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

By Brookshire McDonald Surgery versus Leaving a ruptured implant in Was where my case Was to begin. Two CAT scans And a breast MRI, too Are what I recently Went through. A rupture held by the capsule Were shown in each scan, Thus leading to the results Of a master plan. With three docs I made appointments to see To learn recommendations They had for me. One included a consult From the hospital “Big Duke” Which included a team meeting And not just a fluke. The long twelve days of deciding Going flat was for me Turned rapidly into results I did not see. Health issues Including a list very long Led two doctors to agree Surgery would be wrong. My age, past blood clot, on blood thinners, And MGUS helped them decide As they hoped to their decision I would surely abide. The rupture is in a capsule And only 2% chance of going anywhere; This is the information The team did share. A change in attitude Was to follow; Thus in misery I could not wallow. An occasional sting I would have to endure. This isn’t so bad, That’s for sure. I’m alive to feel it At eighty-six, So isn’t this conclusion A really great fix!! Note: MGUS is monoclonal gammopathy of undetermined significance, abnormal proteins in the blood. It can lead to blood cancer, but mine is stable. Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Jill Rackham Time has moved on and now 3 years have passed, since my breast cancer diagnosis hit me full on like a blast. The long awaited end of my 3 year hospital treatment is almost here. Yay, no more injections, blood tests, cannulas or infusions and all that fear. I will still have hormone therapy for 7 years more. So I’ll keep taking the tablets to stop all oestrogen just like before. This means being beyond a natural menopause will continue for some time. HRT will never be allowed for me, but I’ve got this, I WILL be fine. I try to push the various medication side effects out of my head. Preferring to think positive but some days the effects make me want to stay in bed. Even now not an hour goes by where the word cancer doesn’t pop into my mind. I grieve for the old me and wish breast cancer wasn’t so very unkind. My mental chatter continues meaning my mind often feels full. If I’m not careful this makes me feel overwhelmed and very dull. I’ve worked hard to take each day as it comes and to calm my busy mind. I strive to enjoy simple things and make happiness easier to find. Navigating my life post cancer has certainly been tough along the way. I’ve needed to lean on others to help lift me away from a dark day. I’m always open to discussing how my journey has made me and my family feel. I think I’m still processing all that's happened and talking helps it feel less surreal. I have met several fabulous ladies affected by breast cancer over this year. Each one is brave and amazing, I hold their friendship very dear. I have so much knowledge of breast cancer because of all that happened to me. I will continue raising awareness to help others to see. My book of poems has this year raised over £1,000 for charity. I hope my poems offer those in need some hope and solidarity. Some recent symptoms led to scans to check secondary breast cancer had not occurred. I’m so thankful nothing sinister was found but instead a different medical issue has stirred. So now as my new normal renews and my soul gently continues to heal. I hope that onwards and upwards in life I will now go - that’s got to be the deal! Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

(The darkest hour descends before the dawn) By William Laferriere   “The Light Within,” a moving poem by William Laferriere that speaks to the quiet strength and resilience we carry deep within—especially during life’s most uncertain moments. Oh, the light within— it flickers, does it not? like a candle caught in hushed silence or a frightened hare trapped in the cupped hands of night. I feel it sometimes, pulsing, a quiet hum within my soul, a sunlit secret buried deep in the marrow of my being. What is this light? This glow, this ember— is it memory? The echo of a laugh? the warmth of a hand held too closely and all too briefly? or the shadow of a dream I can’t quite remember upon waking? Is it something older, something primal, a spark left over from the birth of our cosmos, stitched into the very fabric of our atoms? It wanes of course. There are days it feels like that dying rose, sputtering in the cold, barren fog of winter, a match struck in a storm, its flame swallowed before it can bloom. But even then, even in the dim, it persists. A faint glimmer, a stubborn refusal to be extinguished. And yes darkness lasts but a millisecond… If you turn on the light… And when it burns bright— (Do let it burn bright—) it’s a wildfire, a supernova, a lighthouse cutting through the thickest fog. It spills out of each and every one of us, golden and uncontainable, painting the world unrecognizable. Is this what it means to be alive? To carry this light, this fragile, ferocious & glorious light, let it guide you, even when the path is shrouded in the mist of doubt Do share it, And let it touch others, And weave it into our collective existence I’m not certain… But I think, maybe, this light within is not just mine. Perhaps it’s ours. A collective glow, a shared radiance, a consciousness each of us a fragment of something bigger, something infinite, something eternal. And so I tend it, this light, this gift, this mystery. I feed it with hope, with love, with the quiet courage of simply being.  And I trust,   even on the darkest nights, that it will lead me onward. Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Jill Rackham Time has moved on and now two years have passed, since my breast cancer diagnosis hit me full on like a blast. But... Every day taking tablets is now part of what I do. I remind myself I’m lucky that these drugs are available to do what I need them to. Every time I hear the word menopause it reminds me this is part of my cancer management plan. Having this enforced on my body early is when all my side effects began. Every time I see my scars from surgery I’m reminded of what has been taken. Four times going into theatre has left me with flashbacks and feeling quite shaken. Every bone infusion I have takes me back to the hospital where all this began. I’ve got to know the nurses so well and I’m thankful they always help me in any way they can. Every review with the surgeon or oncologist seems to prompt bad dreams for me once more. But thankfully my appointments are much less frequent nowadays than before. Every time I have an ailment or pain of some kind. Knowing my risk of a distant recurrence, cancer thoughts once again take over my mind. Being a cancer patient means a GP visit often results in some kind of a further test. I’m glad everything is checked out, but it means my worry intensifies even when I try my best. I have so many daily reminders of what happened in this crazy journey of mine. But despite all this, the rocky road I’ve been travelling on is getting easier with time.   I try to think positive as my life continues in its new way. As I am so lucky to have got through all this, that I’m pleased to say. Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

(Redefining what it means to be a woman) By William Laferriere she walks to the mirror hesitantly opening her mind a monumentally different reflection stares back she gazes at a body altered, a soul grappling with change breasts are gone, uterus removed lost in the transformation, is her sense of self she searches for the woman she once was the femininity that seemed so integral to her identity in this new form she questions whether she is still a woman, or if that part of her has been erased and yet her heart beats with strength her spirit unscathed but in her mind, a profound uncertainty lingers is it the body that defines us, or is it something deeper? is it the soul that holds our very essence? in this time of loss and pain she seeks to rediscover herself to redefine what it means to be a woman to be a person, to be whole as a community we stand with her   this darkness to be overcome and remind her that her worth is not measured by what she has lost that strength lies in her resilience, in her quiet, unyielding spirit a woman, still, with a heart that endures in her eyes, a spark of resilience remains a flame still flickers still burns bright that sense of self, that sense of pride she recognizes a WOMAN, still, with a heart that beats anew Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

Watch the video version of this poem below! By Marie McGuire I am able now, I wasn’t able then I had to follow the rules set forth for me Some of those rules have lingered and spring up in various situations Those rules set forth by others No longer apply I visualize a goodbye box and inside the box I place these rules Saying goodbye You are no longer a part of who I am I decide today and each day the rules from divine guidance that are best for me Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Elisa Herrera I met a girl who left her home, chasing a life she had never known. Dreams in her hands, a bag packed light, she stepped into the endless night. I met a young woman, lost but strong, in a land where words felt wrong. No taste of home, no stars above, she longed for laughter, a mother’s love. Long days beneath an unkind sun, cold, dark nights—alone, undone. Silent stares, the weight of fear, a stranger’s world, no welcome near. I met a woman, weary, worn, her dream now tangled, bruised, and torn. Cancer came, a ruthless thief, alone she stood in pain and grief. She searched for help, for hands to hold, for voices warm, for hearts consoled. At SurvivingBreastCancer.org , she found a guide, a place where love and hope reside. I met a girl who chose to fight, through every chemo, every night. She learned to rest, to breathe, to heal, to face her fears with strength so real. A child, a woman, a soul so bright, who walked through darkness toward the light. She fought her battles, she found her way, and still she stands, unshaken today. Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Joelle Kaufman Growing up, vigilance against cancer shaped my life. My mother battled breast cancer at thirty-six  and again at thirty-eight, and her experiences cast a long shadow. Every doctor wanted to know about my early onset family history  and ensure I was educated on self-examination. From age thirty-three, my frequent visits to the Mills-Peninsula Women’s Center for mammograms, ultrasounds, and MRIs became a running joke; if loyalty programs existed for imaging centers, I’d be at their highest tier. Yet nothing can prepare you for the gut punch of hearing a doctor say, “I'm sorry, you have breast cancer .” Your world stops spinning at that moment, and you’re left gasping for breath, desperate for a lifeline.  Because of my mother and sister’s breast cancers, I was regularly screened every six months alternating between a mammogram plus ultrasound with bilateral MRI with contrast. All three of us were found to have the BRCA1 genetic mutation . Out of an abundance of caution, given the combination of our history and genetics, I had multiple biopsies any time the scans showed anything irregular. I had considered having preventative (prophylactic) mastectomies  with every biopsy.  In 2022, I decided to move forward with the surgery to radically reduce the possibility of breast cancer . I scheduled my bilateral mastectomies with DIEP flap reconstruction surgery for January 10, 2023. As part of the standard practice preceding a prophylactic mastectomy, I was asked to have a mammogram and ultrasound. The escalation to an MRI was not unusual for me. When my medical team said they needed to biopsy an area, I pushed to have the biopsy and results prior to the surgery to keep my 10 to 14-hour procedure including reconstruction on track. Dr. Lee Char called with the biopsy results on January 9, 2023 while I was on a Zoom call. Excusing myself, I took the call, still expecting I’d proceed with the prophylactic bilateral mastectomy planned for the next day. “I’m so sorry,” she said, “it’s malignant.” Breathe, I told myself. Stay calm. I planned to remove my breasts the next day—cancer had won this inning, but I was still in control of the game. “So we do the surgery tomorrow, and then what?” I asked. “I’m sorry, Joelle,” she replied. “We can’t proceed with surgery. With your tumor pathology, the standard of care is chemotherapy before surgery. Your oncologist will explain.” I felt sucker punched. My plan to avoid cancer had failed, and now I was facing chemotherapy. My mother’s chemo 40 years earlier and my sister’s chemo 20 years prior flooded my memory. I was committed to shaping a different experience as I faced cancer. Batting Rituals One of my tactics to face the speed and shape of cancer’s curveballs was to adopt a set of regular rituals and routines that I named “happiness tripwires.” These transformed the weekly cancer treatments into experiences with positive associations. I renamed infusion days as Cancer Obliteration Days. Cancer obliteration days were five and a half hours long, not including travel, as I used cold-capping to preserve my thick, iconic hair.  Every chemo day began with washing my hair. As part of my cold-capping protocol, I could only wash my hair once a week. That weekly shower, with water running over my scalp, was a self-care ritual that set the tone for the day. Afterward, I chose comfy, loose-fitting clothes and packed slippers for the infusion center. My go-bag contained comforting items  like my binder with my notes, drug and side effect print-outs, letters from my son, transliteration of prayers, and other paperwork, iPad, aromatherapy oils, and a stuffed dinosaur named Stego. With permission from my oncology team, I drank Athletic Greens for nutrients. I continued exercising five days a week, alternating between weightlifting, metabolic conditioning, and walking with my best friend, Jessica. These activities strengthened my body and kept me grounded. There’s growing evidence that regular exercise can reduce chemotherapy side effects . Breakfast was fuel: pastured eggs with spinach, onions, and peppers paired with a glass of water. My ride to the center doubled as a social visit with a friend. Arriving early to the hospital ensured my labs were done promptly, speeding up the infusion process. After labs, I’d read a weekly letter from my son, Taylor. Away at college, he described his days and baseball games. These letters reminded me to focus on the joy of my children’s lives. My other collegiate son, Ben, provided the musical playlist for my obliteration day. During the infusion, my rituals kept me centered. My rabbi had compiled a playlist of prayers and songs, which I’d listen to while reading my binder of personal prayers. Humor was essential—jokes with staff, funny emails from friends, and even Stego’s antics lightened the mood. These routines, paired with micro-milestones and celebrations, helped me maintain a positive mindset and broke up the monotony. Survivorship: A New Chapter Four months later than I had originally planned, I had the 14-hour bilateral mastectomy and DIEP flap reconstruction . Prior to the surgery, my oncologist had confirmed through a fine needle biopsy that I was clinically cancer-free, but nothing is 100% certain until the pathology is confirmed after surgery. My pathological complete response (PCR) didn’t reach me until I was back at the infusion center for immunotherapy after surgery and the nurse incorrectly suggested that I was starting Adriamycin (AC) chemotherapy. When I was surprised and resistant, a flurry of activity led the team to discover I was cancer-free but no one had told me! No AC needed, thankfully. When I received the news that I was cancer-free , I felt massive relief and joy. But what followed was a void. The center of my universe was no longer UCSF, cancer treatment, and surgeries. The gravitational pull of cancer was lifted, leaving me in a space of not-knowing as my body used its energy to heal and my mind processed WTF just happened. Despite feeling profoundly grateful and healthy, it was not how I thought I would spend my time on this planet. My sister, a two-time survivor, shared the sentiment: “People expect to feel relieved at the end of their cancer journey or treatment. And so I think I was surprised when I didn’t. The doctors tell you that you are healthy. Don’t smoke. Exercise regularly. Good luck to you. Which, after being in the thick of the fight, feels like a little bit of a letdown.” The void left by cancer felt peculiar. I recognized cancer itself lacked inherent meaning—it was merely an occurrence in my life. While there were aspects of the healthcare system I’d like to enhance, I was grateful for the remarkable advancements in treatment and side effect management. My journey starkly contrasted with those of my mother and sister. I paused within this vacuum to dwell in the space where there was neither urgency to propel forward nor battles to be fought. At the same time, my body recovered while my mind reset. Remarkably, within this calm, new possibilities began to form. I realized I needed to drift a while before charging on to the new course ahead. Crossing into survivorship was a profound transition. With my pledge year to the survivor sorority complete, I was now an official member of this resilient fraternity. When the phone rings or email dings, I offer reassurance, a calm ear, and friendship to anyone reeling from a diagnosis. Surprisingly, the journey with cancer is interspersed with moments of joy, sprouting in response to struggles. The familiar faces and new ones around me fortified me with love, prayers, and humor. As I peer into the future, I’m intrigued by the opportunities that might unfold and what I might conceive in my subsequent chapter. So far, it’s been a journey of profound gratification. I wish you such a journey. Lessons Learned Uplift yourself with humor.  A funny friend, a daily joke app, or lighthearted stories can provide much-needed relief. Create meaningful rituals.  Infusion-day “happiness tripwires” that bring comfort and joy can transform the experience. Create new rituals for survivorship – gratitude is excellent. Prepare your home.  Post-treatment, create a space to relax and recover, respecting your need for peace. In survivorship, your home may reflect new directions and interests – or not. It’s up to you. Celebrate milestones.  Micro-celebrations break up the journey and provide moments of joy. Celebrate milestones of survivorship, too. Welcome support.  Let others help you. Their love and care can lighten the load. ABOUT THE AUTHOR Joelle Kaufman is the author of Crushing the Cancer Curveball : A Playbook for the Newly Diagnosed, their Family And Friends . Her life has been shaped by breast cancer since age 13, culminating in her own 2023 diagnosis—the fourth in her immediate family. As CEO and Founder of GTM Flow, she combines cancer-forged resilience with cutting-edge go-to-market leadership strategies. Joelle’s expertise spans healthcare and business, earning her positions on the UCSF Patient Experience Council and the Advisory Board of USC’s The Pink Test. Her insights have been featured in the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and Fortune Magazine. You can learn more at www.joellekaufman.com . Read More: Understanding Genetic Testing for BRCA1 and BRCA2 Mutations Exploring Breast Reconstruction Surgery: Pros and Cons The Power of Knowledge (My BRCA Story) HOW? From Fear to Freedom: Embracing a Risk Reduction Mastectomy On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations Breast Reconstruction and Plastic Surgery Explained 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 Jill Rackham The dreaded day of which I’m sure no one wants to happen had arrived – the day of my breast surgery. All my breast tissue was to be removed, thankfully my three tumours were caught early. Walking through the hospital doors felt hard as I had to be on my own. COVID rules of no visitors made the hospital feel far away from home. On the ward, all checked in, the surgeon came to talk me through proceedings. He drew on my body and took photos as my mind raced with so many feelings. The surgeon’s words were factual and as kind and comforting as can be. I knew this surgery had to happen today to get the awful cancer out of me. A nurse came to collect me as my theatre time was here. I tried to remain calm in an attempt to eradicate my fear. My body did not feel like my own, I felt like it had let me down. I was so sad that it had enabled cancer to turn my smile into a frown. The anaesthetic room was cold with lots of equipment beeping. My stress levels were rising as I knew it would not be long until I was sleeping... The next thing I knew a nurse was smiling down at me with the lengthy surgery now finished! I felt very groggy and tired but so relieved my tumours were now diminished! For me this was such an important day. At last my cancer had been taken away. Many months have now passed by and this day is still firmly etched in my mind. It was a tough day and memories of it are always easy to find.   The changes to my body and my scars have taken some getting used to. But now my body is my own once more and I am grateful in all it enables me to do. The scars remind me daily of what my body has been through. More surgery ended up following, but this day is the day my mind is always drawn to. I am so hopeful that I will remain cancer free. It’s been a tough old journey so far for both myself and those around me. I’m starting to dare to dream about happy times the future may bring. My prognosis is positive and that is such a very important thing! Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Diane M. Simard Pink, pink, pink. That nauseating, breast cancer shade of pink was everywhere when I was diagnosed with invasive ductal carcinoma  four days before Valentine’s Day in 2015. I have a mostly hate relationship with pink. In my early childhood, whenever I felt sick, I would freeze in place, get dizzy, then hurl on the spot. My instinctive mother learned to recognize the droopy look on my face before I unleashed. She always told me to run to the bathroom whenever I felt sick, but my brain didn’t work that fast. Once, when I was nearly four, I was in our kitchen, standing near the refrigerator before bedtime. My body unexpectedly felt like it was melting into my stomach and I was about to faint. Then everything turned sideways as Mom stormed across the kitchen, picked me up, and held me horizontally under one arm while making a beeline for the bathroom. But the damage was already done. I left a vomit trail of destruction down the hallway. Mom got the floor cleaned up and helped me find a fresh set of pajamas, then sat me down and gave me a lecture. It was one of the few times I remembered her raising her voice when she spoke to me. “You have to run to the bathroom whenever you feel sick. Why can’t you learn that?” “I can’t, Mommy,” I said between sniffles. “I can’t move cuz it happens so fast.” Getting sick or getting the lecture were not the worst part. The worst part was the punishment of having to swallow a spoonful of gut-rot dark pink Pepto-Bismol every time I got sick in an inappropriate location.  Reflecting back on those memories as I faced my diagnosis in 2015: Pepto-Bismol was pink, pink was the official color of breast cancer, and I hated both. The shock of my diagnosis  was raw. My largest of three breast tumors was only 2 cm, and I’d had no symptoms . In fact, no one on my medical teams could feel any tumors, yet the cancer had already spread to the axillary lymph nodes in my left armpit. Thankfully, two of the largest tumors were close enough together that they indicated something was possibly clustering, which had appeared on my annual mammogram in late January and I was called back for additional testing.  After my diagnosis, when I was at work, I was able to keep my mind off of breast cancer, except when my coworkers wandered into my office to have what I called “cancer talk.” At night and on the weekends at home, though, my mind raced  as I continued to contemplate the possibility of a terminal cancer prognosis. Oddly, I was filled with determination instead of panic. I was obsessed with becoming “good” at cancer for whatever time I had left, but I didn’t know how to become good at cancer because I didn’t know whether to plan to live or plan to die. So, I followed my standard business approach and assumed the worst. I ordered self-help books on how to eat right . I fretted about the side effects of chemotherapy , searching for an explanation of what treatment was going to feel like. I had a paranoid obsession of gaining weight, so I drastically adjusted my diet. I speed-read through five books in three days, searching for the latest breakthroughs in cancer nutrition and self-care. One of the books focused on the body’s natural abilities to heal itself, using those abilities to complement traditional medical cancer treatments. For example, the author suggested that regular physical activity  tended to activate the body’s immune system versus living a sedentary lifestyle. Check. I had exercised every day of my adult life, yet I still had cancer. This book also suggested that cancer patients should choose foods with a low glycemic index (such as agave nectar) instead of foods with a high glycemic index (like white or brown sugar). Check. I was already doing that, too. I appreciated the reinforcement that I was already doing some things right, but I needed new, innovative strategies . Something, anything , to help me survive breast cancer. I implemented lists of self-help tips and bought anticancer foods and supplements that I read would keep me healthy during treatment and prevent cancer from returning, assuming I survived. I sprinkled turmeric on my food because it was touted as a potential anticancer “wonder seasoning,” but everything tasted like it was coated with mustard-flavored dirt. I drank green tea, overdosed on broccoli, and choked down kale salads. I pushed myself to do everything right according to the nutrition books, and I grasped onto a false hope that if I suddenly changed my eating patterns, my statistical chances for getting rid of cancer would improve. This type of diligence had always worked in my professional life, so I had no reason to think it wouldn’t work with cancer. I dutifully read through the pamphlets included in what I called the “Welcome to Breast Cancer” packet provided by the imaging center where my breast MRI was performed. The pamphlets offered encouragement and pictures of pink ribbons and smiling bald women with carefully applied makeup and adorably fashionable headscarves. They were superficial and not helpful, because they attempted to present breast cancer in a gentle, peaceful manner. I didn’t need the sugarcoated version of breast cancer; I needed honesty. I needed to understand what treatment was going to feel like . All the philosophizing and reflection of why I had gotten breast cancer was useless and exhausting. Finally, I wisely began to shift my focus away from the why and toward the how of healing and recovery . Not to mention the preparation required for the unimaginable battle if the disease had indeed already spread beyond my lymph nodes. I had been in training for almost 50 years to prepare for cancer, which I knew was going to be my ultimate challenge. I had learned how to achieve what I wanted, but also how to cope when life threw an unexpected twist, such as when I didn’t win, got rejected, or something imploded that I cared about but over which I had no control. I could control some things about my breast cancer experience , like attitude, diet, self-care, and schedules, but I couldn’t control whether any of those activities would actually heal my body. After a month of testing and second opinion consults , I was staged as 3C , which my medical team agreed was the best approach, given all my anomalies. I was prescribed sixteen rounds of chemo, followed by surgery, then thirty-three rounds of radiation. I slogged through active treatment over the next ten months. The chemo nausea was so severe I had three acupuncture treatments, which unleashed a crystal in my inner ear and landed me in the emergency room to deal with a whopper bout of vertigo. I couldn’t wear heels for six months and I didn’t switch driving lanes for another year for fear of launching another vertigo attack.  Toward the end of chemo, I became concerned about my mental health  and how I seemed to be slipping into depression due to my heightened state of anxiety. When I asked my medical oncologist for a referral to a counselor who works specifically with cancer patients, she said she knew they existed, but didn’t know of any. Plus, if I did find someone they likely wouldn’t take health insurance. I was alarmed and incensed at the lack of mental health support for cancer care in 2015, and decided I would advocate for more educational resources. As a result, I seed-funded and founded a specialty at the University of Denver in Colorado called the Center for Oncology Psychology Excellence (COPE), which is now part of their behavioral health offering for clinical psychology students. COPE provided coursework and clinical education opportunities to over two hundred graduate level students. In addition, I wrote a memoir-style book about my cancer experience, The Unlikely Gift of Breast Cancer , that won several awards, including being named one of the best breast cancer books of all time by Book Authority. COPE and The Unlikely Gift  were what I called my life raft out of my breast cancer funk, and they opened the door to the second phase of my life when I turned fifty during treatment. Today, I advocate for more attention and educational resources for the psychological impact of cancer through writing, speaking, and podcasting. My third book, Unlikely Gifts Unwrapped: Unfiltered Reflections on Life After Breast Cancer , is the sequel to The Unlikely Gift  and will be released March 18.  In hindsight, cancer was a miserably unpleasant voyage, but it was also a test. It was an assessment of the strength of my character and the value I place on living. It provided a symbolic transformation for me from enabler to leader, from victim to advocate. It also helped me unwrap an unlikely gift and helped me discover the self-acceptance I had searched for a lifetime to find. Read More: Newly Diagnosed: Now What? The Psychological Impact of Breast Cancer: Strategies for Coping Making Food Choices During Breast Cancer Treatment Navigating Cancer Treatment: Top Tips from an Oncology Pharmacist Exercise and Breast Cancer Permission to Feel Why a Second Opinion Matters for Breast Cancer On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations 11 Years of Survivorship - A Breast Cancer Survivor’s 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  Brookshire McDonald Lose my hair Oh NO! My head will be exposed SO!! Your head shape Will be revealed to you; And a surprise may come Right out of the blue. Without the loss You never would know, Just how your face Can come aglow!! So try not to be sad Or bemoan, And even refrain From a slightest groan. You’ll get through this And be happy too; They have a medicine To address cancer in you!! Some of you Will get to ring bells, After completing the fight To kill cancer cells, Others who didn’t Go that route, Will still see What it’s all about. So grab your scarf, wig, hat, Or even stay bald. No one choice Is perfect for all! Then look in the mirror And see the strong person You are. You’ll become ahead in this race And closer to win—by far! Brookshire McDonald Patron Saint SBC Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By  Francine Strother The mammogram found a suspicious mass, An ultrasound and biopsy will show if I pass. I wasn’t afraid, the professionals I did trust, I will do what you recommend, if I must. Yes, it is cancer and surgery must be done, To preserve my health is number one. Each step along the way, I was told what would happen to me, It was so reassuring that nothing was a confusing mystery. The surgeon said, off to radiation you go, I knew nothing about it, but the experts will tell me what I need to know. Contract to sign, please give me a reason why you might say, We’ll tell you if the treatment changes along the way? Radiation makes people tired, I suppose, But that is not an answer to the question I posed. Are you afraid? was my encouragement on the first day, I wasn’t, but should have been, as only vague information would come my way. I feel vulnerable as an imposing machine I lay under, Surely they will tell me how it moves, I wonder. Treatment went well the whole first week, A positive experience is what I did seek. I was always ready on time and did as they asked, I trusted completely that they were guiding me through the task. A longer first day, then the treatments will be quick. For 5 days, I watched the same machine rotation pattern tick. I’ve done 25% of my time under the machine, I’m doing good, now I know the routine. I didn’t expect the rotation pattern to change, But an abrupt reversal of rotation to begin the next day startled and disoriented my mind out of reality range. What is wrong, this isn’t the way it is supposed to be, Why did they change the treatment I’ve had for a week? I am so scared. Déjà vu to the contract wording, Why didn’t they tell me my treatment hadn’t been working? 2 way communication doesn’t work, no use to scream, Please tell me this is a nightmare dream. Afterwards, they said it was really the same, I don’t believe you, my eyes are not playing a game. No big deal, confusion happens all the time, such as this, Neither of 2 technicians could spare 10 seconds to warn me of this. Go home in a daze, don’t want to continue, No sleep, confusion, use up a box of tissue. Surely the doctor will tell me why my treatment was reversed, thus, It was a misunderstanding. The door is squeaking. And you are just criticizing us. Now I see where I stand. I’ll bother you no more to help me understand. Finally, a reason why backwards the machine rolled, Extra x-rays are taken every 5 days, but patients aren’t told. So I will have this again next Tuesday? No. But you just said...?  You are again confusing me. A new schedule was printed and handed to me, One day is shown with different words from all the others I see. To ease my mind, I ask what will come about? I committed a mortal sin by daring to ask, I was quickly chided and taken to task. They say, Oh gee, I knew that would freak you out. Hand me a revised schedule with those words deleted, Poof! With those words gone, no answer is needed. What is happening to me, I have a right to know, Oh, well, not so, pull open the heavy door myself and go. I don’t want to go back, no sleep, confusion, a struggle to continue, but my body needs to heal, Go into survivor mode, the days left are few, pretend I am on an even keel. Thanks for giving me 3 nice tubes of cream when I was done halfway, I asked for instructions, just go put it on, she did say. I struggled emotionally through the remaining days, Once done, in two weeks someone will call you, he says, To check and see how you are doing, But no phone or messages ever did ring. 3 month checkup, I’m still at loose ends, It is just a bump in the road he says. Request medical records 3 times to see what I can learn, Mailed twice, but the PO lost them in turn? In 6 months, a new mammogram, the nurse says it’s clear, So you don’t need another one for a year. But the doctor told me every 6 months to be sure, I am utterly confused, my mind is a blur. Breast cancer radiation has no physical pain, But emotional and psychological pain remains. Psych yourself out and go in everyday, Hoping with this invisible force, on this earth you will stay. Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Cheri Silver Before it was common, I was interested in natural medicine and remedies. When I was pregnant, I decided that I would breastfeed because I felt it may be my only chance to try it. My sister had told me that it usually takes a month to get used to. I decided to join La Leche League since my sister passed before I gave birth the first time. It turns out they used a lot of common sense child rearing practices and also were into healthy eating practices. This led me to joining a healthy food co-op.  Later, I learned that the more I nursed, the better chance I had of reducing my cancer risk. I nursed both my girls. I had friends who had been diagnosed with cancer, and nursing seemed like an easy way to keep cancer at bay. That and eating healthy.  In 2019, my doctor asked my husband and I to take a Color DNA test, which would show us if either one of us carried any gene mutations associated with cancer  risk. We did and all came out negative. A year later, in the middle of the pandemic, my aunt mentioned that my cousin had just finished radiation for breast cancer. That night, around 1:00 a.m., I felt a big lump in my breast. It felt like a hard-boiled egg. I was a few months late with my mammogram due to Covid. I had needed some biopsies in the past, but they were always benign. Since I wanted a diagnostic exam, I needed to see a doctor first. I managed to get in with an ob-gyn a few days later. She could tell my lump was big and wanted me to have a mammogram and an ultrasound. Since I couldn’t get one scheduled for five weeks, I called her back and there was a cancellation for the next day.  The radiologist was pretty sure it was metaplastic carcinoma and put that on the report. The gynecologist was upset that she wrote that. While I may not be a brain surgeon, I knew that carcinoma meant cancer. The gynecologist kept arguing that she might be wrong and it may be benign. I asked what were the chances it was benign. She said 5-10%. Now I don’t claim to be a mathematician, but I do know that means there is a 90-95% chance my lump is cancer.  I went through a week or two with the breast surgeon and plastic surgeon arguing with me that maybe I only need a lumpectomy or only a single mastectomy because there is a chance that my lump is benign. My gut was telling me otherwise. I heard of some people who had a lumpectomy or single mastectomy and then had to have a double a week or two later. I was already 71 when my lump was found. I’d already nursed two children and had been married almost 50 years. I was happy to have been cancer-free for 71 years. I didn’t shed a tear nor feel sorry for myself. I had friends who had mastectomies because of the BRCA gene mutation and they seemed fine. I also considered myself small-breasted and had this image of getting new perky breasts to replace mine.  I also had this idea that since I had this one big lump which was 3.5 cm, it would be removed during surgery and I would get the new breasts and be done. Ha! I was very naïve. My friends with the BRCA gene mutation  did not have cancer. I did. I had a double mastectomy on September 23, 2020. A week later, I was told that I have stage 2B metaplastic triple negative carcinoma.  Two lymph nodes were removed and fortunately they were clear. But the oncologist informed me that I would still need chemo, the kind with hair loss. Since my lymph nodes were clear, I would not have to have radiation.  When hearing about my diagnosis, I was told I was negative for three things . My husband was with me and said, “That sounds good, being negative on everything.” My surgeon said quietly, “No, triple negative is the worst.” We were stunned. I learned I have a very rare form of breast cancer, metaplastic, that is fast-growing and aggressive, and that triple negative is very aggressive, too. I had been naïve. I thought there was only one kind of cancer for breast , one kind for colon, one for stomach… Over the last four years, I have learned that only 5-10% of breast cancers are metaplastic and 10-20% are triple negative (TNBC). Great. I’ve accepted that my body is never normal.  The hair loss didn’t bother me too much because I only had chemo for five months and due to the pandemic, we weren’t going anywhere and no one was allowed to visit.  I have several groups of friends. I told my closest friends and my family and didn’t care if they shared the news with others. My daughter started a CaringBridge page for me which was very helpful. This way, I could let my friends know the results of tests and what was next. I didn’t want to chance leaving a friend out, plus I like to write what’s happening . If I’m down or sorting my emotions out, I wait with writing.  Meanwhile, friends and relatives came out of the woodwork  and began bringing food, gift certificates, presents… I felt very loved and cared for. People thought I was brave and strong. I just kept going to all the tests and doctors I was sent to. I was more like a robot.  It was a weird time. No one was allowed in hospitals with a patient due to Covid . I had to go for surgeries and treatments alone. My husband dropped me off at the hospitals by the front door. The surgeon gave me a pain block when I had the mastectomy so I felt fine the first three days. I had surgical drains for about 10 days post-mastectomy. Others had suggested joining lots of support groups online , which usually was helpful. This is where I learned the most. I also got into a support group which met online due to the pandemic. The women in the group had different kinds of cancer but were very helpful.  My first chemo  was delayed due to allergies I developed from ChloraPrep, a cleanser used on my chest prior to my double mastectomy . My first chemo was Adriamycin-Cytoxan (AC) , known as the Red Devil, for two months. I got very bad mouth sores, so I primarily did a liquid diet of high protein drinks and soups. I didn’t like the magic mouthwash. Baking soda wasn’t as harsh.  Then I developed an infection from my breast expanders, so I had to have the exchange surgery before finishing chemo . A few weeks later, I went on Taxol chemotherapy. I tried the ice mittens and boots which were to prevent neuropathy. Maybe my case was milder, but I got the neuropathy so bad that I never finished all the Taxol. My fingers and toes hurt so bad at bed time.  After stopping treatment, I wasn’t bouncing back to my precancer disposition, nor was my hair coming in very quickly. More facts I learned. Sometimes our bodies take a year or two or maybe three or four to return. Hair comes in very slowly for the first six months.  Scans were being done on me over the next couple years. The first ones showed lymph nodes seemed to have grown and later nodules. Many tests were run, including biopsies. My nodules were very small and were being checked for precaution. I finally had my lung sectioned in April 2024 to discover that my breast cancer was now in my lung.  I was on speakerphone when we spoke to my oncologist, who informed me that I was no longer curable. Needless to say, I became very depressed for about two or three weeks. Then someone told me that other diseases were not curable either like diabetes, arthritis, MS… And the doctors try to make patients comfortable with quality of life . I’ve had arthritis for half my life. Even though I was informed that I was now considered Stage 4 , it was no longer a death sentence . I joined groups online with this diagnosis to learn of people who have had this for 15-20 years and longer. I felt some relief.  My oncologist wanted me to try getting into a clinical trial, which I did for a year. In it, I took a targeted therapy, Trodelvy, with an immunotherapy , Keytruda. I also joined another support group. The other one was all women who were diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer (MBC). I learned that after scans I wanted to be considered stable, with no spread or growth of cancer cells. When my nodules did grow, I went back to my local oncologist, took a couple months off treatment, and now I’m back on chemo. This time I’m on Gemzar and carboplatinum.  There are now a lot of different treatments for cancer. I’m grateful for that. I’ve also been fortunate to talk with oncology dietitians and use suggestions on what is best to eat , plus I have been doing nutrition for most of my life. My side effects seem mild next to others. Sure, I have a little nausea at times, but no barfing. And yes, I have some constipation and I’ve had a couple small episodes of diarrhea, but in all my years I’ve learned to listen to my body and can usually counteract problems.  I still fear more growth, which is very common among cancer patients. I also fear any possible pain I may get that might not be treatable. I’ve slowed down a lot, which is frustrating, and I’m no longer good at multitasking. So far, my memory is still very good, but I get a bit of anxiety about not being able to recall everything. I have put together photo journals which I have labeled with the people included to help jog my memory if this happens. I try to be proactive. I have also written some memory books for my family about some of my memories.  In the meantime, I continue having meals with friends and family, socializing over games or just chatting, discussing good books… I also like to cook so when I’m feeling up to it, I make double or triple portions and freeze them. Much of my cooking is now done from a seated position with help from my husband.  Update: 1/13/2025 The Gemzar and carboplatinum did not work. I decided to go to City of Hope for another opinion since it is a cancer hospital and only 45 minutes from us. The oncologist I was assigned has worked with metaplastic carcinoma. We discussed different options and decided to try Enhertu .  The first time was uneventful, but the second dose was the worst treatment ever. I was shaky, unsteady and at first it hurt to breathe. Three weeks later, when I went back, I had a chest scan which showed my lung had become inflamed and the cancer had grown again. I went on a heavy dose of steroids for two weeks to give my lung a chance to recover.  Now I’m on Xeloda , which is oral chemotherapy taken at home. Again, my side effects did not show up until the second week. My heels hurt to walk on, and my mouth sores are back.  At City of Hope, I also see support staff. The naturalist recommended some supplements.  I’m hoping this treatment works because it’s hard to keep changing and get acclimated to new treatments. It’s also depressing. So far, the cancer is only in my lungs.  Cancer is a hard journey that most people don’t fully understand. I continue to stay positive.  Read More: SurvivingBreastCancer.org Support Groups Metastatic Breast Cancer: Understanding the Significance of Stage IV Different Kinds of Breast Cancer Advances in Immunotherapy: A New Frontier in Breast Cancer Treatment Understanding Genetic Testing for BRCA1 and BRCA2 Mutations Cancer Etiquette: How to Talk With Loved Ones About Their Breast Cancer Cancer in a Pandemic On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations TNBC Metaplastic Breast Cancer | Jess Duemig 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 William Laferriere sacred flames flicker  a swirling dervish dance   ancestral spirits arise smoke carries prayers to unseen deities  the past whispers and echoes a portal opens wide  the veil between worlds thins as the cosmic dance begins healing energies flow washing spirits clean the shaman swirls  her wisdom unfurls the ancient calendar turns and realigns  intentions and affirmations are set ablaze  desire takes flight negative energies burn in the fire’s pure light offerings consumed  transformation ignites  personal growth blooms  and reaches new heights balance achieved as positive and negative embrace Mayan traditions pulse in this sacred space generational wisdom passed down modern hearts connect and contend  an ancestral grounding in protection in abundance both flow freely dreams manifest in the fire’s alchemy cultural threads weave into the myth of time The sublime ritual of a Mayan fire ceremony Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events