By Brookshire McDonald I once wrote an essay Entitled my three “tits”. Now I am inspired to write A poem to “it”. Most of you are quite aware Breast cancer I had in my two Which has made me express More compassion and love for you. This year marks cancer anniversary Of number seventeen. Through each of those I have been blessed During the days in between. You are in my prayers every night Of the week, As on your journey Peace you do seek. To have found a new asset Of awareness of others Has been a true blessing From my sisters and brothers. I am grateful beyond all of this In my life That I didn’t have the third “tit” To bring me added strife!

By P.A.M ​ She laughed with delight as I explained the frission of sunshine that lept after his sparkling orbs recognized unexpectedly tantalizing fleeting just before they dipped again into a dim and unknown past. ​ Because, she explained, in the midst of tragedy facing death in it's brutal subtle grip edging closer still to a vile darkening fate ​ LIFE in its beautiful power asserted itself and claimed a right to love to dreams to passions not yet danced. The irrepressible spark LIT. Embarking on an Ahab quest Lashed to love again.

By Ilene Kaminsky I am willing to stand in gentle rain as the red sun sets, But not to stand in a wind storm of sorrow and regret. I used to own all the cloudless azure mornings still to come, Before I knew my darkness could yield to the sun. It is another thing now. I am willing to see the sea sparkle in my lover’s sky blue eyes, But not shield to my own for fear of drowning in life’s demise. With honest hearts I will share the depths of my pain, But with doubting minds I’ve no time left to explain. It is another thing now. I once slept deep cradled in his willing arms to rest, Tonight I’m alone, an ailing hospital guest. For warmer climes I’d give my body away to science, To have a chance for a single night slowly dancing in silence. It’s another thing now. My time is limited and the day’s run late, And I’m too busy netting butterflies to follow hardened dates. There’s no time to waste on those who demand plans written in pen — But long ago and once upon a time I had a calendar without end. It’s another thing now.

By Brookshire McDonald Surviving breast cancer.org has enabled us To become friends really fast. My hope is that all our friendships Will last and last. Our boobs have brought us together As our stories we do share Over states and even countries We come from almost everywhere. Boobs of ours Measured A,B,C,orD; And one of you even claimed To have been a G! Plastic surgeons try to match them up The best they can do. Mine don’t match at all; I don’t know about you. With breast cancer diagnosis Many options come your way- Lumpectomy, mastectomy, reconstruction, tattoos Or flat to stay. Having fallen from a ladder My journey did endure Three leg surgeries, a blood clot, then two primary breast cancers And many prayers for sure. I admire each of you As through breast cancer you go. Your struggles, courage, and strengths Really do show. On top of that road You are traveling today COVID-19 has thrown A wrench into play. Dealing with just one issue Was a master feat. Each of you now Has additional obstacles to beat. I can laugh with you, And I can cry with you, But I can’t really imagine All you’re going through. As you travel this journey- Not a choice you did choose, You are reaffirming my faith That I didn’t lose. You awakened my awareness' Of how blessed I have been; And to have you as my cancer sisters Has introduced a special kin. You may not realize it As your journey you do fight, But each positive gesture of yours Brings to someone a promising light.

Raise your hand if you’ve ever had your attitude referred to in an unfavorable light. I would be lying if I told you that I was an angel growing up. I didn’t get into trouble or do bad things, but I remember the words, “She’s got a mouth on her, huh?” or “Too smart for her own good, that one…” coming from one or both of my grandmothers a time or two. I was smart-mouthed with an adult sense of humor. I had a temper and wasn’t afraid to use my words to diffuse a situation – but I also may have been the one to cause said situation. Over the years, I obviously grew up, learned how to read a room and developed a bit more tact, but let’s just say, even as an adult, my attitude was never classified as an asset. And then I got cancer. As I learned the official diagnosis from my surgeon, I had stage 2a triple negative, metaplastic breast cancer – one that accounts for less than 1% of all breast cancer diagnoses. I was 32, had no family history, no genetic mutations and no explanation as to why I was one of the chosen ones. I was completely caught off guard. I was building my career. I hadn’t met my person yet, and I didn’t have any kids. I had my whole life ahead of me and I was devastated with the fear of the unknown. Without even making a conscious effort, my attitude took over. I blinked the tears from my eyes in the surgeon’s office and told her, “Ok. I don’t have time for this shit. What’s the plan?” She walked me through the treatment plan: bilateral mastectomy followed by chemotherapy, and ultimately reconstruction. I was still in shock, but that shock had turned to determination. I have always strived for control in and of my life – that attitude was not about to change. I took control of every possible thing I could; and for those I couldn’t, I simply made the conscious decision to leave it to the professionals. The same way I put my finances in my Accountant’s hands every April, I put my boobs in my surgeon’s hands and trusted her to do what she does best. As my treatments progressed, I tried with all my might to keep a positive attitude and find the silver linings in my daily life. I kept as much of my life intact as possible, working on the days between chemo treatments and slowly adding more risky elements of my life back into my schedule. For example, I started traveling again shortly after starting my bi-weekly Taxol regimen. My attitude was one that said, “[Screw] you, cancer! This is my body and my life. You can leave.” It took my breasts; it took my hair; it took three years of my life; it took a lot of my body-image. It took so much of ‘me’ – it wasn’t going to take my life too. Obviously this method doesn’t work for everyone – and I absolutely recommend that you speak with your doctors before doing anything risky – but it’s also very important to live your life. Be smart, but don’t lose yourself to this disease. When was the last time you picked a fight or an argument you didn’t think you could win? Sun Tzu wrote in The Art of War, “Victorious warriors win first, and then go to war. Defeated warriors go to war first, and then seek to win.” In a nutshell, this means that you have to convince yourself that you’ll win first – before you even attempt to fight. From there, you go into battle with the resolve that the outcome is all but written in stone. You can’t go into your fight with cancer hoping to come out victorious. You need to decide to kick cancer’s ass and then go do it. There will be really tough days. There will be days where aside from the obvious physical indicators, you feel fine. Let yourself feel everything. Let yourself experience everything as it comes. Remember, it’s the rainy days that make the sunny ones feel that much better! Have an honest conversation with yourself – probably in the shower – and make a deal with your brain that you’re going to face this head on and fight to feel good. Once you decide to use your attitude as an asset, and strive to do just 1% better than you think you can, you’ll be surprised how strong you really are! If you’d like to read more about my story you can purchase WARRIOR. Any books purchased through the provided link will be autographed and provide a donation back to SurvivingBreastCancer.org.

Thank you for supporting Survivingbreastcancer.org throughout Breast Cancer Awareness Month (BCAM)! It was a very busy 31 days but our work doesn't stop just because it's no longer, BCAM. In fact, we are just gearing up! Before we jump into where we are heading, let's take a quick inventory of successes this October: Survivingbreastcancer.org's Breast Cancer Awareness Month Impact: 10K visitors came to our website to ready survivor stories, gain information via our news and blog articles, and access our resource pages 286 people attended at least one of our October virtual programs ranging from Survivorship Workshops and Thursday Night Thriver Meetups to Chair Yoga and webinars on grief & loss. Our podcast Breast Cancer Conversations was downloaded 2639 times with the number one episode being episode #60, Mastectomy Recovery Tips. We took a strong stance this October, moving beyond just awareness, and turned the spotlight onto Metastatic Breast Cancer, Going Flat, Informed Consent, and Breast Cancer Recurrence. All topics that make us one of the most unique, diverse and inclusive breast cancer communities out there! We are YOUR community! We take your words, your emails, your suggestions and turn them into blogs, podcasts and programming. Because of you, we have created our Breast Cancer Book Club which already has 51 members! Because of you, we are bringing in experts to talk to us about precision medicine and why our genes matter! Because of you, we are teaming up with organizations to bring you clinical trial matching! But our work is not done. We need your support now more than ever in these times of, not just breast cancer, but COVID-19 as we continue to provide necessary community, education and resources to those diagnosed with breast cancer and their families from day one and beyond. Did you know that roughly 30% of annual giving occurs between November and December, with about 10% of all annual giving concentrated in the last three days of the year? Asset Based Giving is a brilliant way to maximize your donation to charity, and reducing your tax payments. By donating non-cash assets, instead of selling them, paying taxes (if required) and then donating the proceeds, it typically allows you to receive a fair market value tax deduction, versus selling and paying a capital gain. For example: Bill and Judy have a small farm in Northern New England. It has been in their family name for 30 years. Bill and Judy purchased the farm for $35,000 and just this year it appraised at $350,000 market value. Bill and Judy are getting on in years and don't really spend much time away from their South Carolina Retirement Community. Judy was diagnosed with Stage II breast cancer 10 years ago, and was successfully treated at a Cancer Clinic. Since then, the couple have been partial to the breast cancer community and they wished to sell this farm and donate the proceeds. But doing so would have sent thousands of dollars to the federal government in the form of taxes, versus to the breast cancer community they were so supportive of. The couple learned through their accountant that one of their favorite charities, SurvivingBreastCancer.org was able to accept innovative, non-cash gifts such as real estate, business interests, jewelry, autos and boats, and they were thrilled to make their gift before the sale. Why would this be a brilliant choice? • Bill and Judy avoided paying capital gains tax, saving many thousands of dollars. These dollars went to support the breast cancer community work of SurvivingBreastCancer.org. • Higher charitable income tax deduction: They received a tax deduction of $350,000, the fair market value of their property. This created a considerable tax savings and allowed SurvivingBreastCancer.org to maximize the benefit. With the Asset Based donation, in this example, SurvivingBreastCancer.org would be able to own and operate the farm as a retreat and nutritional learning center for the breast cancer community. So how can we serve you? SurvivingBreastCancer.org would be honored to speak with you to explain how we can help you give in new, creative, and tax-smart ways. Please call us at (603)361-7018 or email William@SurvivingBreastCancer.org Background Out of the need to navigate the uncertainty and the strong desire for connection, support, and resources, surivingbreastcancer.org was born. A fundamental piece of the breast cancer journey revolves around well-being and quality of life.  This translates into how community, education, support, and wellness complement one's treatment plans and continues not only through survivorship, but thrivership! SurvivingBreastCancer.org, Inc., Employer Number 82-2953427, is a non-profit 501(c)(3), dedicated to empowering breast cancer survivors, their families and caregivers, from day one. At Survivingbreastcancer.org, we believe that an integrative approach to a breast cancer diagnosis plays an important role during treatment and  throughout survivorship.  Our virtual educational and patient care community meets you where you are.  Whether you are undergoing chemotherapy, radiation, or surgery, you are several years with no evidence of disease, or you are living with metastatic breast cancer, SurvivingBreastCancer.org is a complement to your care.​

By Silke Pflueger, It’s late summer in 2013. I’m 48. Having drinks with my man and a friend. They talk shop. My thoughts drift. Until they stop drifting. My fingers feel something that doesn’t belong there. I race into the bathroom, and yes, there is a hard mass in my left boob. Doctor’s appointment the next morning. They find a place that takes me for a mammogram that afternoon. Need ultrasound, too. Ultrasound says that I need a biopsy, and I smooth talk my way into a biopsy that same afternoon. The phone call comes a few days later. It’s cancer. There are a lot of foreign words. Hormone positive. HER2 negative. More words. Colors become technicolor around me. Why me? I opt for a double mastectomy. Two lymph nodes involved. Onco score is low, so I opt for no chemo. Tamoxifen for a year, then chemically induced menopause and Arimidex. I’ll be fine. It won’t be me. I got this. Fast forward. It’s late summer of 2019. We are in Germany for work. My sciatic nerve has been a problem half my life, but it’s incredibly bad on this trip. I can barely walk. Everything hurts. Laying down. Sitting. Standing. Walking. Everything hurts so bad. I go to an ER. X-Ray shows the usual herniated disk, but the doc says it’s not bad enough for the pain I feel, and recommends I get an MRI when I’m back home. We are back home. I see my GP, get an MRI, go back to her. MRI says something about large lesion in sacrum. I have no idea what that means. All I know is that my back still hurts. My GP hugs me. Shit, I think. She doesn’t hug me unless it’s cancer related. I ask a little more. Will have to do a biopsy to find out. But it likely is. I walk out numb. Why me? I manage to snag an appointment for a biopsy the day before I travel back to Europe for a week in Athens with my mom. Biopsy confirms my cancer has spread to my bones, and I’m now metastatic. Dr. Google says it’s somewhere around a 25% chance that I’ll live 5 years. WHY ME? I have so much more living to do. Why me? That’s the question so many of us ask throughout this journey. Why me? I’ve lived a healthy life. I eat healthier than 90% of people I know. Why me? I have slight weight issues, but nothing bad. Why me? I love working out. Show me a mountain and I’ll hike up or bike up or ski down. Why me? The short answer is that we don’t know. My dad’s side of the family seems to have a lot of breast cancer, but we are a pretty small family. No genes that point to breast cancer - yet. “Why me?” is a question a lot of us ask, but very few of us have answers. Since I can’t answer it, I’ve settled on “It is what it is, and I’ll live the best life in the time I have left.” I suggest you do, too. Silke is a laser engineer, lover of the outdoors, foodie, and recent American. She was first diagnosed with early breast cancer in 2013. After a year of never ending, but not unusual sciatic nerve pain she found out that it was a metastasis in her sacrum that was pressing on the nerve, and not the slipped disk that had caused her a lifetime of back pain. She tries to keep on smiling, helped by antidepressants and being outdoors as much as possible, all to enjoy the time she has left.

I used to think that August was one of the hottest, most humid months of the summer. But this weekend proved me wrong. Boston was overcast, high 70's, no humidity, and actually a bit chilly. A sign of things to come. Can summer really be over? Are we already in the mindset of the next school year? For some of us, that means our kids are getting ready to return to college. The move-in process is starting several weeks earlier than usual enabling students to return home by Thanksgiving and not having to risk traveling in November/December during a health pandemic. For others of us, we continue to attend PTA meetings and town halls trying to figure out what our school district will decide. In a given academic year, we try to coordinate school pick up and drop off while we attend chemo and plan for surgery. But this year is overly complicated. Does it have to be? Are we over thinking this because it's new?  We can remember many other obstacles and challenges that we overcame and yet somehow this fall, we are facing the tallest and steepest mountain yet. Let me reassure you, you will scale this mountain! It will not be easy, but you have the ropes, carabiners, helmet and an entire team of supporters on the ground belaying so you won't fall. How to Scale Mt. September Map the course. Write out your list of essentials and tasks that must get done leaving aside all of the "nice to haves" for another time. We just need to focus on the path of least resistance. Pack your hiking bag accordingly. Hand sanitizer is a given, along with mask. Then add your fruits and veggies because you know you'll need fuel. Healthy proteins like beans that you know will not go bad. Choose your belay team accordingly. These are the people that will have your back as you begin to ascend Mt. September. Who is in your inner Covid circle? Who are the friends and family you can trust to come to your rescue at a moment's notice. Put your list together and let them know they are your team! They'll feel honored and even take extra health precautions knowing they could be called upon at any moment. Synchronize your watch and activate your GPS. With all of the health apps out there, we know technology is playing a larger rule in our day to day. Speak with your doctors and learn what appointments you can attend virtually via telehealth. This will certainly save you time on the commute and needing to secure child care and even save you a few buck on parking! Start your hike.  One foot in front of the other. Do not try and tackle the entire fall season at once. Take it one day at a time. Be willing to adapt. Be kind to yourself and know that it doesn't have to be perfect. You need to take care of you. If you get off the trail and into the "puckerbrush", no problem, readjust that compass and carry on! Most importantly, you are not in this alone. If you are looking for community to talk about everything you are going through, now is the time to reach out. Join one of our Thursday Night Thriver Calls and we will all get behind you and hoist you up Mt. September

This is a story about my mom. A story of love. A story changed by breast cancer, but not defined by it. My mom was my best friend. She was the only person who could encourage me to tape together the homework I had just ripped up. The only person who always asked me how my day was… multiple times a day. She was the person who sang ‘You Are My Sunshine’ each and every morning. And, she was the person who spent exactly three minutes with me before going to bed, unless she fell asleep in bed with me, which was my favorite, and she never ever left the room without saying ‘I love you.’ Like everything she did, my mom dealt with breast cancer the way she handled the rest of her life - with grace, style, and elegance. She didn’t let cancer define her, so I don’t let it define my story of her. My mom, Maureen, was diagnosed with breast cancer while pregnant with my little sister, Katelyn. It was late 2003. Katelyn was born in April of 2004, when I was only two years old. Whether in active treatment or in remission, the cancer lurked within my mom. Everything felt normal… up until August of 2014. Across the span of those ten years, between 2004 and 2014, there were a few times where I was very confused, wondering if she would be okay. I was especially confused when she went home after a doctor's appointment instead of going back to work. I was curious when she put on extra mascara because she was losing her eyebrows. It was always strange when we would visit her at the hospital after a surgery. However, even with all those confusing moments along the way, there was always a ‘good morning sunshine,’ my three minutes, and ending the day with an ‘I love you.’ Those moments were the normal moments, and the things I truly remember. I remember her picking me up early from school to go to the library, taking us to the farmers’ market on Saturday mornings, playing two squares with my little sister in our driveway, making cinnamon rolls for us on Sunday morning before church, and so much more. 6 years. 7 months. 29 days. That was the last time I heard my mom say ‘I love you, Kyla.’ I didn’t know that this would be the last time I would hear those words. It was just another Monday. I still remember looking through the passenger window, jumping out of our Honda Odyssey, and waving to my mom. Seconds before, we were making plans for my mom and dad to pick me up after school to go get dinner before I had to be back for my volleyball game. It was normal. Like every afternoon, I would blow up my parents’ phones asking where they were and when they were going to pick me up. But instead of a text, I got a call from my dad. He said that he and my mom were right around the corner at the hospital. I didn’t think anything of it. I didn’t realize that was going to be the last time she drove me to school. That it was going to be the last time I saw her smile. That it was going to be the last time I heard her laugh. The last time she would watch me play volleyball via FaceTime in her hospital room. October 20th, 2014 was a day of lasts. October 21st, 2014 was the day my mom’s life stopped, and mine continued. October 21st, 2014 was a day of firsts, new firsts, and lonely firsts. One by one, the firsts unfolded - my first Halloween without her, my first Thanksgiving without her, and my first Christmas without her. I was numb to everything; even my family. Lying alone in a ball in the middle of my bed wrapped up in the blanket my mom had sewn for me. I just wanted to talk to someone who would understand, but more than that, I wanted to talk to my mom. She is my WHY. She is my sunshine. She is my love story, and I won’t let her love story end. She is why I wanted to create #pinkkids. I wanted to create something larger than my story. A way to remember her. Not my mom with breast cancer, but my mom who lived a purposeful life while dealing with breast cancer. To connect stories. To have a place of true understanding. A way to get out from under my blanket. I didn’t want to talk to counselors. I didn’t want to talk to therapists. I didn’t want to talk to teachers. I didn’t want to talk to my dad. I didn’t think they would understand. I wanted to talk to someone my own age, but I didn’t know anyone who was going through what I was going through. So I kept everything in. And if that is you, then this is the space for you. A space for you to say something as simple as ‘I am scared’ or as complex as ‘My mom just passed away. What should I do?’ Kids supporting kids. Loving each other. Being there for each other. This is our space.

My life was so unconventional, and I didn’t even realize it. While brushing my teeth in the morning, I would watch as my dad drained fluid from my mom’s lungs. After dinner as I lay next to my mom, I would occasionally have to move her breathing tube back under her nose. I would help situate my mom’s wig on her bald head before she left for work. I was only 10 years old. Not a year later, on October 21, 2014, my life became even more unconventional, and I still didn’t realize it. As I started to walk over from the fourth grade wing to the Middle School standing next to my chaplain, the only thing going through my head was that I was cool because I knew that none of my friends had ever stepped foot in Middle School. Little did I realize, I soon would never want to step foot in the Middle School again. My excitement was heightened as I stood outside the Middle School conference room waiting for my sister...we were going to go see mom! But. But. This feeling of excitement didn’t last long. Everything shifted in a second. My sister walked through the door, and she started to cry. I was more confused than ever. Little to my knowledge, my dad had been sitting in the conference room the whole time. The next words my dad would say, would change our lives forever. He said, “Your mom is gone.” I didn’t understand. I thought he was joking. I thought - silly him, people don’t die, but soon it became a reality. As I tried to speak to her as she lay still on the hospital bed, not responding to anything I said, I realized...this was no longer a joke, my mom was gone. This was almost seven years ago. I am now seventeen years old, and the pain of losing my mom at such a young age and never having lived a day where my mom didn’t have breast cancer is hard. There were so many things that felt normal when I was young but were not. The fact that her hair fell out. The fact that she could only drive with one hand because she had a wound under one arm. The fact that she had a port on her chest. The fact that I would have to sit in a waiting room in the hospital waiting for her treatments to be over. At the time though, I knew nothing else. This was my family’s life, our normal. But, I remember my mom's life not about cancer; it is about life, family, and community. My three favorite moments that I look back on with my mom are: watching movies with her on the couch, bedtime, and our final trip together. First, I loved doing the simple things with my mom; in particular, watching Flea Market Flip next to her on the couch. One night, she let us watch it during dinner on the couch, which I didn’t see as a special thing. I was blind to the fact that the reason we were doing this was because she was unable to sit and eat dinner at the dining table. Second, she was always the best at bedtime routines. Every night she would lay with me for exactly three minutes, this was my favorite time with her because I got her all to myself. After three minutes she would tell me “God loves you, mommy and daddy love you, and Katelyn in special.” Lastly, a month before my mom’s passing we went to Chicago. This was a special place. This is where my parents met. My favorite thing to do was to push my mom around the city in her wheelchair. My sister and I would actually fight over this job. And, when we returned to the hotel I loved to push myself in the wheelchair around the hotel room. This is obviously not normal. I didn't realize until later that the reason we were pushing her in a wheelchair was because she was on an oxygen tank, and walking made her out of breath at a faster rate. I don’t think I will ever learn how to cope with losing my mom at eleven years old. It was and is and will always be the hardest thing to go through. I miss her more and more every day.

So many updates to share! Everything about cancer is new to me. There is so much about my body that I know nothing about. Nor do I understand how this is all going to work. I am going through treatment, trying to understand it all, and process all at the same time! It can certainly be overwhelming! Today, I am focusing on two topics. The decision to get my port placed, and an update on my hair situation! I was in shock when I found out that I was going to have my port placed in the morning and a few hours later receive my first chemo treatment. While this sounded rushed to me, it was pretty standard practice. However, the moment I was on the stretcher in the hospital, being wheeled into the operating room, the tears came streaming. I’ve never had to have surgery before and when I came into the operating room, it was just like what you would expect from seeing ER or House on T.V: Lots of people in scrubs, face masks, sterile table, big bright lights, even a two-way mirror where others are monitoring computer screens. If this isn’t your normal, it is definitely scary! From there, I was brought up to the infusion center to receive my first round of chemo. Again, being my first time, everything is so overwhelming! The Adriamycin and Cytoxan came in a bag that had the yellow skull symbol on it reminding me that the contents inside the bag were dangerous and toxic. Nurses had gray gloves and were handling the IV and chemicals with such care and I was just sitting there waiting for these new drugs to start coursing through my body. A very overwhelming day! But I survived and I am here to tell you all about it!

Guest Blogger: Lucy Wright Before I faced cancer I always naively believed that a survivor was someone who defeated something and that was that! I have now come to realize there is so much more that comes with being a survivor, whether it be mentally or physically. I want to share something with you that made me want to write this piece today. I was in hospital waiting to see my plastic surgeon and a lady came and sat next to me. We got talking and people who know me know I am very open about my journey. This lady told me about her sister who passed away from lung cancer and like many others, she said I was lucky to still be here and survive the disease. When this was first said to me not long after my treatment, I didn't think much of it but now I am 20 months on from my last chemo and I find this hard to digest!! Surviving something like cancer is not lucky. I am of the belief that it's the outcome of treatment and how positive you are. But there is nothing lucky about having to endure chemo, face life changing surgery and radiotherapy. Yes, I am clear of cancer but I had to face the toughest time in my life to get to this point and that was not due to luck. I have never been lucky, as I also lost my mum and dad within 9 days of each other when I was of only 17/18 (both sides of my 18th birthday). When cancer patients finish treatment, it is not the end, this is just the beginning for a survivor! Not only do you have to get over the physical effects of treatment, whether it be chemo, radiotherapy or surgery but you also have the turmoil of dealing with the effects cancer has on your mental state. There is always the " What if's' '. My mental state is pretty positive, maybe not sane but I manage to keep my thoughts on track. When I have a moment of "what if my cancer comes back, what if I die, how will Nevaeh (my daughter) cope if I am not here, will I ever think how I used to?" My Macmillan nurse told me it is normal to have these thoughts and taught me a great way of dealing with this: If the thoughts enter my head, I need to take a minute and visit my demons. I have to let myself have the minute but then put them in a box and forget about them until next time they creep up. This technique really works for me, I might look like a crazy lady for a few minutes but what's new! I find I constantly worry when I get a cough or an ache! Could this be my cancer returning or a new cancer? It never stops, the checking of my breasts (I can now say breasts) and I am mentally exhausted but I just plod along. Survivors will always be over vigilant when it comes to their health. Before my diagnosis, if I got a cough I would think it's a cold, now I contemplate whether this could be a symptom of a cancer! We just have to channel this in a healthy way and not drive our state of minds into darkness. When you have faced death, your whole world shifts and your outlook on life changes for the better. This could be the people you associate with, how you deal with certain situations and just living your best life. You will cut people out, you will want to face your fears and just appreciate every minute you breath this air on earth. Being a survivor also means annual check ups, which in turn you have to deal with Scanxiety . Although everything might be fine, the worry of something showing up weighs heavy on your mind and also your body physically. I get no sleep for many nights leading up to my scans, which I am graced with 50 shades of dark circles under my eyes. The future for a cancer survivor can be masked by negative thoughts but on the flip side we want to make the most of the second chance we have struggled to fight for. It's an ongoing battle that we have to live with for the rest of our lives but I will always fight, as will many others! So to be a survivor, it's not luck, it's proof that something was sent our way to kill us but determination, strength, grit and positivity prevailed. Much love Lucy You can follow Lucy on IG @lifeorjustlucyisms Or through her website: Www.lifeorjustlucyisms.co.uk

By Caitlin Edmunds, Contributing Editor Cancer sucks and there's no denying it. It took a lot from me... it took my energy, my attention and focus on most days if not all days, my naivety, my time and a whole lot of my hair (which in all honesty was one of the hardest parts). But it also gave me a new found appreciation for each and every day. To stop and enjoy all the little things and realize that life is too short to be mad at the crappy driver in front of you or stress over the one email that you didn't get to but meant to before leaving the office. It taught me that the human body is an incredible thing, and the amount of trauma and hardship it can endure and bounce back from is incredible. It taught me that I am way stronger than I ever gave myself credit for. But most importantly it showed me that my tribe is the best tribe. It was 234 days from diagnoses to my last day of active treatment... 130 cold cap changes, 120+ self injections, about 50 doctors appointments, 30 rounds of radiation, 25 blood draws, 20 doctors, 18 ultrasounds, 8 rounds of chemotherapy, 4 lymph nodes removed, 3 MRIs, 2 port surgeries, 1 full body PET scan, 1 CT scan, 1 egg retrieval surgery and 1 lumpectomy surgery. My life will never be the same and forever more will be split into BC and AC (thats after cancer, not Adriamycin for my cancer folks). Since I found my lump through an at home self-exam and have made it my ongoing mission to bring awareness and education to other young women out there. I am so lucky to have found so much love, support and inspiration throughout the entire cancer community, but especially the triple negative gals! Here is a link to my Caring Bridge site that I used to update family and friends: https://www.caringbridge.org/visit/caitlinedmunds/

By Guest Blogger, Abigail Johnston In January of 2017, at the ripe old age of 38 , I felt a lump in my left breast. I was tandem nursing my almost 4-year-old and almost 2-year-old at the time. I started taking herbs and saw my lactation consultant since I’d already had a few clogs. I always had an overabundance of breast milk, so much so that I donated over 25,000 ounces to a milk sharing group during my 4 years of nursing and pumping. My lactation consultant thought it was nothing but since the herbs weren’t working, she wanted me to see my PCP. My PCP is super chill and tandem nursed her kiddos, so she was not too concerned. Her comment was that she was 95% sure that it was nothing but since my mom was then a 14-year breast cancer survivor and I’d never had a mammogram, she sent me for a mammogram and a diagnostic ultrasound. Since we were expecting some difficulty with my dense and milk filled gigantic breasts (seriously, I went from barely a B to at least a DD while nursing and I’m 5’2”), she told me not to let the radiologist do a biopsy if there was any suspicion but to call her for a referral to a specialist. I didn’t know what to expect at the mammogram appointment but I certainly did not except to drench the machine in milk. Also, it HURT!!! The tech wasn’t very happy about milk everywhere but seriously, that crazy machine HURT!! I pumped before the scan and pumped again during a break and we got some pictures. Tech didn’t have a poker face, so I knew something was up. After the diagnostic ultrasound, the radiologist came in and wanted to do a biopsy right then. Since my PCP had already told me to call her after the mammogram, I explained that and they freaked. I was taken to three different people, including a social worker before they finally let me leave AMA. It was after office hours at this point and I left a message with my PCP’s answering service on the way home. It was a Thursday. She called me back that Friday morning after having looked at the scans and the report. I think the only explanation at this point for the fact that I was not freaking out was that I was in denial. I was convinced that everything was fine and went to the appointment with the surgeon the following Monday without trepidation. In hindsight that was pretty naive but I am thankful for a few more months without the weight of cancer in my life. The surgeon did the biopsy in her office that day, also not what I was expecting and we left with some amount of concern to wait for the results. I leaked milk from the biopsied area (at around 10 o’clock right outside the aureola on my left breast) for about a week and my kiddos thought that was pretty funny. The crazy bruising wasn’t as funny and the anxiety even less. On March 8, 2017 , we got the results of the biopsies. The suspicious lymph nodes were just full of milk but the lump in my left breast was breast cancer. Invasive Ductal Carcinoma which was ER/PR+ and HER2-. I later found out I am BRCA- but then so was my mother. At that point, we met with a medical oncologist and a radiation oncologist and started the process of drying up my milk. It was tremendously difficult and abruptly weaning both Boys was just plain awful. I felt like I was walking around with a bomb inside me. I was limping at this point, favoring my right leg — I’m not a complainer and I simply didn’t bring It up. In hindsight, that wasn’t the smartest move. We decided to do a lumpectomy and my surgery was on April 11, 2017. The surgeon was able to get clear margins and I was considered node negative since only one of the 4 sentinel nodes had some trace cancer cells. Trace cancer cells means less than 200. We hoped I would just need radiation and again waited for the oncotype results. Still naively hoping we were in the clear. Original staging was 2b. Oncotype score came back in the high side of the gray range and so we had to adjust our thinking to include chemo. Original plan was 4 rounds of AC and then 12 of Taxol. I started chemo and in the haze of the day after the first chemo treatment nicknamed the “red devil,” my medical oncologist called to say that something was wrong with my blood-work (he didn’t say tumor markers then) and we’d need to do more tests. Still naive, I didn’t get upset or exercised and I went in for a bone scan and CT scans within a few days. Took nearly a whole day and when we got the call the next morning that we needed to come in, didn’t matter what time, just come, and a sense of doom began to settle over us. The weight of all that was and all that might be was stifling. The next day, June 22, 2017 , we went to my medical oncologist’s office to find out that the cancer had spread, not through my lymph nodes, but through my blood to take up residence in all of my bones. That limp I mentioned earlier, turns out I had a 5-cm tumor in the middle of my right femur. My organs were and are clear of mets so far. My husband had insisted on coming to my appointment and we both cried and cried and cried. Life as we knew it had already shifted and now it had taken a dark turn. About a week later, on June 30th after having multiple MRIs and skeletal studies, an Orthopedic surgeon put a titanium rod inside each femur secured by 4 screws each. We also did some additional genetic testing and found out that I’m positive for the ATM mutation. I kept going with AC but we decided to leave Taxol for later. I did 10 days of radiation on my legs and my back (big lesion at L2) in July as soon as I was healed enough from the surgery. I had a full hysterectomy on September 18, 2017 and I started Ibrance and Letrozole in August, 2017 . For now, all of my mets have shrunk and I’m getting more and more limber each day. I’ve added yoga to my routine, which is really helping with flexibility. In October 2017 , we finished closing up my office and moved to Miami to live with my parents for the help and support. I’ve been able to access disability benefits and I’m trying to figure out what’s next. Becoming educated and keeping up on research as much as possible has become a little like a full-time job! I’ve added acupuncture, chiropractic, supplements, diet changes and medical marijuana to my regimen. I like to say that we’re combining the best of Eastern and Western medicine the best we can. Recently, I’ve developed heterotopic ossification in each thigh, which basically means that I have bone growing inside each of my thigh muscles. None of the bone pain I’ve been managing prepares me for this much pain. We’re working on building muscle to cushion the growing bone and there may be more surgery in my future, once the ossifications stop growing. My very first thought in June when we got the news was that I wanted to spend as much time as possible with my children. That’s what I’m doing. I’m spending time with my family and creating a new life and memories for as long as we have. Our focus is living in the present and working to maximize the joy of the time we have. I’ve got boxes started for both Boys and I’ve been working on letters and cards and mementos. I worked with a nonprofit recently called Thru My Eyes to create a video for my children to watch after I’m gone. I’ve also started a box for my husband to stash important reminders and letters. Thinking about leaving my kids sometimes leaves me paralyzed but it also clarifies things. While I’m still able, I get out of bed each day and spend as much time as I can with them. When I can’t get out of bed because of all the side effects I deal with daily, we get lots of snuggles and cuddles. This is our life now, in all it’s beautiful mess.

By Store My Tumor The most common statement we receive from people we talk to is… I wish I knew about the importance of preserving cancer cells alive at the time of my surgery. Why didn't my doctor talk to me about the option of storing my tumor tissue? Doesn't he understand my survival is everything? I have a family that I need to be here for! To answer that question- most doctors are always going to go with the standard of care treatment- surgery, chemo and radiation. They have no time and this is what they are taught to do. Anything aside from that is not known to them and they don’t want to go outside the norm. This is why a patient must take control of their own treatment. If you have a doctor that you feel you aren’t getting the right answers from, then find a new doctor. If you feel your treatment plan isn’t right for you, then ask questions. You need to be a part of your treatment plan so that you feel included in your survival and can help to ensure it. The standard of care is okay for some people but not for all. If you feel you want to take control of your treatment and personalize a treatment that is just for you then you need to do some research. StoreMyTumor can help you preserve your cancer cells and tissue alive and initiate a number of advanced diagnostics and personalized immunotherapies for example. Did you know? Hospitals routinely discard tumors post-surgery, or they may save a very small piece of the tumor preserved in paraffin, which will not keep the cells alive. StoreMyTumor preserves your cancer cells and tissue in a live, viable format. Patients can store tissue collected from a surgery or biopsies, or fluid from ascites drainage (paracentesis). Call them if you are having a procedure that may involve removing tumors or cancer cells. What are the preserved live cells or tissue useful for you ask? · Sensitivity Testing (diagnostic) - tests which drug or combination is most effective to target the tumor. Can be done for chemo therapeutic agents only, or a wider range of drugs that include chemo, targeted, and immunotherapy. This eliminates the trial and error process doctors go through and the severe side effects that accompany the wrong chemo and drug. Applies to all indications and requires Viable tumor tissue. · Genomic Sequencing (diagnostic) - checks for hundreds of mutations on the tumor and matches the right drug to mutations expressed by the tumor. Applies to all indications and requires formalin or paraffin tissue (fixed/dead). · Personalized Vaccines (immunotherapy) - stimulates the immune system to recognize and fight the cancer cells. Good to clean the body from residual cancer cells after surgery/chemo. Applies to all indications. Available in trials across the USA and internationally. Applies to all indications and requires Viable tumor tissue. · Adoptive T-cell Transfers (immunotherapy) - multiplies the army of killer T-cells that already recognize the tumor to dramatically boost the immune system’s ability to destroy the tumor. Available in trials across the USA and internationally. Applies to all indications and requires Viable tumor tissue. Personalized medicine is transforming our thinking about designing effective treatments. If you have questions, you can also set up a time for them to give you a call . Knowledge is Power! Know All Your Options! Take control! Thanks to StoreMyTumor for sharing this blog with out community!

#FeatureFriday You might have heard from others that during your breast cancer journey, it’s best to "stay positive." After all, having an optimistic mindset has been shown to lower the risk of heart attacks, reduce stress, and generally improve life satisfaction. However, when a serious health threat like a cancer diagnosis is thrown into the mix, it’s not always that simple. Here, we’ve collected a series of articles, ranging from personal accounts to scientific literature reviews, all aimed at examining whether or not positive thinking can actually help throughout your cancer journey. The consensus? Probably not- at least, not as the miracle cure we’ve all been waiting for. However, that’s not to say that positive thinking should be completely abandoned. Check out the resources below to learn more. Positive Psychology in Cancer Care: Bad Science, Exaggerated Claims, and Unproven Medicine This literature review summarizes four main applications of positive thinking in cancer care, including having a positive mindset during care, using positive psychology methods during cancer treatment, and the concepts of “benefit finding” and “post-traumatic growth”. The last two concepts relate to a phenomenon of survivors finding positive aspects within the overall negative experiences they went through, and while there may be a mental health benefit, the reviewers found no physical or immune improvement, as many of the positive psychology studies claimed for there to be. While the reviewers agree that positive thinking can have benefits for some, with serious, often systemic illnesses such as cancer, it is difficult to expect one’s mindset to heavily influence their physiological state. Read more Impact of Attitudes and Feelings on Cancer The American Cancer Society created an FAQ-style resource for those wondering how their mindsets may impact their cancer care. They report that generally, people’s feelings and attitudes have very little to do with their actual diagnosis. You cannot think your way into getting cancer, and you also cannot think your way out of it, Oftentimes, by trying to be positive, it hides the negative emotions that someone may have with regards to their cancer, and that can prove to be more of a burden than simply allowing themselves to feel upset would be. Some things that they find may help with symptom management or stress relief include guided imagery, meditation, and meeting with a support group. Read More Smile! You’ve Got Cancer Barbara Ehrenrhich describes her breast cancer journey in relation to her trials with positive thinking. Finding herself lost in a sea of support groups, informative books, and medical advice, she turned to the positive thinking community in the hopes that it would make her experience a little more stress-free. Surrounded by messages such as, “‘Cancer was the best thing that ever happened to me’", or, “‘breast cancer has given me a new life. Breast cancer was something I needed to experience to open my eyes to the joy of living.’”, she quickly realizes that there is a less-than-positive edge to the current of positivity she was being swept up in. Read more Can a Positive Attitude Really Affect Breast Cancer Survival? The short answer is no, probably not. Not only does thinking positively not impact breast cancer outcomes to any significant degree, as shown by multiple studies, but by trying to be consistently positive when facing such a stressful situation, or hiding your true feelings when with others to seem more positive, it can often only serve to isolate you further from your support networks. By tying your mindset to your prognosis, it can lead you to feel like you are responsible for however your cancer is progressing, which simply isn’t true. But there are things that you can do to help your mental wellbeing- things like joining a support group, or getting help from a mental health professional can both help curb the stress and anxiety that accompanies breast cancer, and help decrease rates of depression and mental fatigue. Read more We hope that these resources help to clarify the often confusing relationships between mindset and physical health, especially as it relates to breast cancer. Breast cancer can come with a lot of complicated emotions, and we at SBC want you to know that it’s ok to not be ok. If you’re looking for some mindfulness exercises or a support group to join, then look no further: SurvivingBreastCancer.org has a few programs that may be able to help relieve some of the stresses associated with your breast cancer journey. Positive or not, we welcome you as you are.

By Dawn Oswald Today Today I woke up What a blessing I ate, I took my medicine, I watched TV, I ate lunch, I watched TV, I took a nap, I ate dinner, I took my medicine, I watched some more TV and then I went to bed Today I repeated that all over again Today is another day, but it is the same It’s my ground hog day Tomorrow brings a new day I am going to change today Today I will eat, take my medicine, watch TV or enjoy my new hobby, eat lunch, watch some more TV or take my dog for a walk, eat dinner, take my medicine of course, finishing a new beanie or play a game with my daughter I am changing my life I will take my life back Today I woke up What another blessing I ate, I took my medicine to stay alive, I went shopping to pamper myself, I went for a walk to be healthy again, I went to lunch with my husband (a date), I took my dog for a walk, I volunteered my time, and I ate dinner then took my medicine I chose to change my life and to do what I want and when I want Today was a good day Tomorrow will be a better day Tomorrow only comes once You can look back on it, but it won’t change Make your today count Today, then tomorrow Tomorrow will come, but how will you fill your day? What will you do with your tomorrow? Today is a blessing Tomorrow can be a better blessing

How I Discovered Faith, True Beauty, and Confidence During and After Cancer By Karen Rice Without questioning, when going through a serious illness, you learn to know what faith truly is, along with finding the true meaning of beauty and how you really feel about yourself. I know this all too well because I have experienced many trials and tribulations in my life. Through it all, I gain strength that I never knew I had, and much more confidence in myself, which led me to loving myself all over again. I had a new beginning, all on my own. After going through so much in my life, things were going well, until it happened. I had a head-on collision with not only breast cancer, but colon cancer as well, and it changed my entire outlook on life. I thought I had endured rough years before but going through cancer was the rest of the iceberg. There is nothing like it. You wonder, what in life had you done so wrong to have this placed upon you. You began asking, why me. Yet through my tragedies and all that I had to endure, it all became an awakening for me, in which I received and gain all the strength and encouragement I needed to conquer. Through it all, not only did I find the true meaning of life, I found the true meaning of beauty. Through all the chemo, radiation, the pain I endured, I still felt beautiful. I found myself looking in the mirror even more during this time, because I thought what I was dealing with would change me drastically, but as I viewed the imperfections I now have to live with, over time it got better, and instead of feeling sorry for myself, I embrace it all; I'm still among the living, who am I to complain. Whether we are dealing with an illness or any other negative feelings about ourselves, our lives, and our bodies, we need to be our on-cheering section. Through all my mishaps, I still feel beautiful and it is real. I have come to realize that even going through such a dark time in my life, I still have a life to be lived, and I am going to live it to the fullest. When I think about the individuals that are no longer among us due to such a horrific disease, I'm truly grateful, and I will no longer take my life for granted, life is precious, and we don't realize that, until we come close to losing it. When I think of the “gift of life” that was given to me twice over, I knew I did not have a moment to waste. I would never say having or going through cancer is a gift, surviving it, receiving a second and third chance at life, is the gift. Yet, through it all, I did not allow the disease to take away who I am, or what I stand for. I am a survivor, as well as an example to show that it can happen, and that I can go on and look and feel just as beautiful, inside, and out, and it shines brighter. Yet through my tragedies and all that I had to endure, I received and gain all the strength and encouragement I needed to conquer. I will say, that the areas of my body that was interrupted, will be a constant reminder I had cancer, and at times, it does bother me, I'm human, but within a moment or two, I look past it, because those areas could be covered up. True beauty is within and when you feel beautiful on the inside, it shows so clearly on the outside. Just because I had cancer, does not mean cancer had me. We as women should never allow anything, or any circumstance to steal our joy, nor our self-esteem. And I know with cancer, many times you are too weak to even think about your looks, because you're not always feeling your best, believe me, I know; but sometimes you must try a little bit, and fight past it and keep living. Through any tragedy, we are and always will be beautiful and unique! Women, we all know that our bodies take lickings, yet we keep on ticking. When I look back now and see how far I've came, I have to say, I thought right away that my cancer diagnoses was truly a death sentence, because you're not sure if you're going to make it or not. Cancer have taught me not to blink twice at life, my eyes are wide open, living life to the fullest. I also realized after surviving cancer both times, that I was about to face new beginnings, new hope, do and see more with a whole new prospective on life. I share my story with others hoping to make a positive impact on someone who is ill or otherwise, where they can proceed life in a whole new way. I am 63yrs of age now, and I am cherishing each day, each moment, and through it all, I feel that I am still at my best. I am confident with myself, as well as grateful. I am starting over, doing things I should have done before cancer. One day, after one of the many surgeries I had during my breast cancer period, and I could remember it as if it was yesterday, I experienced something so real, so peaceful, something of a miracle, that I had to write it down. I turned that experience into a poem, and I called it “Peace”. I took that poem, along with many others I had written, writing had become therapy for me. I am hoping that anyone who may have the opportunity to read my poems, get out of them, what I placed in them, they are as real as any could ever be. My most recent published book is titled, “Cancer, Yet Cancer Again, but I will not Die, before I'm Dead”. I titled it that , because I truly feel that you should not stop living, because you have cancer, and that is exactly what I almost did, when I heard the word cancer. I am a realist, a regular everyday woman, who have overcome many obstacles, which took me to writing, trying to produce inspirational stories. If I had not gone through all that I did, I would have never anticipated such. The scars and mishaps, that are now attached to my body, due to cancer, are just that, and they are symbols for someone else inspiration and hope. I am thankful, because if I had not struggled, I would not have found my true strengths. I am a true example that you can survive cancer, not once, but twice, providing you get to it in time. I am not saying all will be easy, I am not saying all will survive it, what I am saying, is to have faith, fight with all you have, then hold on. I honestly believe, when and if you survive a horrific tragedy or a horrible disease such as cancer, it is for a reason. You have a purpose, and through that purpose, faith, compassion and strength, true beauty is born.

By Denise Rodman Breast Cancer has always been a part of my life. My mother passed away of breast cancer at the age of 36. She left us just before my 2nd birthday. Losing her at such a young age encouraged me to want to grow up and be the best mom I could be. I looked forward to having children and doing all the things I had longed to do with my own mother. Coincidentally, I became pregnant for the first time at the same age my mother was pregnant with me. I had never felt so close to her even though I have no memory of her. Everything seemed to be going as planned: marriage, a child, a home and even a promotion at work. Fast forward to my 40th birthday–I had always felt some relief that every birthday celebrated was another year further from the eternal age of my mother. One night, I was sitting next to my husband on the couch watching TV. My arm had rubbed against my right breast and something felt odd. I immediately started to feel the area with my hand…there it was…a lump. I immediately asked my husband to feel it. As he pulled his hand away, he immediately said “that needs to get checked out!” The following few days were a whirlwind. First a visit to my OBGYN, who directly sent me for a mammogram and sonogram that same afternoon. Next was a core needle biopsy and a referral to a breast surgeon. Ten days after finding my lump, I was given the news that I had breast cancer. A week later, I found out it was TNBC. I immediately thought of my son. Will he lose me… as I had lost my own mother? What was I going to do? He had just turned 5 years old. I felt like I was on a freight train barreling down the track out of control. So many decisions to make and emotions to process. My older sister had shared with me that when my mother was dying, she asked if my mother would live. All the adults told her everything would be okay. After my mother died everything was not okay and my sister would never be the same, rarely trusting others. My son is quite sharp and sensitive, and he knew something was different. The phone rang more, and I would leave the room to talk privately. I would need to tell him what was going on and the changes that would be happening. I would first have a bilateral mastectomy with an axillary node dissection, followed by chemotherapy, radiation and reconstruction surgery. My son and I love to read together. I have read to him almost every night of his life and now he has begun to read to me. It is part of our nightly bedtime routine. I was never read to as a child, but I saw it happen in movies and on TV. I had dreamt of lying in bed with my son or daughter cuddled under the blanket and reading together. I researched breast cancer children’s books online and decided that is how I would tell him I had cancer. I put the pink book on the couch, and he quickly asked if we could read it together. We cuddled close and began to read. Tears began to run down my cheek. We finished the book and now he knew. I told him if he has any questions or worries to come talk to me and we would figure it out together. I know that telling children about cancer is a very personal choice. Some might feel that it could overwhelm them and fill them with fear. There might be the option to hide it or limit what children are told. For me, I wanted to be very honest with my son. I had lost both of my parents before my 25th birthday. I had learned that death was a part of life. I wanted my son to know that I was willing to do anything I could possibly do to overcome cancer and enjoy as much time as God gave me on this beautiful planet with him. For every step, I would find a book to read about topics such as mastectomy surgery, chemotherapy and radiation. We would read about it together, learn together and help each other through this. When it came time to shave my head, I even had him help. He was giggling as my hair dropped to the floor and it lightened the mood. Once shaved, he would rub his small hand over the stubble and comment on how soft it felt. He would do the same when my hair began to grow back in after chemo. This method of telling my son about my cancer might not be the standard or even the suggested. What I tell others going through cancer is you need to do what you feel is right. Trust your gut. You know your child or children better than anyone else. If they cry console them. If they get angry, tell them you are angry too. And most importantly love them and love yourself. My little family unit consisting of myself, my son and my husband fought cancer together. I leave you with a few takeaways from my cancer diagnosis and parenting: Make sure you are taking time for yourself. Like on an airplane you need to put your oxygen mask on first, before helping someone else. Be gentle with yourself. There is no right or wrong way to navigate this. Find joy in the small things. In our fast-paced world it is so easy to miss them. Look at your blessings and teach your children to do the same. Love, love your children, love yourself, love others.

By Andrea Magni www.diverightincoach.com acjmagni@gmail.com I am a master of reframing … Reframing is an important skill as it takes you from a place of zero choice to being the master of your own destiny. There is a legend that Amazonian women would remove their breasts to make them a better archer and warrior. It isn’t true and yet for some breast cancer survivors it is: removing their breasts makes them much more able to fight and live on. As we navigate our treatments there are some well-meaning people who will refer to our breast surgery as a “boob job” or they’ll comment on how sore their boob job was when trying to let you know they “understand.” Our Breast Cancer survivor group meets once a week and we have no agenda. One week I discussed the fact that breast surgery was an amputation and it resonated so deeply with everyone. When I had my double mastectomy they hollowed out my body from one rib cage and armpit to the other. All the flesh under my skin was removed. I had implants placed over my pec minor muscle and under the pec major muscle and stitched into place. This was not an augmentation or “boob job”. My breasts have changed so much over my life, from pre-puberty, adolescence, young adult, overweight, pregnant, breast feeding, and after. When I learned I had breast cancer and had opted to have a double mastectomy I grieved. I grieved for the loss of naiveté and the innocence of life. I was not sure then if my cancer had spread, all I knew was I wanted to take the most extreme action. My 2.0s as I affectionately call the upgrade (only an upgrade in that they’re not trying to kill me), are big. 34DDs. I did not ask for them to be this size. The surgeon made her mind up while I was on the table. I believe she could have gone smaller but she looked at my almost 6 foot frame and thought I “could handle the scale”. There are some downsides to this: tops do not fit like they used to. The size makes them heavy. None of my old bras fitted and I have to wear bras with serious construction permits and broader straps. There is a reason the DD’s have special sections in the bra store. My breasts do not mold into the bra – the bra has to fit perfectly and even then after several hours the implant squashes my skin into the bra frame. I was hoping to be able to go bra free every now and then and this is not really possible. They are simply too large. Thankfully Sports tops are helpful. The positives still outweigh the negatives: I have breasts, they do have feeling (and this is wonderful), I did get some new lingerie, they allow me to talk about breast cancer in a refreshing way. I love the 2.0s very much. Best 2.0 moment: a few weeks after surgery we were staying at my Dad’s house and he was reading the kids and I a bedtime story. My daughter was tucked up next to me and leaned in, put her head on my chest, she looked up and said “mommy does this hurt?” I pulled her closer and said “no, it feels wonderful”. Second best 2.0 moment is how good they look in a halter neck bikini! See? Silver lining! What do you want to see differently in your world? Maybe I can help with perspective and reframing. Reframing puts the responsibility of choice back in your corner. For example: “my doctor says I have to exercise or I will have a heart attack. So I guess I had better go to gym.” Or you could take ownership of the idea and say “I want to be well and make better choices for my body. I want to go to gym”. Coaching to reframe is a powerful cognitive tool that helps develop perspectives that better serve your goals. www.diverightincoach.com acjmagni@gmail.com

By Ilene Kaminsky Morning yawns and stretches its arms To part the curtains of night. Tired midwife to light from From her expectant horizon The earth inches towards her morning. Clean, cool fingers weave threads Of sweet perfumed wisteria and more Unnamable long forgotten blooms. Clean and combed through dew damp air. Buds nodding on their stems, Draw blood from my veins with thorns Like cat claws after a scare. Suddenly clouds burst and showers fall To save dry backyards and crops Now cut away from the view unguarded From natures reach over treetops. Lost years and fences already raised Desperate for mending and tattered. Puddled earth evicts worried worms, Plucked by late rising birds from their Broken homes. While in my solitary confinement, Within an escapable white picket fenced Yard, I wave farewell to school busses And to the workers who clean up the world. Alone to remember cubes and corners Push pinned photos, plaques of platitudes, Email boxes and bustling buildings Where tight schedules and bright slides Bore like radiation into the heads of Departments of the thoughtless and benign. My wooden porch now a port of call for Rain long overdue for such late afternoons. I’m stuck in an everlasting April spring day. As sprinklers timed soak the lawn The sun’s last rays motion with Long, scolding fingers at Now unknowable faded faces Trapped like tonight’s fish for supper In this morning’s papers. Laid out on a communal table Where wisdom and innocence Convene to discuss the current Events of still births and deaths. Hands engaged with wild gestures Waving forks and spoons for effect - Interrupting pointless chatter to flatter And cut meat from a fatted calf. Everyone silenced by politeness, Sliced right through the art of the matter. The evening’s news flickers Behind shades of taffeta mmllooookmm Hiding shadow boxes inside windows. Like a sober fly in a glass of whiskey Wet wings legs spinning drowned The hands of its god take it down. I walk with solitude as she unwraps Her arms thick with compassion Beckoning me inside for consolation. Using one wave to cast away Anyone who might see me crying. We sit together on a dark park bench Watching every creature under suburban Skies that all fit on a single broom stick. If no one bothers then no one counts Things yet unseen, like angels Atop a pin head. Yet we must believe That stars still sparkle until the dark unveils Who’s home and left behind To sing unearthly cries of grief. Arched branches bow green Soft leaves shake and flow From willows left weeping While night whispers to me: Please save us all. As the trees fade to black, Wind whips at my face. From the fringes, howls Break into my mind. I can no longer breathe hidden and weak In the between With these heavier things.

By Vicki McDonald I have been living with metastatic breast cancer since 10/13/17.  Diagnosed at age 46 on what I would later learn is Metastatic Breast Cancer Awareness day. I am a Mom of 2 successful adults and 2 teenagers and a Grandma to one beautiful granddaughter. I have found strength and courage I didn’t know existed  while on this roller coaster. Treat. Scan. Repeat. For the rest of my life. I am forever in some sort of treatment to survive. I know I am fortunate. I have made it past the terrifying statistics. I am still  on my first line of treatment. I have found there are advantages of having your mortality looming overhead like a black umbrella- I have been creating messages of love for each child in case I miss out on special events- I want them to forever feel me “cheering for them”.   I have learned to find something that makes me smile everyday. I appreciate nature and friendships so very much. I have made and unfortunately lost many new friends all over the world in support groups , beautiful young ladies stolen from us too soon . We need more research. Less ribbons.  In life it’s not if will be tough, it’s when .  I am not afraid of dying, I fear the  heartbreak of those I will be leaving behind. Have a story to share? We'd love to hear from you! Your voice becomes someone else's thriver's guide! Learn more on how to share your story!

By Abigail Johnston I began my experience with breast cancer in March of 2017 and experienced the pink soaked month of October a few months after we discovered that I’d been Stage IV or Metastatic from the beginning. In October of 2017, I was just weaning myself off of a cane after walking with a walker for some weeks after the surgery that placed titanium rods inside my femurs. It was an honestly a hellish few months and I’d not yet come to terms with having to close my business and trade the life of a busy business owner for the life of a forever patient. I was feeling the loss of so much, a literal loss of identity and I was drowning. I struggled, a lot, with the concept of awareness and the celebrations of survivors who were in the position that I wanted to be in – looking forward to getting back to their life they had before cancer. A few short months prior, that’s where we thought I would be and yet when I was told in June of 2017 that cancer would indeed end my life, all of those expectations were blown out of the water. I’m not sure I can articulate how hard it was to have been told I had cancer, adjusted and assimilated as best I could what would happen, only to be told a few months later that I was terminal. The first time I saw the ribbons splashed all over a retail store that October of 2017, it was the post office and I was still bald or mostly bald from chemo. When I saw the cheerful banner and how the clerks attempted to sell a page of ribbon stamps to each person in front of me, I desperately wanted to leave. But I was mailing something for the closure of the business, something to do with one of the accounts I had negotiated closing early because we’d had to cease operations and I needed it to be postmarked that day, so I gritted my teeth and kept my spot in line. As I made my way to the front of the line, dreading how each person eyed my head, some with clear pity that made me want to punch them, some with weird speculation that also made me want to punch them, and some dismissively …. Yep, wanted to punch them too. I was in quite a mood to eviscerate someone when I got up to the clerk to mail my package. I could see the indecision on her face as she rang up my order, eyeing my head and asking careful questions about what I was mailing and why, and when we got towards the end, she said something about the breast cancer beribboned stamps. Probably whatever was on their script, with a gesture towards my head. It was clear I was a cancer patient to her and she made the question a bit more personal. Despite the seething rage that is still oh so close to the surface, I managed to ask politely how much of the funds I would pay for the stamps would benefit cancer-havers. Honestly, someone should have given me a medal. Gold medal worthy performance, it was. But, after all my restraint and politeness and swallowing of the urge to throat punch each of the people in the post office that day, she didn’t know. She didn’t know if any of the funds used to purchase the pink stamps would benefit anyone except the post office. Even though she was asking me to buy the stamps with some sort of canned marketing spiel about helping those of us with breast cancer, she didn’t know how purchasing the stamps would actually do that. Before you start to think I hate the post office, let me just say that I don’t. I buy stamps regularly and have been horrified at the attempts to undermine the necessary part of our democracy system that the post office has become. I have even received medication in the mail at times during my treatment for MBC, so it’s not the post office itself that was at issue. What was at issue for me is that breast cancer was being used to sell something and, as far as the employee I was talking to was concerned, the benefit to the breast cancer community wasn’t known, wasn’t celebrated, and likely wasn’t happening. She did throw in a few comments about how raising awareness about breast cancer helped people get their mammograms, helped people remember to do self-exams, helped the population at large in some way. That’s clearly not a help to those of us who already have a diagnosis – that distinction wasn’t something that employee thought about nor most that I’ve spoken with since then. And that’s when I lost it. I don’t remember all that I said to her that day, but it wasn’t all that nice and it was intense, at least for me. None of that “awareness” helped me, I actually did find my tumor with a self-exam and I was already Stage IV. I didn’t have any issues getting a mammogram once I felt the lump, but my insurance company wouldn’t have covered it otherwise for two more years because I was only 38. I was tandem breastfeeding at the time I found my lump, and with me having found a lump they wouldn’t have wanted to do the mammogram anyway. None of the platitudes or the marketing spiels or the “awareness” or the pink ribbons every where will help those of us with MBC. The fact of the matter is, approximately 10-12% of us are diagnosed at Stage IV from the beginning despite doing everything those marketing campaigns promote. Then, 20-30% of those diagnosed at an early stage will progress to Stage IV despite doing everything their doctor’s tell them to. When you see the ribbons this October and beyond, please #ThinkBeforeYouPink. Don’t buy a beribboned item just because its October. Check with the seller, find out what will happen to your hard-earned dollars. When you find out that no individual with breast cancer will actually benefit from your purchase, consider taking the same amount of money and donating it to metavivor.org , where 100% of the funds raised are allocated to research that benefits those of us who are Stage IV.

By Karla Mans Giroux My Story: From Cancer to Consciousness – Healing from MBC I consider myself an optimist, a cancer thriver, and a longevity geek (I plan to live to 100…healthy & sane of course!). I’ve had two experiences with cancer…one that is currently ongoing, but I’ve never let it define me. Change me? Yes. Define me? No! The Backstory I was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2003. I was 37 years old and had a 5-year-old and 2-year-old at that time. As you know, or can imagine, it was a frightening time, and while I did my research and took control of my health, I did not make the lifestyle changes that I could have to ensure it never came back. I took a conventional approach and underwent a mastectomy with free-flap reconstruction (a tummy tuck was the silver lining). Lymph nodes were involved, and they found another spot of cancer that was previously undetected. Chemo and radiation were next. I also took Tamoxifen for 5 years as recommended. I believe that my positive mindset helped me make it through treatment relatively easily, despite painful neuropathy in my hands. For me it was pretty much over and done in 9 months and I went back to my “normal” life. Since I thought I lived a healthy lifestyle I figured that was the last I would see of cancer…and I certainly hoped and prayed for that. When I hit my 10-year “cancer-versary” I really felt safe! The Metastatic Diagnosis However, 11 years out from the original diagnosis I found the cancer had metastasized to bone. It was November of 2014, and I had an MRI to diagnose an issue in my leg. Turns out the issue was not in my leg. It was metastatic cancer on the spine that was blocking a nerve pathway which pinched that nerve and caused numbness and collapsing of my leg. The cancer was back, and it had spread all over my bones – spine, hips, pelvis, ribs, collarbone. I did not know how I would survive this, but I quickly returned to my conventional oncologist to work out what could be done. Since it seemed we caught it early and it responded to hormone therapy, I was feeling hopeful. A biopsy was attempted but was not successful. Therefore, the oncologist recommended we treat it as if it were the original cancer - ER/PR+ - and I began taking anastrazole in December 2014. By February 2015 ibrance was on the market and so I switched to letrozole with ibrance. The numbness in my leg receded very quickly and my “leg issue” was resolved. The Healing Begins Since this was serious stuff it called for a lot more than I had done before. I was older and wiser and was not giving up my goal of making it to my 100th birthday! I knew better, and I did better. I left no stone unturned. I hired a cancer coach and she helped me clean up my diet, my home, and my lifestyle. I learned how to manage my stress and take better care of me. I became a very inhospitable host to cancer. The changes to my diet were not drastic for me because I had recently done a real food challenge and eliminated sugar, dairy and processed foods. I also stopped drinking alcohol and eating red meat. I ended up losing so much weight that people feared the worst for me. After a few months, I learned how to eat well without eating meat, refined wheat, dairy or sugar, and I put a few pounds back on. I also worked extensively with a therapist to work on my feelings of lack. I uncovered reasons for that lack and suppressed emotions and worked on releasing a lot. I learned to believe that I am enough just as I am. From Conventional to Integrative Care My conventional oncologist didn't believe I needed to do any of the additional things I was doing to support my health. He would tell me to “go eat a brownie” or “have a margarita”. When I would ask about supplements or things I felt would help me stay strong and healthy, he would tell me I could “waste my money” if I wanted to and referred me to the "Integrative Medicine Department"...which was in a different building two blocks away. Not so integrated if you ask me! I didn’t feel supported in my efforts to do all I could to stay in the best possible health and manage this disease. My conventional oncologist just wanted to put me on the latest drug protocols and leave it at that. I was not comfortable leaving it in the hands of conventional medicine alone. Then In late July of 2016, a liver tumor showed up, so I found an integrative oncologist. I scheduled an initial consultation and liked what I heard. This doctor agreed with the conventional protocol I was on, with a slight tweak, and had so much more to offer. He supported my diet and lifestyle changes but also wanted to ensure that I was on a supplement regimen that would put my body in the best possible state to support my health and beat cancer. I continued ibrance and added faslodex. Within six months the liver tumor was fully resolved! My integrative doctor encouraged me to engage in a more routine exercise plan, provided nutritional support and ran a terrain panel every 4 months to determine what food and supplements my body needed to be in the best health to keep cancer at bay, and he really made me feel like I would make it to my 100th birthday just as I’d always planned. I have felt so supported and feel that I have really found a partner in my health and wellness journey. I am proud and pleased to say that there has been no evidence of disease (N.E.D.) since 2016 (4+ years)! Ok so technically I can only say that about my CT scans since the bone scans are classified as “stable”. They show “scarring”. However, I know that what they see on the bone is just that, scarring. The proof is in the improvement of my “leg issue” and no new growth. I know that a big part of my healing came from the integrative approach that I took and from utilizing the 10 healing factors from the book Radical Remission by Dr. Kelly Turner. When I found the book, I just KNEW that I would live to see my 100th birthday like I had planned. I had already implemented many of the factors – strong reasons, empowering, changing my diet, supplements, positivity, social support, spiritual connection, exercise – check, check, check. It was all life changing and so supportive and inspiring. I believe that we all inherently know what our bodies need, and I wish that others knew this too. There is huge need for integrative care. I became a certified Radical Remission Health coach so that I could help other. I love to share the healing factors, from Dr. Turner’s research, and help people learn that there is so much more they can do to help themselves heal. Never let anyone take your hope.

The Second Time Around By Hilary Hamilton The tricky part with Metastatic Breast Cancer (MBC) is figuring out how to navigate the journey the second time around. In 2015, my diagnosis was Stage 2, with a five-year survival rate of 92 percent. I liked those odds. I knew treatment would be hard, but there was an end in sight. I had 14 chemotherapy sessions, six surgeries, a double mastectomy, and 29 radiation treatments -- all that to be cancer-free. Or so I thought. On January 29, 2020, a CAT scan showed tumors in my lungs, liver, and lymph nodes in my chest. On that day, my old cancer-free life left me and. Aa new one began. I am no longer a breast cancer survivor; I am Stage IV, with a 5-year survival rate of 22 percent. I wouldn't say I liked those odds. It's all I thought about when I woke to the moment I went to bed. Even though my oncologist reassured me that many of her patients live with MBC for years, the idea that this cancer is terminal, robbing me of precious time with my kids, husband, and family was so profound that I felt like I was drowning. With any new pain or ache, I was convinced it was spreading to my brain and bones. In the glow of my laptop, I'd pour over the Internet searching the signs of METS in the brain and bones until the wee hours of the morning. I'd then put on a cheery face, marching forward with a tight smile, keeping it together for my three kids. It's been eight months since my MBC diagnosis, and I've had eight cycles of a targeted therapy drug, Ibrance, combined with Faslodex shots. While fatigue is my new companion, the treatment is more tolerable than before, except for the two giant horse shots I get in my rump every month. I've grown to appreciate the nurses' steady hands as their latex fingers hold the glass syringe for two longs minutes that it takes for each injection. The good news is my treatment is working. My tumors are shrinking, and my latest scans showed the four tumors in my liver are down to one. The lesions that covered both lungs like inkblots are now 65% gone. I can breathe a little easier, literally and figuratively. There are still some dark days where the fatigue consumes me, and I am tired just walking upstairs. I worry that my cancer has become the backdrop of my kids' childhood. I don't want them to look back and remember a mom who was always tired. When I start to spin out, I remind myself that I am not my thoughts. I remind myself that I'm breathing; I'm living. All I have is now, and in this now, I'll listen to the whisper of my soul that says you will be okay . I can live in fear or faith. I chose faith. I am grounded in the reality of my illness, but buoyed by hope. I'm ready to learn what this cancer is here to teach me, the second time around.