By William Laferriere Brilliant & lustrous Hot blue, corporeal Warrior to the end Once the Amazon star now fiend, and succubus Enamored of Voldemort A true Death Eater Inuit welcomed her Aussie Wardaman sang her glories She beckoned Spring and of course Renewal Friends of Rigel and Betelgeuse Residing on Orion’s enduring belt Illuminating navigational clarity Empowering all to decipher and chart a true bearing Throughout this insidious & calamitous voyage

By Dr. Michelle R. LaFlamme Alfoce Center, the block lettering On the Wall Where I used to work In my long white coat Not that long ago I saw MY patient there, waiting Now I sit with trepidation Cold and tired Arms akimbo Afraid to ask for a blanket Which I used to GIVE and I spied them in their shinny warmer Unreachable Arms up, another scan The Donut of Truth That's what we called it When I was in charge I peered down the hall Saw my old colleagues working They seemed far and hazy And I couldn't reach them even in thought AS I hit the EXIT button And drifted away I realized the line between doctor and patient Is obscure And that I loathe the Waiting Room.

By P. A. Mendelsohn GP: Time for your mammogram. You’ve forgotten to care for yourself. Too busy. Stop. Do it. First Dimension. Radiologist: See that? Like bubble gum on a shoe Dragged across your sultry bosom Loved no more. At war with your complacency. Second Dimension. Surgeon: I got it all. No need to thank me. It's my job. Next. Really, it's gone. Just a little radiation. More prevention. With a lasting shadow Across your lung to remember us by. See you next year. Third Dimension. Spirit. You are loved. You are safe. You are cradled in your fear You are held in your shadow. You are never, never alone. You are ours. We are yours. Just ask. Listen. Breathe. Repeat. Fourth Dimension.

By Reyne M. Husky Getting my cocktails, one moment please From my favorite nurse putting me at ease She connects my port on the count of three Making sure that I’m pain free. ​ I play my ukulele just to pass the time And sing my favorite songs to help me unwind I can go to places, right here in my chair Imaginary friends popping up everywhere. I’m feeling kind of beat, from the chemo meds My hands and feet are turning red Can’t wait, to get home to my bed To sleep off the things, dancing in my head.

By Pooja Jain ​ Hey You...Who me? I am an onion. I keep peeling each layer of my life‘s experiences. I keep learning. ​ Little me, loved to be in the bubble of my family, my friends, my school and my home town. ​ I got stronger at heart. Time came to give my heart away and with that leave my bubble too. ​ This young lady was ready to step in a new home, new country with confidence. For years, I worked hard to make ends meet and I made home a heaven on earth. Then I was ready to welcome a new life in the world. ​ What a bundle of joy my boy is ... My baby boy made me a proud mom. Life was going good. Helping others and being a conscious world citizen. ​ Who knew ? ​ The peeling would now be done with a sharper knife. My body and soul were cut into pieces. A cancer diagnosis followed by a pandemic. Double the trouble .... Double the learning .... One more year has gone by... 365 days of peeling and learning. The pain equals gain ... The more layers I peel The more I learn. The more I get closer to nothing I ask ... is that nothing... everything?

By William Laferriere Out damn spot exclaimed the iniquitous Lady M In William’s foremost tale her fears well accounted for And the psychological toll knavishly awaiting all Out damn spot Out damn spot fill those diagnosed dreams A metastasizing growth proves every bit as daunting As the Lady M’s infamous lament so we too think, walk and talk about Out damn spot Out damn spot when the Lady somehow manages To fall into a fitful sleep she’s plagued by the nightmare Of blood and death on her hands her dreams too are made of iron and steel Out damn spot Out damn spot she rubs her hands And tries to erase “here’s yet a spot” she laments “The small of blood still” she cries out in desperation Out damn spot Out damn spot the grief, the guilt Sleep no more becomes the haunt and what is to become Of the life we so anticipated the anatomy of grief prevails Out damnable spot

By Ilene Kaminsky For Melissa Blank and Ben North Lasting longer than the rest The final poet stood up Amidst thousands of books Burned down around her feet Now ashes to ashes, now complete. Dust to dust sunrise to dusk She asked the gods to slip Into her mind what she couldn’t find Descriptions, colors, thoughts Flowers she’s never seen, people she May never meet. And instead of bursting into flame The room cried a storm of tears And their ashes washed away down to the street Where they sunk into the earth Melting the soil leaving only The voices behind with her to hold. Yet only the words “death” And “afraid” And “cancer” Came instead. She cried out loud “You don’t even know me, yet you defend me.” Pleading,”please. Give me back my words, please.” Their brilliant brains battered them. Now in their silence and rest, The fates leaving her alone to give some reason. Resonance of what happens now, What do we do today Now they’ve gone away. A child asks these stupid things Adults respond without a clue Nothing to say, less they can do. Yet, She persisted and insisted on their behalf. It’s no good, to herself again Another crumpled page atop The mountain piled high. That night she sat Opening and straightening and reading But throwing each into the stove. Her words cremated and remain forever unheard. Her heart beat hard in her chest Under the thousand pounds of weight. She’d heard a ton of stones Weighs exactly the same as a Ton of feathers, Rocks kill quick While feathers from an unseen bird Float into her mouth taking her breath and Slowly suffocating the poetess. The world turned again And written in her hand the morning after She picked up the papers reading Only “death” and “fear” and “cancer” Not one the right answer. The poem, it’s complete Yet one simple question remained Unanswerable. What’s there to gain By knowledge, here anyway? But why choose me? In her head a baritone voice said: “You tell me why.” And then she did.

By Dawn Oswald As I stare into the blue waves, I fear nothing The beautiful blue waves take all my thoughts away Away the cancer goes That little bit of time I stare into those blue waves I am a peace I am beautiful I am strong I can do anything O beautiful blue waves stay with me forever so I can be at peace Is it possible? Yes, When you are down take a deep breathe and remember me- the blue waves Dream of them and let them take away your pain For I am here to wave at you Just breathe and think of the blue waves Stare into that space and think of the beautiful blue waves Let your thoughts go Let it take your cancer away Stare Stare into the blue waves and fear nothing

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