad, but had two companions with their own note-taking devices ready for action. I was unwilling to agree to any treatment without first knowing: exactly what was being proposed, what the risks and benefits were, and whether other options were on the table. My partner and a close friend accompanied me because I knew that I would not be able to properly hear any information in the consult. I was pleased to see that the 3x5 index card was just a way of jumpstarting a much longer conversation about the things that were important for me to know in order to give informed consent to the proposed 21 rounds of radiation. In May 2019, I had my second bi-annual breast MRI. An illumination on the imagery was concerning. Later, an MRI-guided biopsy in my right breast revealed another DCIS alongside a Stage 1 invasive carcinoma. I mourned because I knew that getting rid of my breasts was now the logical consequence of my diagnosis. For a week, I poured over photos of breastless women, trying to understand what I could not have imagined previously. I knew I was not interested in recreating a substitute for something I could no longer have. Mourning was healing for me because my tears were just a little bit of salty truth. I am blessed for so many reasons, including that I am a lawyer and appreciate the value of due diligence. But I am also a human being. After I heard the words “you have stage one breast cancer in your other breast,” I immediately knew, once again, that I would not be able to hear anything in the consult with the oncologist and the breast surgeon. This time, my partner and 3 friends accompanied me to the hospital. Each of us came with a pen and pad in tow, and a several lists of questions. Whatever my decision was going to be, I needed to be able to rely on what we had all processed as a group. Insisting on the support I needed was not a sign of weakness or incapacity. It was my hallmark of strength. It was the tiny piece that I could control in the battle. At the end of the day, we want the facts to add up for us personally — not for someone else. So what does this mean in terms of what we could not imagine before? A breast cancer diagnosis is never anyone’s fault, and never something that we can control. However, we can control the relationship we have with our providers, the disclosure we receive from them, and the informed decision-making we engage in. Invariably, these events are what contribute most to our well-being. My doctors not only respected me for bringing in a support team. They embraced it. I remember that my oncologist, upon entering the exam room, joked, “Wow! You have a large family! I didn’t realize that I was going to be interviewed!” That was exactly it. A woman should never have the feeling that it is the doctor who is doing the interviewing at the consult. It is the woman who interviews the doctor: She must not only figure out whether she can form a relationship of trust and respect with her provider. She must also determine whether he will support her self-advocacy. We routinely interview other people in all types of mundane circumstances — why not in the most important consult we will ever have in our life? My oncologist’s initial joke — which helped me breathe in an otherwise anxiety-ridden situation — highlighted the truth that the control we have as breast cancer patients is the ground rules we lay down in our consult. My surgical consult was no different from the oncological consult. My partner and I were waiting for the breast surgeon in the exam room, while my friends waited outside per a nurse’s request. Upon entering the room, the surgeon exclaimed, “Where is your entourage? I hear you have some friends with you! Bring them all in — the more, the merrier!” That my surgeon was unequivocally in favor of me having the support I needed during the consult made my experience about me — and not about him. That is the point. It is not your doctors who are facing multiple treatment decisions. It is also not your doctors who will undergo a mastectomy and decide whether to reconstruct breast mounds or opt for an aesthetic flat closure. For sure, not all doctors treat their patients the way my doctors treated me. But that does not change the basic truth: every woman deserves respect for who she is and what she needs to get past the cancer. It’s your diagnosis and your right to insist on the support you need in the consult. Period. Consequently, I also controlled my informed decision-making. Certainly, the questions my advocates and I had prepared in advance were important. But equally important was my doctor’s attitude. From the start, my breast surgeon made clear that he was not there to tell me what to do, but to give me the information and support I needed to make an informed decision that was right for me. When I walked into the surgical consult I had the advantage of already knowing that I wanted to “go flat” and live my life with a smooth, natural chest contour. My surgeon not only welcomed my personal choice, but encouraged me to look into the flat movement and speak with women who had gone flat after mastectomy. In fact, my surgeon was the person who told me about Kimberly Bowles, the president of Not Putting on a Shirt , and the Cosmopolitan article about her experience with “flat denial.” (I note here that I am now on the Board of NPOAS — but that’s another story). What was significant was that my surgeon advised that personal choice is about imagining where we want to be 5 years from now and backtracking that to the present. According to him, imagining where we want to be in the future is what informs the type of procedure post-mastectomy that is right for us. And so there we are full circle. While we cannot imagine receiving a breast cancer diagnosis, we can more than just imagine where we want to be in the future. Being in control after hearing that we have breast cancer is not about the cure. It is about demanding the support and information each of us needs as competent women to make healthy, informed decisions about our bodies that are right for where we want to be now — and for years to come. Devorah Vester is an appellate attorney in Boston who helps persons living with mental illness regain their liberty, agency and dignity after they have been involuntarily committed or placed under guardianship. In July 2019, she had a double mastectomy after a local recurrence. Devorah always knew she did not want breast reconstruction, and feels fortunate that her breast surgeon – who told her about the flat movement – honored her choice. Devorah is also on the Board of Not Putting on a Shirt , a 501(c)(3) organization whose mission is to promote optimal surgical outcomes for women who choose to go flat after mastectomy and full disclosure of all post-mastectomy options. Devorah’s closely held values of integrity, transparency and individual autonomy made her a good fit for NPOAS. Her goal at NPOAS is to bring all parties to the table – doctors, legislators, health insurers and patients – to make certain that in every state a woman’s right to full disclosure and informed consent is protected, and her decision to go flat is respected.

By Dianne Faure I had been sick most of my adult life. Always battling some virus, infection, or pain, my health became worse as I aged . After being diagnosed with multiple auto-immune diseases, including rheumatoid arthritis and connective tissue disease, I was desperate to find relief and willing to try anything . I discovered energy medicine and found it reversed all of my illnesses. I was so impressed with its effectiveness that I became a full-time Eden Energy Medicine practitioner. For over a decade, I had a successful practice in the DC Metro area, specializing in difficult cases like auto-immune diseases and cancer. Without having any risk factors other than my auto-immune history, I was shocked in 2021 when I was diagnosed with stage III inflammatory breast cancer , a rare and aggressive disease. The normal treatment for this type of cancer is chemotherapy, a full mastectomy, and 35 rounds of radiation . I was petrified: I am allergic to most medications and my auto-immune history would make it virtually certain that I would have all the common side effects and more.  Why couldn’t I just use my energy medicine tools, I wondered . That way, I wouldn’t have to go through what is known to be the most grueling of all breast cancer treatments. Unfortunately, the type of cancer I had was so aggressive that if I didn’t undergo all three treatments, I could be dead within six months. Having to face this monster head-on, I desperately searched for a book that could tell me what to expect , but I couldn’t find any. I had basic but urgent questions that were burning inside of me: What does chemo feel like? How can I deal with its side effects? How long do the side effects last? What does it feel like to lose one’s breast? How long does it take to recover from surgery? What is radiation treatment like? Will I ever be able to recover and feel like myself again? How could energy medicine help me this time? Not finding any book to answer my questions, I decided to keep a journal so I could track my journey as it unfolded.   As difficult as it was to go the traditional medicine route, I had tools at my disposal that could help mitigate the dangers on that road . I didn’t realize what a difference those tools were making for me until while I was getting a chemotherapy infusion the woman across from me went into anaphylactic shock and the woman next to me started violently vomiting and was told by the medical staff there was nothing they could do for her. It was at that moment that I decided to turn my journal into a book that could help others. But what hope could I offer? I was in the throes of this battle too! An enormous task lay ahead of me: It was as if I was white water rafting down dangerous rapids not knowing if I would make it down safely all the while trying to make note of what turns or techniques I was using to help me survive.  After eighteen months of painful, overwhelming, and debilitating treatment, I slowly picked up the pieces in an attempt to put myself back together again. From the outset, my goal had been to emerge from my onslaught with as much of my sense of self intact and as little long-term collateral damage as possible . Over the next two years, as I continued to heal myself, I whittled down the countless journal entries to pull from them the richest insights and most profound information I could glean so that cancer patients could embark on their journey with less physical and emotional pain, greater grace, and potential victory.   The result of my efforts is the book, Cancer & Energy Medicine: A Healing Journey . By sharing my story, I hope to empower cancer patients by teaching them simple energy medicine techniques so they can better navigate their chemotherapy, surgery, and radiation treatments . But more than that, I hope to empower readers so they will not just become cancer survivors, but thrivers who are not defined or limited by their cancer experience. Join our inflammatory breast cancer support group Note: This article is designed to provide general information and is not meant to replace professional medical advice. Always discuss your options with your healthcare provider. About the author: Dianne Faure Dianne was diagnosed with inflammatory breast cancer in 2021. She decided to track her experience and incorporate her energy medicine tools to help manage the treatment and its side effects. In 2024, she published her memoir/self-help book: Cancer and Energy Medicine: A Healing Journey . Since finishing her cancer treatment, Dianne has resumed her private energy medicine practice. Using the techniques featured in her book, she teaches cancer patients, survivors, and their loved ones how energy medicine can help them on their healing journey. Read More: Inflammatory Breast Cancer: Breaking Down the Basics Different Types of Breast Cancer Treatment Tips & Questions to Ask Your Medical Oncology Team On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations What is Energy Medicine with Inflammatory Breast Cancer Survivor Dianne Faure Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events