By Jill Rackham “You have oestrogen-positive breast cancer,” the sympathetically eyed consultant said. “Your three tumours have been fuelled by oestrogen so we need to do all we can to stop any spread.” I was aged forty-three so needed a monthly injection to send my ovaries to sleep. It was a huge needle and painful but this was the plan I had to keep. Then came medication to reduce the oestrogen in my body even more. This was all new to me, I was in a clinical menopause, something I hadn’t ever considered before. In time my ovaries were removed, so the monthly injection was not needed. Now I was in a surgical menopause, in abolishing you oestrogen - I’ve succeeded! But throughout all this my body was suffering so much more. The cancer had been taken but now it was time for menopausal symptoms galore. Hot flushes, joint pain, brain fog, dry skin to name but a few. Followed by itchy skin, hair thinning, fatigue, brittle nails and a feeling of not knowing what to do. For me the menopause happened all of a sudden instead of taking several years. It took time to get used to and accept my new normal, it did make me shed a few tears. Cancer treatments leading to an early menopause I never knew that would be. But here I am living and owning it and all that it entails for me. So well done ladies if a cancer diagnosis brought a medically induced menopause to your door. You are doing amazing - let’s all support each other to lessen the intensity a little more. Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetups Free Events

Control your mind with the worry time technique. Schedule worry time daily: a therapeutic approach to reducing the time you spend worrying. SurvivingBreastCancer.org | By Lisa Kalner Williams As a breast cancer survivor, I rarely go a day without a worry or two. Or fifty. Or more. Here’s the tiniest slice of my worries this week as a node-positive survivor seven months out of active treatment: How will I survive this summer heat while layered in lymphedema compression garments? If I start Kisqali, will it give me lifelong side effects? Should I have had my treatment and care team at one of the big cancer centers in Boston? What’s that spot on my back? I’ve learned that when worry follows me around all day, it drains my already low energy (thanks, cancer treatments!) and takes my focus away from getting better and living my best life. If your mind is flooded with worries, consider scheduling worry time to keep these thoughts under control so you can enjoy the most out of survivorship. What is worry time? Worry time is a technique where you schedule a specific time to express your worries. Outside that window, you postpone anxious thoughts to their designated time. Worry time, also called worry postponement, has roots in cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT). Instead of letting constant worries disrupt your day, CBT therapists suggest briefly acknowledging your thoughts. Then you write down your thoughts and choose to address them during your scheduled worry time. This trains your brain to regain control of your focus. Worry time is also similar to the “passengers on the bus” idea of acceptance and commitment therapy (ACT). In this model, the passengers on the bus represent your worries, and you’re the bus driver who controls the passengers’ actions. In ACT, you’re encouraged to tell your passengers to sit down because it’s not worry time – or, in bus speak, it’s not their stop yet. With this model, you’re not ignoring your worries, but you’re also not letting them steal your attention. If you’re into Keanu Reeves movies, imagine you’re him behind the wheel in Speed, keeping Dennis Hopper in check. How to build worry time in your busy schedule At first, you might think, “Another thing to put in my schedule?” You had a life before cancer. That was busy enough. Now, you’re adding blood draws, doctor visits, physical therapy appointments, and pharmacy runs to your day-to-day. But by sticking with a consistent worry time, you’ll be in a better mindset to handle all the extra things that have been thrown your way since your diagnosis. Here’s how to get started. Create a consistent block of time in your schedule. Start with a daily cadence of about 15 minutes. If any worries come to mind before your next worry time block, write those thoughts down in a physical notebook or a note-taking app. When it’s worry time, review the thoughts you’ve jotted down. For each thought, ask yourself, “Do I still have this worry?” If not, great! Cross it off your list. For any thought that remains, decide which of the following two buckets it belongs to. Is it: Something out of your control? Something you can solve? If the worry is out of your control, accept that fact and cross it off the list. If the worry is something you can solve, make an action plan to address it. At the end of the fifteen minutes, conclude with something grounding – stretches, deep breathing, or perhaps a meditation. If you still have worries that you weren’t able to address during this session, add them to the following worry time’s agenda. After all, you have other things to do, and you don’t want worries to take over your days. (That’s why you’ve set up worry time in the first place, right?) Ready to schedule your worries? Want to practice worry time with other people in the breast cancer community? Join SurvivingBreastCancer.org for an online Worry Time session on Tuesday, June 16 at 5:30 pm EDT! Read More: The Psychological Impact of Breast Cancer: Strategies for Coping What Is Lymphedema? Causes, Stages, and How to Live Comfortably Why a Second Opinion Matters for Breast Cancer Managing Fatigue During Breast Cancer Treatment SurvivingBreastCancer.org meditation library On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations Breast Cancer Stopped My Life— Music and Meditation Helped Me Breathe Again Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetups Free Events

By Latanya Bispham-Robinson Yep, I called you a Survivor. Your treatment may not be over… In fact, you may be at the beginning of your journey… I still call you a Survivor. You’ve made progress. From the date of your diagnosis up to this very moment, you have made progress. You should be proud, you are fighting in your own unique way, you are a Survivor, a Warrior, a Champion. Oftentimes it’s hard to think of a victorious end when we feel like we haven't even started yet. But what if we did? What if we began planning the victory celebration at the start of the fight? I can imagine you must be thinking, “What is she talking about?!” Celebrating is probably not on your mind at present. And believe me, I totally get it! Nonetheless… What if instead of only focusing on the treatment, we envisage our victorious completion? What if we planned how we are going to celebrate completing surgery before we have the surgery? What if we planned how we are going to celebrate completing chemo before we start chemo? What if we planned how we are going to celebrate completing radiation before we start radiation? The mental part of the battle of cancer treatment can be intense, to put it mildly. From the onset of my diagnosis through surgery and chemo and even now, I often wonder: “When will this be OVER?!” When I completed chemo, oh my goodness… happy is an understatement. I felt so proud of myself, on a natural high. You did that, GIRL!!! I celebrated by taking myself on a mini shopping spree. It was the day after chemo and I was in the mall?! I couldn’t believe my energy level; it was on HIGH and I decided to go right along with it. I had a BALL! When I got tired, I would sit for a few minutes all the while smiling from ear to ear under my mask. It felt like I was having my own private party. I decided not to ring the bell until I completed both chemo and radiation. I knew I was going to celebrate, but I wondered how. I wondered if I would even have the energy to do anything this time. My oncology social worker, Samantha, told me about an organization called For 3 Sisters and their pink fire truck. For 3 Sisters was started in 2011 by retired Montgomery County, Maryland career firefighter Marshall Moneymaker and his wife Shannon after he lost three older sisters, Vicky, Penny and Valessa, to breast cancer. Samantha explained that Marshall and Shannon would come to the hospital with their big pink firetruck and drive me all the way home. I began to feel joyful in my heart…WOW, a pink firetruck will come pick ME up! I wanted that experience to be a part of my celebration! I knew I wanted that memory to be mine forever. Beauty for Ashes. I decided I would find a nice pink dress to mark the occasion! Here are some additional celebratory ideas you can consider: Have an intimate celebratory gathering with close family and/or close friend(s). When it is safe to do so, treat yourself to a celebratory spa day, manicure and/or pedicure. Choose a new color, not your norm, o mark the celebratory occasion. Take a weekend getaway in nature to celebrate; some place easy to get to and a short distance away. Take a gentle celebratory hike with a supportive friend and/or family member; bring a beverage to toast this special occasion. Have a picnic with fruit and beverages for toasting. When you’re up to it, have a meal at your favorite restaurant. Chew slowly and savor each bite. Don’t forget to toast this special occasion. I hope these ideas will help spark your imagination to create the most special celebration perfect for you. Do something that makes you happy. Please celebrate yourself. Please also remember to be kind to yourself, be patient with yourself and most of all love yourself through each part of your journey. I’m cheering for you and sending hugs!! Read More: Navigating Cancer and Treatments with Honesty and Humor Questions to Ask Your Doctor After a Breast Cancer Diagnosis After Your Breast Cancer Diagnosis: Planning Your Next Steps More Breast Cancer Stories from Our Community On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations From Chemo to Curtain Calls, Radiation to Regattas: This Is Survivorship Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Podcast Weekly Meetup Free Events

If you’ve had cancer treatment and find yourself searching for words, losing your train of thought, or feeling less sharp, you’re not alone, and you’re not imagining it. For many, cancer treatment can cause mental fog. That experience, often called “chemo brain,” is a common and recognized effect of cancer care. Understanding what’s happening is the first step toward regaining clarity and confidence. What Is Chemo Brain? “Chemo brain” is a common term for cognitive changes that can occur during or after cancer treatment. Clinically known as cancer-related cognitive impairment (CRCI), it affects how people think, remember, and focus — often showing up as forgetfulness, word-finding trouble, or mental fog. Many notice they’re not as sharp as they used to be. Cancer and its treatments — along with inflammation, stress, and emotional strain — drive these changes, not chemotherapy alone. For some people, these effects can disrupt daily life, work, and relationships. How Common Is Chemo Brain? The statistics confirm that you’re not alone if you’re dealing with chemo brain. Breast cancer survivors have been the most studied group, and for good reason; breast cancer represents 22% of all cancer survivors in the United States. Studies show that breast cancer survivors may report cognitive difficulties for 5 to 10 years following treatment with chemotherapy and/or radiation therapy. Research published in Cancer Medicine in 2025 found that up to 75% of cancer patients experience cognitive impairment during treatment, with approximately 35% reporting persistent symptoms months or even years after treatment ends. A 2024 review published in Frontiers in Oncology confirmed a similarly wide range, reporting CRCI incidence after chemotherapy ranging from 17% to over 70%, depending on cancer type, drugs used, and the method of cognitive function assessment. Common Symptoms of Chemo Brain Chemo brain doesn’t look the same in everyone. Symptoms range from subtle to significant, and they can shift over time. For many people, these symptoms don’t announce themselves dramatically; they creep in gradually, making them easy to dismiss or attribute to stress or aging. The most commonly reported experiences include: Memory lapses: Forgetting names, appointments, or recent conversations Difficulty concentrating: Losing focus quickly, needing to re-read the same paragraph multiple times Trouble finding words: Knowing what you mean but not being able to retrieve the right word Slowed processing speed: Feeling as though your brain takes longer to respond or compute Mental fatigue: Ordinary cognitive tasks require far more effort than they used to Difficulty multitasking: Struggling to juggle several things at once Confusion or disorientation: Experiencing brief episodes of mental cloudiness What Causes Chemo Brain? Scientists haven’t identified a single cause of chemo brain. Most evidence points to a mix of biological and treatment-related factors: Brain inflammation: Chemotherapy can trigger inflammatory responses, oxidative stress, and changes in brain cells that affect memory and focus. Blood-brain barrier changes: Some drugs may compromise this protective barrier, allowing harmful substances to enter the brain. Reduced neurogenesis: Treatment may slow the brain’s ability to create new neurons, impacting learning and memory. Structural brain changes: Imaging studies show shifts in gray matter, connectivity, and brain activity in some survivors. Not just chemotherapy: Cognitive changes can begin before treatment. Cancer itself, along with radiation, hormone therapy, and immunotherapy, can contribute. Other contributing factors: Fatigue, sleep disruption, anxiety, depression, anemia, hormonal changes, and genetics can all make chemo brain symptoms worse. How Long Does Chemo Brain Last? For some people, chemo brain symptoms can resolve within months of finishing treatment. Still, the American Cancer Society notes that some people experience long-term or delayed cognitive changes that can persist well beyond treatment’s end. Can Acupuncture Help With Chemo Brain? Strategies such as cognitive exercises, sleep, and physical activity can help manage chemo brain, but no single solution has stood out. New research suggests acupuncture may offer meaningful benefits. A trial led by researchers at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center and presented at the 2025 San Antonio Breast Cancer Symposium studied 260 breast cancer survivors with cognitive symptoms. Participants received either real acupuncture, sham acupuncture (not using actual therapeutic techniques), or standard care (without acupuncture) over 10 weeks. Key findings: Both acupuncture groups reported perceived cognitive improvement Only real acupuncture improved objective cognitive performance (memory and learning) Participants sustained benefits for months after treatment Researchers believe acupuncture may stimulate brain regions involved in memory and attention. Earlier studies from MSK show similar promise across different cancer types, and ongoing trials are exploring its effects in older adults. Bottom line: Acupuncture isn’t a cure for chemo brain, but it may be a helpful, low-risk option for improving both how patients feel and how they think. Tips for Managing Chemo Brain Stay organized: Keep a planner for appointments and tasks Exercise your brain: Try puzzles, reading, or memory games Prioritize sleep: A consistent bedtime routine supports recovery Stick to routines: Keep essentials in the same place to reduce mental strain Count on Us for Information, Resources, and Support Chemo brain is real, common, and often more complex than many people expect. Managing chemo brain takes patience. While symptoms can feel frustrating or even unsettling, understanding what’s happening and knowing you’re not alone can make a meaningful difference. If chemo brain symptoms affect your daily life, talk with your care team about supportive options such as acupuncture. Whether you’re newly diagnosed with breast cancer, navigating survivorship, or supporting someone you love, SurvivingBreastCancer.org offers virtual support groups and programs, as well as trusted educational resources on symptoms, testing, treatment options, surgery, and more, plus podcasts featuring professionals, advocates, and caregivers. Your support helps SurvivingBreastCancer.org continue providing knowledge, connection, and community to those impacted by breast cancer, every day, all year long. Note: This article offers general information and does not replace professional medical advice. Make sure to discuss your options with your healthcare provider. Read More: 7 Ways to Prioritize Your Health After Breast Cancer Treatment A Disabled Clinical Psychologist’s 6 Tips for Living Well with Breast Cancer Chemo Brain Fog 11 Tips to Manage Chemotherapy Side Effects On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations Two Years on Verzenio: Side Effects, Brain Fog, and Why I'm Glad I Did It Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetups Free Events

On the suspicious mammogram that led to my diagnosis By Ashley Muspratt Diagnosed with breast cancer at 46 I resented you when you told me It was over the phone A doctor’s work is in person but mine was out sick So you were a voice on speaker phone A land line, actually, one with a long coiled black cord – a relic of bygone technology in this state-of-the-art institution Without pretext, or context, or fanfare, you announced, from a hospital 100 miles away, that there was an “asymmetry” in my mammogram To be fair, this wasn’t a complete surprise You’d directed a return trip to the mammogram machine and two trips to the ultrasound table over the course of this visit But isn’t it funny, the human audacity to hold out hope? Hope is fragile and fleeting though, and you’d barely gotten the words out before my eyes welled over and I’d already concluded that I had cancer Rendered speechless by tears I went silent And so did you During that pregnant pause, I pictured you thumbing your own desk phone’s cord, unsure what to say And I resented you The nurse, signaling her assistant to pass me a tissue, moved the conversation to next steps The two of you discussed the biopsy equipment available at our community hospital I stared at the mauve vinyl covering on my yellow oak chair, resenting the designer who chose to doll up this ugly institutional furniture with faux soothing colors I heard you briefly debate the merits of an MRI, but that would “light up” given the density of my breasts So it was settled: a stereotactic biopsy for me I could read all about it in the tri-fold pamphlet slipped into my hand “Do you have any questions?” came your voice through the speaker, inviting me back into the conversation I managed a stifled, “What does this mean?” “We have a low threshold for biopsies,” was all the comfort you offered And I resented you Too distraught to speak, I quietly dissected your passive prose I waited for, I yearned for, you to tell me that everything would likely be fine For you to tell me that I was at the low threshold and that you almost decided to forgo this step But you didn’t And I resented you more And now I’m on the other side of a double mastectomy and I have nothing but gratitude for you You, who got me diagnosed You, the only doctor who hasn’t gambled with reality to put a temporary stop to my tears Who didn’t tell me not to fear the worst Who didn’t tell me that most biopsies come back negative, and that surely my lymph nodes would be clear, and that this would all be a blip I resent you no more Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetups Free Events

By Jen Fernandez Listen to Jen on the SBC podcast, Breast Cancer Conversations: The Truth About Cold Capping During Chemo I was getting out of the shower one day in January 2023 when I noticed what looked like a shadow on my left breast. When I looked a little closer, it was a dimple. When I pressed, I felt a lump. I tried not to panic. I told myself that it may be scar tissue, but deep down I think I knew my cancer was back. Just a few weeks earlier, in December 2022, a breast exam at my gynecologist’s office was clear! I was originally diagnosed in January 2020 with stage 2a HER2 positive, hormone negative breast cancer in the left breast. I had chemo (weekly Taxol) and lost my hair, all while Covid took over and shut the country down. I had a lumpectomy the week that “elective” surgeries were allowed to resume, followed by radiation. I completed Herceptin and Perjeta in February 2021. Like most breast cancer survivors, it was hard not to live in fear of recurrence, but as more time passed, that fear lessened. After noticing these breast changes in January 2023, I found out my cancer was back. It was the same pathology as before. Luckily, after a bone scan/CT scan, it was determined to be a local recurrence (stage 2a) that was caught early. Because I had a recurrence, I was given a more aggressive chemotherapy regimen. My oncologist asked if I was interested in cold capping to preserve my hair. Dana Farber now had the Paxman cold capping system, which was not available there in 2020. Since I had already lost my hair the first time, and it was emotionally very difficult for me, I decided that I wanted to give it a try. I made an appointment with a nurse at Dana Farber to be fitted for my Paxman cap. The nurse gave me the Paxman website to view videos and useful tips. I had to call and pay for the cap plus the cost of treatment for my 6 chemotherapy cycles of TCHP (Taxotere, Carboplatin, Herceptin, Perjeta) every 3 weeks. It was expensive (I can’t remember the exact cost, but it was over $1,500) and unfortunately it wasn’t covered by my insurance. I decided to watch all of the videos including how to put the cap on at my appointment, and how to brush and care for my hair while going through chemo. I joined the Paxman Facebook community group to read about others’ experiences. I received my Paxman kit within a couple of days, which included shampoo, conditioner, and a small brush. The blue cap that is applied directly to the scalp has a long hose that attaches to the Paxman machine. The second cap goes over this piece and is tightened to keep the blue cap close to the scalp. I practiced at home a few times and decided I was ready. The night before my first chemo, I took a long hot shower and washed my hair. I knew it would be a while before I was able to really scrub my scalp with hot water. At the first chemo appointment, I brought the entire Paxman kit with me. I put a decent amount of conditioner on my hair and scalp, which helps prevent hair from sticking (freezing) to the blue cap. On Facebook, others recommended putting a pantyliner or gauze pads at the hairline to prevent the forehead from getting cold, so I stuck a pantyliner to my forehead. The nurses then helped make sure the cap was nice and tight. I was given a dose of Ativan and 15 minutes later we were good to go. I was definitely not at all prepared when the machine was first turned on. Honestly, it was so brutally cold that it was almost painful. After about 15 minutes, it was almost like my scalp got used to the cold and became a little numb. Either way, the intense cold/pain wasn’t as bad. I was given warm blankets that I would wrap around my shoulders. The nurses would come by often and replace the blankets to keep me warm. I had to wear the cap for 4 hours (starting 60 minutes before chemo and continuing until 90 minutes after chemo was finished). I remember taking the cap off and having a headache, likely because the outer cap was on so tight. It was a long 4 hours! Getting home, I made sure to follow the Paxman recommendations. My routine was washing my hair the day after chemo and then once a week. This was best since I put conditioner in my hair when the cap was applied and my hair always felt greasy after. I used the Paxman shampoo and conditioner with cool/cold water. When washing, I used my fingertips to gently rub the shampoo onto my hair. I left my hair under the running water just enough to rinse. When brushing, I would hold the hair by the root and brush down very gently using the Paxman supplied hairbrush, to prevent pulling. I bought silk scrunchies from Amazon and would put my hair in a low, loose braid to prevent tangles and keep my hair off my face. While receiving treatment, I knew that I would shed more hair than usual, even using the cold cap. My hair started to shed a decent amount after my second cycle of chemo. I could definitely tell there was more hair on the brush, which was a little discouraging. But my hair looked great, and people couldn’t see any difference. I can’t lie, I dreaded every chemo appointment, and using the cold cap. But I also knew that each appointment was getting me closer to the finish line. Every time, I thought I only needed to do this a few more times. I dreamt of the day when I could wash my hair with hot water and put my hair in a real ponytail! My last chemo finally came. I did it! It was such a great feeling to be done with the hard part. I had read that the shedding of the hair would continue for a while after stopping chemo. I needed to continue to “baby” my hair until shedding returned to the normal amount. I had no eyebrows or hair anywhere except the top of my head, so I knew that the cold capping had worked! Overall, I kept around 80% of my hair. I only had one small bald spot on the very top of my head by my part. My hair continued to shed for around 4 months after my last chemo, which seemed like it took forever. I gradually was able to wash my hair more frequently and increase the temperature of the water. When I went to my hairdresser for my first haircut about 8 months after stopping chemo, she was amazed at how healthy my hair looked. I hadn’t done anything harsh to my hair, including using a hairdryer, since the start of chemo. I am very grateful that I had the option to use a cold cap. I didn’t look like a typical cancer patient, which was important to me for many reasons, including my children. I am confident that I was successful because I followed all the recommendations listed by Paxman. It was a commitment, but necessary to be successful. I would do it again in a heartbeat! Wishing all of you luck in your breast cancer journey! Read More: Cold Capping for Breast Cancer Treatment: Benefits, Risks, and Results My Three-Time Survivor Story The Role of Hormones in Breast Cancer On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations The Truth About Cold Capping During Chemo Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Podcast Weekly Meetup Free Events

By Sara Kandler Manhattan 2003 another specialist heavy hitter on Park Ave dim lights low hum warm ooze semi-circles over her stomach almost soothing Not seeing much he declares then a hmph we are pretty backed up though a higher voice pipes up yes siree and they share a two-toned chuckle champagne glasses clinking by a crackling fire mom’s eyes fixed hard on the monitor white ghosts like swelling balloons as their chatter sinks in shame washes over her naked body butt of their joke No need to fret he assures (is that even a word) bleeding is quite common she knows a blood filled toilet bowl is not common tries to explain this dismissed he turns up the lights pats her shoulder gentle whack of a rolled newspaper obscuring the bad news Providence 2025 the man in a worn tee pushing a wide rag mop down long hallways across classrooms catching gum wrappers under lab tables a used vape by a toilet and that crumpled paper tossed behind a door dark arrows aimed at a stick figure he’d noticed a guy lurking peering through doorways washing his hands slowly in the bathroom stuck out like a sore thumb in his light pants a week before Christmas thin fabric billowing like a balloon out in the frigid wind pacing the streets nearby elegant victorians quartered for students the janitor decides to tell the uniformed guards at their large desk in the lobby see there’s this guy something’s up with him I’m sure of it they smile jab his shoulder and say don’t worry yourself Joe you just do your job and we’ll do ours (as if he could do ours) and he lumbers off head bent dismissed the guards head out for coffee puzzled by the loud sirens and flashing lights speeding their way Interstate 87 Honey just try to stay within about 5 miles of the speed limit okay I’m just gonna close my eyes for ten minutes or so I’m so sleepy but sweetie seriously I’d appreciate it if you could pleas Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetups Free Events

By Shannon Malburg Today Margie walked in the door, Saw me and said: “You’re still alive!” (We hadn’t seen each other in over a year) She came toward me, all embodied surprise and joy The biggest smile (Everyone should be smiled at like that) Held my shoulders out from her in a pre-hug And beamed at me “I’m so glad” she said “Good job” (The words were a hug As much as her arms were) But it wasn’t until later How this hit me I felt proud of myself Of my being-aliveness In a way I hadn’t Maybe Ever? But certainly not since cancer When every intuition-steeped choice Still yielded mixed results Less than hoped outcomes It’s back It’s spread Inching closer and closer to un-aliveness Disappointment Disillusionment Failure Failure Failure Despair But Yes! Here I am Still alive Good job intuition Good job body Good job invisible forces What a grace to feel proud of us Even if it’s fleeting A respite from the judgement And shame Of not healing right Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetups Free Events

Cancer brings with it a particular kind of loneliness that is difficult to describe to anyone who hasn’t felt it, and difficult to forget for anyone who has. SurvivingBreastCancer.org  |  By William Laferriere I just read this heart-wrenching meme on social media and it spoke to me as an epiphany (I apologize for failing to capture the meme’s author name before it disappeared). There is a variety store somewhere — the kind with fluorescent lights that never quite commit to brightness, where the refrigeration units hum a low, tuneless note all night, and the hours between 2am and 5am move like water through sand. A clerk works the late shift there. She has, most nights, almost no one to talk to. One night, a customer came in at an hour when almost no one does. They bought something small — it doesn’t matter what. And before leaving, they asked the clerk if she would write something on the receipt. Not a coupon code, not a return policy reminder. Something human. Anything at all. She did. Maybe it was a few words about the night sky. Maybe it was something she'd been thinking about and hadn’t had anyone to say it to. The receipt was thermal paper, the kind that fades, the kind nobody keeps. She handed it over and the customer left. Then another customer came in. Word had spread, the way quiet things sometimes do — not virally, not loudly, but person to person, in the particular telegraph of people who are awake when the rest of the world is not. They asked for the same thing. She wrote again. And then another person came, and another. The late-night store became, without anyone planning it, a gathering place for the people who live in the margins of the social day — the ones who work odd hours, who can’t sleep, who have nowhere else to be, who simply needed someone to acknowledge that they existed. One handwritten note on thermal paper, and somehow a community had formed around it. Most of us know that feeling — of needing someone to just notice we’re here. The loneliness that doesn’t have a name. Cancer brings with it a particular kind of loneliness that is difficult to describe to anyone who hasn’t felt it, and difficult to forget for anyone who has. It is not the ordinary loneliness of a quiet weekend or an empty apartment. It is something more layered and more specific. There is the loneliness of sitting in an infusion chair surrounded by other patients, all of you tethered to your poles and your drip bags, each person sealed inside their own private reckoning — and not being able to say a word to any of them, because what is there to say, and where would you even begin. There is the loneliness of coming home the night of your diagnosis and watching the people who love you most suddenly go quiet, searching for something helpful to say and finding nothing, their silence not unkind but vast, a new distance that opened without warning. They love you and cannot reach you. There is the loneliness of being finished with treatment while still feeling broken in ways that don’t show. The world, which has been watching and worrying, begins to exhale and drift back to ordinary life. People say you must be so relieved. And you are, partly — but you are also frightened in a way that doesn’t diminish when the IV comes out, and grateful that the hard part is over while also grieving that it happened at all, and unsure who you are now on the other side of it. The world expects celebration. You are standing in your kitchen at noon, still in yesterday’s clothes, not sure how to explain any of this. And then there is the 3am loneliness — the one that belongs entirely to darkness. The fear that arrives when the house is quiet and there is no distraction left and the mind turns, as it always does at that hour, toward the hardest questions. That loneliness has no audience. You don’t want to wake anyone. You’re not even sure what you would say. So you just sit with it, alone, in the way that so many people with cancer have sat with it — this particular 3am silence that has no good answer, only the long wait for morning. There is also, and this one is perhaps the loneliest of all, the loneliness of feeling like a burden. Of watching the people who love you rearrange their lives and wear their worry quietly and not wanting to add one more phone call, one more request, one more difficult conversation to the weight they’re already carrying. So you say you’re fine. You say you’re managing. You carry as much as you can alone, and the aloneness compounds. What the research knows, and what it costs It turns out that loneliness is not merely painful — it is physiologically costly. Social isolation is associated with increased inflammation, suppressed immune function, and worse outcomes across a range of serious illnesses, including cancer. Patients who lack strong social support are significantly more likely to experience depression and anxiety during treatment. And in survivorship, perceived social connection is one of the most powerful predictors of quality of life — not the number of friends, not the frequency of social events, but the felt sense that someone, somewhere, knows what you’re going through and is present with you in it. This is not a minor footnote. It means that connection is not a comfort measure. It is a health measure. The loneliness that cancer patients carry is not weakness or self-pity. It is a real and serious condition, with real and serious effects — and it deserves to be taken as seriously as the physical protocols of treatment. What the clerk understood The store clerk didn’t design a program. She didn’t convene a task force or launch a campaign. She just looked at another person who needed to be seen, and she wrote something true on a piece of thermal paper. That was all. And it was enough to change the quality of someone’s night — and then another person’s night, and then another. What SurvivingBreastCancer.org does is not so different, at its core. The support groups, the community programs, the spaces where people with breast cancer can find each other — they exist because someone understood that patients deserved a place where another person would write something human on the receipt. Not a pamphlet. Not a list of resources. A real acknowledgment, from one person to another, that says: this is hard, you are not invisible, and you do not have to carry this part alone. The formats are different from a late-night variety store. But the impulse is the same. The door is open If you have been sitting with your loneliness quietly — not wanting to explain it, not sure it’s bad enough to warrant attention, not wanting to be a burden even to people whose entire purpose is to be present for this — you don’t have to explain anything.  You can just come in. SBC’s support groups and community programs ask very little of you at the door. You don’t have to be articulate about what you're feeling, or ready to share, or certain that what you’re going through qualifies as hard enough. You just have to show up at the hour when you need someone to write something human on the receipt. That’s what we are here for. Read More: Living Well with Breast Cancer How Cancer Trauma Can Impact Your Life and Ways to Move Forward The Psychological Impact of Breast Cancer: Strategies for Coping On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations The Hidden Trauma of Breast Cancer: PTSD, Fear, Triggers, and Healing Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast  Weekly Meetups Free Events

A daily pill has helped transform outcomes for hormone receptor-positive breast cancer, but navigating its side effects takes real-world know-how. Debbie Ciak's story shows why listening to your body and speaking up can make all the difference. SurvivingBreastCancer.org  |  Breast Cancer Conversations | By Laura Carfang Debbie Ciak, 75, lives outside Pittsburgh. She was diagnosed in early 2023 with stage 2B ER-positive, HER2-negative breast cancer after noticing an indentation in her breast one morning after a shower. Debbie's Ki-67 score was 57%, indicating an unusually fast-growing tumor. She underwent a single mastectomy and radiation. When her oncologist strongly recommended Verzenio to reduce her high risk of recurrence, Debbie didn’t hesitate. It was her second month on Verzenio when Debbie first noticed something was off. She’s a walker, and she began noticing that climbing hills was harder than it used to be. Then came the stairs. “I started to notice going up steps... just a little bit of shortness of breath,” she recalls. She reported it at her next appointment. Nothing was done. What followed was a months-long medical odyssey that would take Debbie through an ER visit on the day before Thanksgiving, three different pulmonologists, a bronchoscopy with ten biopsies, and a diagnosis of drug-induced pneumonitis (permanent lung scarring) that her pulmonologist now describes as feeling like “a straight jacket” around her lung. She will never be able to take a fully deep breath again. Debbie tells her story not to frighten anyone, but because she believes deeply that if she had known what to watch for, things might have gone differently. “You’ve got to listen to your body,” she says. “When something’s telling you it’s not right, don’t just let it go. You’ve got to pursue it until you get some answers.” Extra protection from Verzenio Verzenio (abemaciclib) belongs to a class of drugs called CDK4/6 inhibitors. By blocking proteins that cancer cells depend on to divide and replicate, these therapies can meaningfully slow or stop tumor growth in ways that hormone therapy alone cannot. For patients with HR-positive, HER2-negative breast cancer at high risk of recurrence, like Debbie, whose Ki-67 score came back at 57%, signaling an exceptionally fast-growing tumor, Verzenio can represent a crucial extra layer of protection. As Debbie understood it, Verzenio was her best extra line of defense against recurrence. The drug carries known side effect risks, but she was “ willing to take that risk,” she says. “I want to continue to live my long, full life.” But she also walked into treatment without a full picture of what the drug could do, and she believes that gap cost her. For many patients, Verzenio is a pill taken every day for years. What it does to the body day-to-day matters enormously. The side effect everyone talks about — and how bad it can actually get Ask anyone on Verzenio about side effects and the conversation starts in the same place: diarrhea. Debbie is no exception. “The diarrhea was terrible — three or four times a day, no warning. I literally almost could not leave my house.” She became severely dehydrated, her kidney function became elevated, and her hemoglobin dropped. She needed five hospital infusions for dehydration in the first month alone. All the while, her weekly check-in calls from the nurse practitioner came back marked “normal, normal, normal.” GI symptoms are real and, for some patients, genuinely disabling in the early weeks. There are strategies that help (careful hydration, anti-diarrheal medications started proactively, smaller meals, easy-to-digest foods) and for many patients, symptoms do ease as the body adjusts. But Debbie’s experience is also a reminder that “common” doesn’t mean “minor,” and that patients shouldn’t have to white-knuckle through symptoms alone. Practical strategies to manage GI side effects Ask your oncology team about anti-diarrheal medications before symptoms start Stay well hydrated throughout the day; consider using electrolyte drinks Eat smaller, more frequent meals rather than large ones Focus on low-fiber, easy-to-digest foods during flare-ups Track symptoms carefully: timing, frequency, and triggers to help your team respond faster One note worth flagging: Debbie had been prescribed Verzenio at the highest starting dose of 150mg. She had questioned this at the time, but was told the logic was that if problems arose, the dose could be reduced. Since then, she says, protocols have shifted — many providers now start patients at lower doses and titrate up. If you’re starting Verzenio, it’s worth asking your oncologist about current dosing approach and what flexibility exists. The side effect that changed everything: ILD Among Verzenio’s less common but more serious potential side effects is interstitial lung disease (ILD), also called pneumonitis. In plain language, this is inflammation in the lung tissue that can reduce its flexibility and make breathing feel more labored. The FDA issued a warning about this risk in 2019. It appears in the drug’s prescribing information. It is mentioned, in small print, at the bottom of Verzenio advertisements. Debbie had sat through a mandatory hour-and-a-half session with a pharmacist and nurse practitioner before starting the drug. She does not remember anyone discussing shortness of breath as a serious warning sign. When she arrived at the ER with respiratory symptoms two months into treatment — at the same hospital system where her oncologist practiced, with access to her full medication record — the clinical team checked for a pulmonary embolism, ruled it out, and sent her home with an antibiotic. Nobody called a pulmonologist. Nobody flagged the drug she was taking. “I think there was a total unawareness of the possibility of what the drug I was taking might have been doing to my lungs.” — Debbie Ciak It was Debbie herself who, over that Thanksgiving weekend, searched “FDA alert Verzenio” and found the 2019 warning. When she called her oncologist Monday morning and shared what she’d found, she remembers “total silence on the other end of the phone.” Her oncologist told her not to take the drug again. By the time Debbie reached the third pulmonologist — the first two either didn’t know about CDK4/6 inhibitor-related pneumonitis or treated it generically — the damage was done. Steroids that might have helped were too late. She now has pulmonary fibrosis and has completed 12 weeks of pulmonary rehabilitation. She has undergone regular pulmonary function tests ever since. “Now it's in my chart,” she says. “Nobody will ever prescribe anything like that to me.” Tell your care team right away if you notice new or gradually worsening shortness of breath, especially with activity that felt easy before; a dry cough that’s new or persistent; chest tightness or a sensation of not being able to take a full breath; noticeably reduced stamina on walks, stairs, or daily tasks. These symptoms have many possible causes, but they require prompt evaluation, not a wait-and-see approach. What Debbie wishes the system had done differently Debbie is measured and thoughtful when she talks about this. She isn’t angry. But she is clear about the gaps she experienced: a care system where specialists operated in silos, where an ER team looked for the one thing they were asked to rule out and stopped there, where a known FDA-listed drug side effect wasn’t on anyone's radar in the room. “Everybody’s in their own little silo and only looking at one thing,” she says. “The nurses at a different hospital would have been more on top of what was going on. It’s a big lack of education piece.” She later participated in a medical webinar on ILD and CDK4/6 inhibitors, as the patient voice alongside an ER physician, a radiologist, and a medical oncologist. All three agreed: this is a significant and underrecognized issue, and clinicians need better awareness of what to look for when imaging a patient on these drugs. Movement as medicine: Debbie’s path forward Here’s the part of Debbie’s story that matters just as much as the warning: she didn’t stop living. Despite permanent lung limitations, she walks. She practices restorative yoga. She does Pilates. She is enrolled in a cancer and exercise research study through Colorado State University. She credits the SurvivingBreastCancer.org virtual exercise program and a local Pittsburgh organization called Cancer Bridges with being central to her recovery. “Exercise has been very important to me in my recovery — which is the one big positive change since having cancer, because I was not an exerciser before,” she shares. Her pulmonologist put it bluntly: “You can’t be sedentary. It would only make it worse. You have to keep active.” She schedules her classes the way she schedules medical appointments, because that’s what it takes. “I’m one that’s had to put it on the calendar.” For anyone who struggles with motivation during treatment, that framing alone is worth something. Questions for your next appointment Ask your oncologist before or during Verzenio treatment What starting dose is recommended for me, and what’s the reasoning? What respiratory symptoms should I watch for, and how urgently should I report them? If I go to an urgent care or ER, what should I tell them I’m taking? Are there supportive medications I should have on hand from day one? What is my bloodwork monitoring schedule, and what are you watching for? Should I be tracking symptoms between visits? How detailed should those notes be? The bottom line Verzenio is an important drug. For patients at high risk of recurrence, it may be the difference that matters. Debbie knew that going in — and still believes she made the right choice in trying it, even knowing how it ended for her. What she wants other patients to have is what she didn’t: a full picture, a care team that communicates across specialties, and the confidence to keep pushing when something feels wrong. “Keep asking those questions,” she says, “and don’t stop until you get the answers.“ Survivorship is not passive recovery. It is active navigation. Debbie Ciak is proof of that. Listen to the full episode: Debbie Ciak tells her complete story — including her diagnosis, treatment, the Thanksgiving ER visit, and what she’s learned about advocacy — on Breast Cancer Conversations , the SurvivingBreastCancer.org podcast. Listen below, or wherever you listen to podcasts. This article is for informational purposes only and does not constitute medical advice. Always consult your oncology team regarding treatment decisions and symptom management.

# Navigating the Waiting Game: Coping with Cancer Test Results By Laura Carfang Waiting for medical test results can feel like living in suspended animation. Time stretches endlessly. Thoughts spiral out of control. You check your phone more often than you realize. You refresh the patient portal, even though you know nothing has changed. Your body remains tense, as if something significant is about to happen. For many impacted by cancer, the waiting can be just as distressing as the diagnosis itself. And sometimes, something unexpected occurs. You prepare yourself for the worst. Let’s talk about why. Preparing for the Worst as a Coping Strategy There’s a psychological concept called defensive pessimism . It describes what happens when someone anticipates a high-stakes outcome—like cancer test results—and mentally assumes the worst on purpose . This isn’t because people want bad news. It’s because certainty, even painful certainty, can feel safer than hope. By imagining the worst-case scenario, the mind tries to: Reduce the shock if bad news arrives. Regain a sense of control. Emotionally “pre-grieve” what might come. For those diagnosed with cancer, waiting on test results and frantically refreshing the screen of your medical portal, this strategy is incredibly common. The challenge? When the results are good, your mind has already rehearsed catastrophe—and relief doesn’t land. When Your Body Thinks Waiting = Danger If you’ve been diagnosed with cancer, your brain has learned something powerful: Waiting for results once changed everything. That memory doesn’t just live in our thoughts; it resides in our nervous system. Psychologists call this anticipatory anxiety or medical PTSD . It means your stress response activates before danger is confirmed. When this happens: Your body stays in fight-or-flight mode. You scan for threats, even after reassurance. Good news feels unreal, fragile, or temporary. You might think: “They must have missed something.” “This can’t be right.” “I’ll believe it when more time passes.” This isn’t disbelief; it’s your brain prioritizing safety over celebration. The Whiplash of Good News There’s also something called cognitive dissonance at play. If you’ve spent days or weeks organizing your life around the assumption that something is seriously wrong, your mind has already adapted. Then suddenly, you’re told: “Everything looks okay.” Your brain needs time to undo what it prepared for. Disbelief is often not denial—it’s lag time between threat and safety. Hypervigilance Is Not Pessimism — It’s Protection Many people feel guilty for not feeling relieved right away. They wonder: “Why can’t I just be happy?” “What’s wrong with me?” “Other people would be grateful—why am I still scared?” Here’s the truth: Hypervigilance is a form of self-protection. Believing good news can feel like lowering your guard—and after a cancer diagnosis, that can feel dangerous. Your mind may be saying: “If I don’t fully trust this, I won’t be crushed if it changes.” How Relief Actually Arrives (Hint: It’s Not All at Once) For many cancer survivors, relief doesn’t come as a wave of joy. It arrives quietly: Sleeping a little better. Taking a deeper breath without realizing it. Thinking about the future for a few seconds longer. Relief often comes in increments, not declarations. You don’t have to force yourself to believe good news fully. You can let it be true for today. Here is a mantra to stay grounded in the present moment: “The results are good right now, and that’s enough.” If you’re struggling to trust good medical news: You are not broken. You are not pessimistic. You are not doing survivorship “wrong.” Your body remembers how real the danger once was. And it is slowly—at its own pace—learning that this moment is different. You don’t have to rush relief. You don’t have to perform gratitude. You don’t have to explain yourself. If this resonates with you, please know: you are not alone in this experience. At SurvivingBreastCancer.org , we believe survivorship includes the emotional aftermath of waiting, fear, and uncertainty. Healing isn’t just about test results; it’s about giving yourself permission to feel exactly where you are. The Importance of Community Support Navigating the emotional landscape of waiting for test results can be overwhelming. It's essential to connect with others who understand your journey. Sharing experiences can lighten the load. Whether through support groups, online forums, or one-on-one conversations, community support can provide comfort and reassurance. Finding Your Tribe Consider reaching out to local organizations or online platforms dedicated to breast cancer support. These communities often host events, workshops, and discussions that can help you feel less isolated. Engaging with others can foster a sense of belonging and understanding. Sharing Your Story If you feel comfortable, share your story. Writing about your experiences can be therapeutic. It allows you to process your feelings and connect with others who may be going through similar challenges. You can submit your story, poetry, or art at SurvivingBreastCancer.org . Self-Care Strategies During the Wait While waiting for results, it's crucial to prioritize self-care. Here are some strategies to help you cope: Practice Mindfulness: Engage in mindfulness exercises. Focus on your breath and the present moment. This can help reduce anxiety and promote relaxation. Stay Active: Physical activity can boost your mood. Even a short walk can help clear your mind and reduce stress. Limit Information Overload: While it’s tempting to research every detail, too much information can increase anxiety. Set boundaries on how much you consume. Connect with Loved Ones: Reach out to friends or family members. Talking about your feelings can provide relief and support. Conclusion: Embracing the Journey The journey through cancer and its uncertainties is deeply personal. Each person's experience is unique. Embrace your feelings, whatever they may be. Allow yourself to feel the weight of waiting, the fear of the unknown, and the hope for good news. Remember, you are not alone. Many have walked this path and emerged stronger. At SurvivingBreastCancer.org , we’re here to support you every step of the way. Read More: Permission to Feel: 10 Tips for Navigating Cancer and Treatments with Honesty and Humor No Pink Here: What October Really Feels Like for Breast Cancer Survivors The Transformative Power of Art Therapy in Cancer Survivorship On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations Understanding and Coping with Medical PTSD in Cancer Care with Emily Parks Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Podcast Weekly Meetup Free Events

A breast cancer diagnosis at 28, 33, or 40 doesn’t just shock you — it reshapes everything. You expect career momentum or family milestones, not medical appointments. The fear is real, and it’s understandable. But fear without facts helps no one. Let’s examine what researchers are discovering about breast cancer in young adults, explain why it matters, and explore where the latest science is leading us. Spoiler: The outlook is more hopeful than the headlines suggest. Why Breast Cancer in Young Adults Looks Different Breast cancer affects people of all ages, but in younger adults, it often behaves differently. About 10% of all new breast cancer cases in the US occur in women under 45, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention . Incidence in this group rose 1.1% per year between 2012 and 2022, according to Harvard Medical School data . Younger-onset breast cancer also tends to include more aggressive subtypes. Triple-negative breast cancer (TNBC) occurs more often in younger people. Because it lacks estrogen, progesterone, and HER2 receptors , treatment options were once limited, though newer therapies are expanding care. HER2-positive breast cancer also shows up more frequently in younger patients. While aggressive, targeted HER2 treatments have transformed outcomes over the past two decades. Dense breast tissue adds another challenge. Most people under 40 have dense breasts, which can make tumors harder to detect on standard mammograms. Researchers continue to develop improved screening tools to close that gap. The Good News: Progress Is Accelerating Here’s the part that deserves more attention: outcomes for younger people with breast cancer keep improving. Even as diagnoses rise, mortality continues to fall. Research presented at the American Association for Cancer Research shows that incidence-based mortality for women ages 20 to 49 declined between 2010 and 2020 across every major subtype. That’s meaningful progress across the board. Survival gains tell an even stronger story. A 2025 analysis in CA: A Cancer Journal for Clinicians reports that the five-year relative survival rate has climbed from 50% in the mid-1970s to 70% today. According to the American Cancer Society , when doctors detect breast cancer at a localized stage, survival now exceeds 99%. More than 4 million breast cancer survivors are living in the United States — and that number continues to grow. What’s fueling this momentum? Smarter science, earlier detection, and a treatment pipeline that keeps expanding. HER2-Positive Breast Cancer Antibody-drug conjugates have transformed care for HER2-positive breast cancer. The National Cancer Institute (NCI) reports that trastuzumab deruxtecan (Enhertu) outperforms standard chemotherapy. Regulators have approved it for some metastatic cases, even in patients with low HER2 expression. At the American Society of Clinical Oncology 2025 Annual Meeting (ASCO 2025), the DESTINY-Breast09 trial showed that combining trastuzumab deruxtecan with pertuzumab extended progression-free survival by 13.8 months over standard first-line therapy. Based on these results, the FDA approved in December 2025 the combination of trastuzumab deruxtecan (Enhertu) and pertuzumab as a first treatment for people with metastatic HER2-positive breast cancer. Many experts now consider this combination a leading first-line option and expect it to replace the older CLEOPATRA regimen (taxane chemotherapy plus trastuzumab and pertuzumab) for many patients. Triple-Negative Breast Cancer Triple-negative breast cancer once depended largely on chemotherapy, but new targeted therapies are expanding options. The NCI reports that adding pembrolizumab (Keytruda) to neoadjuvant chemotherapy improves event-free survival in early-stage TNBC. At ASCO 2025, the ASCENT-04/KEYNOTE-D19 trial showed that sacituzumab govitecan plus pembrolizumab reduced the risk of progression or death by 35% in advanced PD-L1-positive TNBC. Hormone Receptor-Positive Disease CDK4/6 inhibitors palbociclib (Ibrance), ribociclib (Kisqali), and abemaciclib (Verzenio) are now a cornerstone of treatment for hormone receptor-positive metastatic breast cancer. In late 2024, the FDA approved a three-drug combination for some people whose cancer has a PIK3CA mutation and has stopped responding to hormone therapy. In the INAVO120 trial, the combination of inavolisib (Itovebi) plus palbociclib and fulvestrant (Faslodex) helped people live longer before their cancer grew again compared with palbociclib and fulvestrant alone, roughly doubling the time before the cancer worsened. In 2025, the FDA also approved datopotamab deruxtecan for the treatment of ER-positive metastatic disease following strong trial results. For younger, premenopausal women with early-stage hormone receptor-positive breast cancer, we now have long-term evidence that “shutting down” the ovaries and using a strong hormone-blocking pill can make a real difference. Data from the SOFT and TEXT studies show that adding ovarian suppression and an aromatase inhibitor (such as exemestane) lowers the chance of the cancer coming back and can improve long-term survival, especially for women who are younger than 35 or have higher-risk tumors. The Unique Challenges Young Patients Face — and the Support That Exists A breast cancer diagnosis at 30 carries different pressures than one at 65. Fertility decisions, career disruption, parenting, relationship strain, and financial stress often collide with treatment. Many young adults must weigh fertility preservation before chemotherapy, juggle work during infusions, and explain their diagnosis to children while trying to keep life steady. Savings may be limited, student loans may be ongoing, and disability coverage may be uncertain. Early adulthood brings unique challenges — but it also brings advancing research, coordinated care, and stronger support networks. No one should face it alone, and with SurvivingBreastCancer.org , no one has to. Count on Us for Information, Resources, and Support Aggressive breast cancer in young adults is a serious and growing challenge. Science makes that clear. It also shows real progress: survival rates have climbed, treatment options have expanded rapidly, and researchers continue to close screening and equity gaps. Fear alone doesn’t move outcomes forward. Informed action does. Stay informed. Advocate for yourself. Connect with others who understand. Thousands of researchers, oncologists, and advocates work every day to improve outcomes for young adults facing this diagnosis. Whether you’re newly diagnosed with breast cancer , navigating survivorship, or supporting someone you love, SurvivingBreastCancer.org offers virtual support groups and programs , as well as trusted educational resources on symptoms , testing, treatment options , surgery, and more, plus podcasts featuring professionals, advocates, and caregivers. Your support helps SurvivingBreastCancer.org continue providing knowledge, connection, and community to those impacted by breast cancer, every day, all year long. Read More: Addressing the Unique Challenges of Breast Cancer in People Under 40 Breast Cancer in Young Women: Common Questions Answered The Role of Hormones in Breast Cancer How to Improve Cancer Screening for People with Dense Breasts On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations Breast Cancer in Younger Women: Navigating Survivorship, Surgery Choices, and Lymphedema with Dr. Kohli Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Podcast Weekly Meetup Free Events

Chemotherapy remains a cornerstone of breast cancer treatment, but its side effects often carry a heavy physical and emotional toll. For many, the prospect of losing hair feels like losing a sense of self or a badge of illness they never wanted to wear. Cold capping , or scalp cooling, can help counteract this common side effect. Cold capping technology helps patients preserve their hair and maintain privacy during their treatment and recovery process. Understanding how it works, what to expect, and the potential results can help you decide if it fits into your care plan. How Cold Capping Works Chemotherapy targets rapidly dividing cells. While this effectively destroys cancer cells, it also inadvertently attacks hair follicles, which divide quickly. Scalp cooling works through two primary mechanisms: Vasoconstriction : The cold temperature narrows the blood vessels in the scalp. Narrowed vessels limit the amount of chemotherapy medication that reaches the hair follicles. Reduced Metabolic Activity : Cooling slows follicle cell activity. Because the cells divide more slowly, they become less susceptible to the chemotherapy drugs. There are two main types of scalp cooling devices: Manual cold caps : These are gel-filled caps that are stored in a freezer or on dry ice. The patient wears the cap throughout their chemotherapy infusion, swapping it out for a fresh cold cap approximately every 20 to 30 minutes. Brands include Penguin Cold Caps . These are not FDA-regulated. Automated scalp cooling systems : These cap units connect to a refrigeration machine that continuously circulates coolant at a precise temperature throughout the patient’s entire chemotherapy session. The FDA has cleared three systems for sale in the United States: the DigniCap Scalp Cooling System , the Paxman System , and the Amma Portable Scalp Cooling System  by Cooler Heads. Key Benefits of Scalp Cooling The most obvious benefit involves hair retention, but the advantages often go deeper than aesthetics. Emotional Well-Being : Preserving hair can help people feel more like themselves rather than cancer patients. Studies show that maintaining hair density improves body image and quality of life during treatment . Privacy and Control : Hair loss often forces patients to share their diagnosis before they feel ready. Keeping your hair allows you to control who knows about your treatment. Faster Regrowth : Even if you experience thinning hair, research suggests that scalp cooling promotes faster, healthier hair regrowth  after chemotherapy ends by protecting the follicle’s long-term health. Understanding the Risks and Side Effects While medical experts generally consider cold capping safe, the process carries some physical and logistical considerations. Cold capping can be an effective way to reduce hair loss during chemotherapy, but its success varies from person to person. The type of chemotherapy plays a major role, as some drugs are more likely to cause significant hair loss and may be less responsive to scalp cooling. Natural hair texture, thickness, and overall hair health also influence how well you retain your hair. Additionally, proper cap fit, consistent use, and personal tolerance to the cooling process all contribute to outcomes. Because of these variables, results can range from minimal hair thinning to more noticeable loss, even with consistent cold cap use. Discomfort and Headaches : Many patients report a heavy, cold sensation that can cause tension headaches or scalp pain. Logistics and Cost : Manual caps require a dedicated capping partner to replace them every 20-30 minutes. Furthermore, insurance coverage varies. As of Jan. 1, 2026,   Medicare covers mechanical scalp cooling , but private insurance policies differ. Scalp Metastasis Concerns : In the past, some doctors worried that cooling might allow cancer cells to hide in the scalp. However, multiple long-term studies have found no significant difference in scalp metastasis between those who use cold caps and those who do not . Making the Decision Cold capping requires a significant commitment of time and energy. You must arrive early for pre-cooling and stay for several hours after your infusion ends to ensure the drugs have cleared your scalp’s blood vessels. Discuss your specific drug regimen with your oncologist to determine your likely success rate. If you choose to move forward, practice fitting the cap before your first session to ensure the best possible results. Count on Us for Information, Resources, and Support  Cold capping can offer a meaningful sense of control and normalcy during treatment, even though results vary and require commitment. By understanding your options and consulting your care team, you can choose what best fits your needs and find support every step of the way. Whether you’re newly diagnosed with breast cancer , navigating survivorship, or supporting someone you love, SurvivingBreastCancer.org offers virtual support groups  and programs , as well as trusted educational resources on symptoms , testing, treatment options , surgery, and more, plus podcasts  featuring professionals, advocates, and caregivers. Your support  helps SurvivingBreastCancer.org continue providing knowledge, connection, and community to those impacted by breast cancer, every day, all year long. Read More: 5 Tips for Getting Through Chemo Hair Loss The Impact of Breast Cancer on Self-Image Questions to Ask Your Doctor After a Breast Cancer Diagnosis Nurse Navigators: Your Guide Through Treatment 13 Tips for Patients During Breast Cancer Treatment On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations How Breast Cancer Changes the Way You See Yourself Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Lindsey Campbell Fat where it wasn’t. “Exercise can fix it”—but it doesn’t. Constantly dehydrated and dry everywhere. Skin, hair, eyes, and even down there. Awake all night and exhausted all day. But my doctors say it’s the only way. Mood’s up and then it’s down. I feel like I’m too much to be around. Anxiety hangs over me like unbreathable smog. And my brain’s sharpness is dulled by fog. Hair and eyelashes falling out. Can I keep doing this? I have my doubts. Waking up in a puddle of sweat. It’s uncomfortable always being soaken wet. Heat races over my cheeks and ears. (I hope one day this rosacea clears.) Little did I know, after I rang that radiation bell. That soon I’d be in Tamoxi-fucking hell. But there is a side effect I kinda like. The one that tells people to take a freaking hike. Because the drug-induced flames inside of me? They burned away the need to please society. Yes, I’m fatter. Drier. And moodier than ever. But I don’t give two flying fucks if you care what-so-ever. I choose my health and myself first. When it comes to self-sovereignty, I’m now well-versed. Doctors told me Tamoxifen would save my life. And I think it already has–even if it causes me daily strife. Because I’m more me than I’ve ever been. I’ve never felt more at home in my own (itchy) skin. So even though this feels like a baptism by fire. I’ll keep standing on this Tamoxifen pyre. Whatever’s left will be me at my most pure. But until then, doctors, can you PLEASE just find a God damn cure? Visit Lindsey’s Substack: https://substack.com/@lindseym1 Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Cherisse Burley In late 2020, I was 43, working full-time, running a household, and parenting my 1-year-old and 6-year-old boys. My world involved COVID masks, toddler milestones, and constant worry. I had started getting mammograms at 40, but when it came time for my third one, I didn’t think I had the time. I told myself cancer wouldn’t happen to me. I was too busy for cancer. My doctor’s office was persistent. They called and emailed until I finally gave in and scheduled my annual checkup in September. Even after receiving the referral, it sat on my desk for weeks. It took multiple calls from the imaging center before I finally walked through those doors in November. That persistence saved my life. The “One Small B-Cup” Surprise What started as “calcifications” quickly spiraled. A biopsy before Christmas. A meeting with a surgeon in December. An MRI that was supposed to be a formality. The results shocked me: one small B-cup breast was hosting two different stages of cancer: stage 0 and stage 1 . I thought surgery would be the end of it. Then I met with the oncologist , and everything changed. I was told my cancer was HER2+ . The recommendation was chemotherapy, radiation, and estrogen blockers: 11 months of treatment. I didn’t want it. I fought the idea. I sought a second opinion . I cried for days. I lost weight. All I could see was a sick, bald version of myself. Being “Mommy” While Being a Patient How do you explain  “bad cells” to a 6-year-old? How do you stay present for a 1-year-old who doesn’t understand why Mommy is too tired to play? I had to find the words. I told my 6-year-old, “Cancer is when bad cells enter your body. For the next year, I’m going to go to the doctor to make them go away. The medicine will make me tired; it will make me sick, and I will lose my hair. But when it’s over, the bad cells will be gone, and we’re going to have a party.” My toddler didn’t care about cells; he just wanted me. So even on the days my energy was at zero, I pulled it together. I had to be “Mommy.” My treatment was successful. Now, I try to spread the message to every woman I meet: don’t put off that appointment. Answer the call. Make the time. It can save your life. About the Author: Cherisse is the author of I Rang the Bell! , a children’s book designed to help parents explain cancer treatment to young children with honesty, comfort, and hope. Available on Amazon: https://a.co/d/01UBtILk Read More: They Were My Blessing: Facing Breast Cancer With Young Kids My HER2-Positive Breast Cancer Diagnosis Why a Second Opinion Matters for Breast Cancer Understanding the Different Stages of Breast Cancer After Your Breast Cancer Diagnosis: Planning Your Next Steps On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations Yes, I Have Cancer, But What About My Kids? Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Podcast Weekly Meetup Free Events

By Heather Paganica “So often I measure my growth by how long my hair has gotten, but this journey has been so much more than my hair and I’m proud of me!” –– Heather Paganica I tell people that Thursday, October 20, 2022 was the worst day of my life, but then it all went uphill from there. Let me explain… The days following my diagnosis were a blur. I had gotten the phone call from the breast imaging office that Thursday, and he just told me that my results came back with cancer in all three areas biopsied. I didn’t know what to do. I remembered they told me on the phone that I should call my doctor’s office. At that point I was so shocked I thought, “What doctor?” I spoke to the PA at my gynecologist’s office about possible oncologists to meet with. I didn’t know WHO I was supposed to talk with . I didn’t know WHAT I was supposed to do. It was all very scary and confusing but I knew I wanted the cancer out of my body!  Someone gave me the number for Northwell Breast Cancer Nurse Navigators and I was put in contact with a woman named Jackie. Boy oh boy, was she down to earth and lovely. A beautiful breast cancer survivor with the same name as my co-worker who had battled breast cancer years earlier. I felt as though she had sent Jackie B. to me from Heaven. I ALREADY had an angel looking over me. Thank you Jackie! Thank you for the sign from above.   Jackie B. was one of MANY signs along this journey. She helped me find an oncologist. She gave me three names and showed me where I could learn about each doctor and even see a picture of each doctor. My gynecologist’s PA recommended another doctor. I made appointments with two of them.  Dr. Sylvia Alicia Reyes was the first oncologist I spoke to about my cancer. She is a surgical oncologist. I didn’t know there were different types. She explained my cancer to me with pictures, compassion and gentleness. Another angel sent from above. That first talk was HARD, but I was assured that I COULD and I WOULD beat this very aggressive cancer. I think of how far I’ve come from that day and I am AMAZED!  That word, AGGRESSIVE. It wasn’t until a long time after my diagnosis that I told my mom that my cancer was AGGRESSIVE. It was the first time she heard it. I had softened the hard stuff for her because I knew how hard this had to be for HER. I am a mother now and I can imagine how she felt as my mother, watching me go through this from so far away. (My mother lives in North Carolina and I am in New York.)  I know she’s proud of me, but she must have felt so helpless. I hate that she had to feel that way. I hated that so many people who love me felt helpless. I appreciate how much support and love I had and still have! Life went on for me. I was still a teacher.  After that dreadful Thursday, October 20, I took off the next day on Friday. On Saturday, I went to soccer with my son, Marcello. Then, on Sunday I took him to a birthday party for his friend Zachary. I knew Zachary’s mom had gone through breast cancer and survived. I contemplated telling her about my cancer, but it was too soon. I wasn’t ready, and I CERTAINLY wasn’t going to tell her at her son’s birthday party.  I remembered my principal telling me I would feel better once I had a plan of action with the doctor, but that doctor’s appointment hadn’t happened yet. All I knew was that I had cancer. Cancer. Such a scary word. A word that got easier for me to say after I had to tell Marcello the “name of my disease.” On November 4, I met Dr. Nouneh Janet Gostanian. It was my husband Rocco’s 48th birthday and here we sat to hear my fate. Dr. G was nothing short of amazing. She had gone over all of my paperwork BEFORE sitting down with us, so she wasn’t staring at a computer screen or papers in front of her – she was looking at us. She explained my cancer again and what her plan of attack was and why. THIS was the “plan” that my principal had told me would make me feel better. I fought back tears so hard. I just wanted them to cut off my boobs! I just wanted to yell that at her and everyone in the room. “JUST F*CKING CUT THEM OFF!” I wanted the cancer out of my body! I wanted this nightmare to go away! I didn’t want to do chemo and lose my hair! I loved my beautiful hair . I was so, so sad.  She told me that the cancer was stage 2  and aggressive, and they had to kill it with chemotherapy before they could do surgery. They could’ve done a lumpectomy and radiation, but with the cancer I had it would be risky. Chemotherapy first and then surgery was our best line of defense. I cried… the tears fell and I yelled out loud, “Well, if you’re going to take my hair and you’re going to take my tits, then you better take the f*cking cancer!” I was angry. I was sad. I was scared . Rocco looked at me in disbelief and shock. I apologized for my outburst, and Dr. Gostanian looked at me and Rocco and told me I had nothing to apologize for (or something of that nature). It was all too much. I excused myself to use the ladies’ room. I cried in the bathroom. I cried so hard, but stifled it because I didn’t want anyone to hear me. I calmed myself down, splashed some cold water on my face and went back to Dr. G’s office. I asked Dr. G for a list of things I had to get done to get started on chemotherapy. I wanted this DONE!  The following week I went for an EKG and an MRI biopsy. I joked that I wanted to try all the different types of biopsies (mammo, sono, and now MRI). Rocco and I walked out to the car and I remember throwing my pocketbook onto the floor of the passenger’s seat angrily. When we got into the car I sat and cried. Rocco let me cry it out  and then told me what happened while I was in the bathroom. “When you went to the bathroom, Dr. Gostanian got up and closed the door. I was scared of what she was going to say, but she told me that that was the time where if things were bad, she would’ve been prepping me to be there for you, but that wasn’t the case for you. She told me you’re going to beat this. You’re going to beat this, babe! ”  Read More: Empowering Yourself: Questions to Ask Your Doctor After a Breast Cancer Diagnosis Understanding the Different Stages of Breast Cancer: What You Need to Know Permission to Feel: 10 Tips for Navigating Cancer and Treatments with Honesty and Humor The Impact of Breast Cancer on Self-Image Breast Cancer and Mental Health: Recognizing and Addressing Depression and Anxiety On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations Enhancing Patient-Provider Communication in Breast Cancer Care Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Katherine Ortiz The timing is the exact same — December again, full circle in time, cancer returning in winter’s hush, just like December 27, 2010 — history repeating its rhyme. Surgery, then chemo, (which I may still say no), learning to navigate a journey I never asked to know. Just when life was opening wide, the red carpet rolled beneath my feet — but I did not fall into despair, I landed gracefully, steady, complete. I landed on angel wings, not broken ground, because God never leaves His children in shock — He cushions the fall, restores the sound, and turns the blow into bedrock. My voice was once silenced, now it is strong, no better timing than now to arise — I’ve been faithful to heal what lived deep inside, so I meet this battle with open eyes. Cancer, I don’t live by what if, I live by not me. I learned to speak up, to stand up, to fiercely advocate for me. I am not bowed down. I am not torn down. I am not destroyed by this storm. I am clay in the hands of a master, pressed, not crushed, being reborn. And just as December once marked the battle, this December will mark the close — what began in winter years ago will end with a warrior’s rose. I will not circle this mountain forever. I was not brought back here to stay. I returned to claim final victory and send this chapter on its way. I am not broken — I am being rebuilt, into something more radiant than before. I am beautiful. I am strong. I am confident to my core. I will beat you, cancer. I will rise. I will survive — and soar. Destiny being completed. Not repeated. Full circle healing. Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

Contact: Laura Carfang laura@survivingbreastcancer.org SurvivingBreastCancer.org FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE BOSTON, MA  — After another inspiring year of progress, connection, and innovation, SurvivingBreastCancer.org is proud to share its 2025 Impact Report . Founded in 2017, the 501(c)(3) non-profit organization has evolved into a national digital survivorship ecosystem, connecting thousands of individuals to trusted education, human-centered support, and AI-powered tools to help people navigate a breast cancer diagnosis. Today, SurvivingBreastCancer.org operates at the intersection of community, clinical expertise, and technology, expanding accessible evidence-informed survivorship resources for individuals and families. Serving all 50 U.S. states and a growing international community, SBC is redefining how survivorship care is accessed and delivered.  Learn more about this evolution in the 2025 Impact Report . SBC’s Engaged Community Over 267,000 individuals visited the SBC website in 2025, generating over 1 million interactions with SBC’s educational resources. Meanwhile, SBC’s program participation has grown 351% over the past five years, reflecting the growing demand for accessible survivorship support in the breast cancer community. Support Programs with Purpose An individual’s breast cancer experience does not follow a single timeline – and for those living with metastatic breast cancer, treatment may be ongoing. SBC places special emphasis on continuous long-term support for those navigating sustained medical treatment. Survivorship is lifelong, with evolving physical, emotional, and informational needs. In 2025, SurvivingBreastCancer.org delivered 388 virtual programs serving more than 6,490 participants, offering safe spaces for connection, education, and healing. SBC’s programs are designed around a central truth: people navigating breast cancer need more than medical treatment alone. They need community, trusted information, emotional support, and opportunities to reconnect with themselves and others. For many in the community, SBC’s programs are a critical part of their survivorship. As one community member shared: “The time with my fellow MBC community is very important to me. Hearing others express the feelings that I have also had makes coping easier.” Embracing Technological Innovation As technology evolves, so do the tools SBC employs to support those diagnosed with breast cancer and their families. This past year SurvivingBreastCancer.org dove into digital innovations to equip the breast cancer community with the most relevant, accurate, and accessible information possible for their diagnoses. One of 2025’s most exciting developments was the debut of Emma, SBC’s clinically-informed AI companion designed to provide real-time guidance, education, and support for breast cancer queries. Equipped with a library of authoritative breast cancer resources, Emma connects visitors with relevant information, educational content, and recommendations. At the same time, SBC updated and rebranded the SBC mobile app , allowing for easier user access to support groups, educational resources, wellness programming, and community content. By embracing technological change and leveraging partnerships with clinical experts and researchers, SBC continues to raise the bar for what survivorship care can look like in the digital age through tools like Emma and the SBC app. Digital Resource Growth & Accessibility Education remains one of the most powerful tools for empowerment in cancer care. With a listener base spread spanning over 160 countries, SBC’s podcast Breast Cancer Conversations  continues to deliver expert insights, survivor stories, and educational conversations to individuals navigating breast cancer worldwide. Additionally, SBC expanded Spanish-language programming and resources, helping more families access vital education and resources in their native language. SBC recognizes that health literacy goes hand-in-hand with patient empowerment, and the organization is committed to making reliable, understandable cancer information accessible to all. Paving New Opportunities with the Educational Scholarship Program SBC’s Educational Scholarship Program also saw exciting growth in 2025, supporting individuals impacted by breast cancer to attend national conferences and advocacy events. The program helps survivors connect with experts, build networks, and deepen their engagement with the broader breast cancer community. In 2025: Six scholarships were awarded Scholarship recipients attended 3 national conferences, including the Living Beyond Breast Cancer MBC Conference, the Young Survival Coalition Summit, and the San Antonio Breast Cancer Symposium SBC received nearly 50 applications for the 6 scholarships, reflecting growing demand for this opportunity For many recipients, these scholarships open doors to advocacy, research engagement, and leadership within the cancer community. SBC is pleased to continue the Educational Scholarship Program and offer more opportunities for community members to connect, advocate, and inspire others at the most prominent national breast cancer conferences. Focus On Metastatic Breast Cancer (MBC)  SurvivingBreastCancer.org ’s support for metastatic breast cancer (MBC) greatly expanded in 2025. SBC’s MBC Expressive Writing and Thursday Night Thrivers MBC programs represent a commitment to providing those living with MBC space to process grief, identity shifts, uncertainty, and hope through guided reflection and shared storytelling.  SBC’s strategic expansion of MBC resources positioned SBC as an authority in survivorship innovation, leading to an investment from the Gilead Foundation as part of its effort to advance MBC support . SBC is proud to be at the forefront of well-being and support resources for those affected by advanced breast cancer. Special Thanks & Acknowledgements SBC has immense gratitude for the people and organizations that make the organization’s cancer support programs, services, and educational content accessible and possible.  SBC’s Board of Directors, Medical Advisors, and Financial Advisors are critical for the organization’s long-term sustainability, and the importance of their insight, guidance, and leadership cannot be expressed enough. SBC’s growth would also not be possible without the selfless work of volunteers and facilitators creating welcoming spaces for connection, creativity, and catharsis.  Special thanks to organizational partners , healthcare collaborators, and donors through whom SBC is able to expand access to supportive care, education, and clinically informed programming.  Your belief in SBC’s mission allows SBC to reach countless more individuals and families affected by breast cancer with accessible support resources. View SBC’s full 2025 Impact Report, complete with program statistics and more, on the website here  or download the PDF . Contact:  Laura Carfang  Founder and Executive Director laura@survivingbreastcancer.org www.survivingbreastcancer.org

By William Laferriere (Dedicated to Gloria and Veronica) The kite’s string frays in my hand the waxy slick hospital vinyl grabs at my slippered feet My IV pole a tall crooked mast, Metrical beeping in counterpoint to the weather report no one turns off. They say hurricane, category something, as if fear had concise little numbers like stages, like tumor size, like OncoScores, like odds printed on a chart that I refuse to flip over. Outside the window the sky is a bruising Off gray, then turns suddenly furious—angry clouds muscle in, heavy with words unsaid and I remember the three fold brochure words: “journey,” “fight,” “brave.” But it doesn’t feel like a fight, it feels like standing on the edge of a big city parking garage with a kite made of my own skin. I tape my hair to the kite tail it’s coming out anyway, tiny surrender flags on a thin plastic spiral Nurse says don’t worry, Doctor claims good margins, Friends say you’ve got this, and the wind answers with a dull roar Emptying all those syllables in the stairwell. Let it fly I tell myself. Fly what? This diagnosis, this stitched‑up chest, this new geography of scars and statistics, this half‑recalled body, with new contours, It used to be simply mine and is now a crime scene with clean white tape and port I step into the parking lot, gown flapping open like a warning sign, That port in my chest a red‑eyed button. The storm wall comes I can taste metal in the air, that before‑the‑impact flavor I also taste at 3 a.m. when the words “what if” won’t stop pacing. This kite is ridiculous— pink and loud and hopeful, and sad its paper thin as skin over my sternum. I shouldn’t run, they said, I shouldn’t lift but nobody said anything about flying kites in impossible weather. So I run. Every chemo session, I run in place, in my head, down a beach That I visit once the drip starts. The hurricane (aka the infusion), then the scans, the scans and the scans, the follow‑ups pile up like dark clouds And the yearly calendar pages rip The line cuts into my palm— this is how you know you’re still here: pain on the edges. The wind tries to yank my kite away, hurling it into someone else’s tragedy, tangling it in somebody else’s power line. I imagine the storm has a certain deleterious face: And looks like every doctor who has ever shrugged, every statistic that didn’t ask my name, every well‑meaning stranger who says at least they caught it early as if that word—early— were a soft pillow instead of a lightning bolt Gusts hit Kite dives, jerks, spirals— I think this is it, this is recurrence, this is the other shoe, this is the scan that calls back at midnight. But then, absurdly, it climbs again Someplace between panic and surrender the string beats a crazy finger rhythm in my hands, a give and take I didn’t know I let out a little line when the wind screams. Pull it in, gently, as it forgets its rage. Breathe in with the storm instead of against it. Breathe out… I remember the word “remission” and how it sounds like a pause button Not a compromise, Now the doctors won’t say cured as if the tongue tied triggers fate. The kite hangs up there, a stubborn punctuation mark scribbled in black weather: I dare not pause, I say, I am the whole sentence. Rain starts, fat and cold, like the first shock of seeing yourself naked after surgery. You grieve the loss, yes, but you also stare at that which remains: a body still stubbornly orbiting the sun, patched and stitched and outrageously alive. Lightning sketches the dark open sky for a moment the kite is all that there is, bright against the bruising ridiculous & unwavering. This is not victory, I think not No not yet, maybe never in the way movies promise, but it is something: I drop the string. My arm is tired. My chest aches where tissue used to be. The wind keeps changing soft, then savage, like scan results, like phone calls, like the way people either lean in too close or back away too far. Still, I hold the line. Not because I believe the storm owes me not because I’m sure I’ll walk out of this with anniversaries to count, but because in the middle of the howl there is the small, precise fact As the kite flies on, like a bird leaves the wire And now In the eye of it— A brief, eerie calm between one terror and the next— I feel the wet string, I see my breath in the crooked dark air, I hear my heart as it knocks my ribs like it’s asking permission to stay. Okay, I tell it. Okay. I’ll stand here…alone and fly this fragile, foolish thing as long as the storm allows, as long as I have fingers, as long as there is any sky at all And throw color against it And if the hurricane wins— if it snaps the line, steals my kite, scatters every lonely pink scrap across a city that may never know my name— remember this: For a while, in the worst of it, I still chose to run into the wind with my whole broken body, refusing to let go of a string that was never designed to be held in a hurricane. Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Laura Carfang When words fall short, flowers often speak for us. A bouquet can say what we may not know how to put into words. For those navigating cancer—whether as a patient or caregiver—flowers can bring a moment of peace amid uncertainty, a reminder that life still holds color and renewal. Flowers and Emotional Health Three studies by Rutgers researchers in 2005  explored the impact of flowers on mood and social behavior. The researchers found that flowers “have immediate and long-term effects on emotional reactions, mood, social behaviors and even memory.” For someone facing a cancer diagnosis or caring for a loved one through treatment, these small emotional boosts can make a meaningful difference. The fragrance, color, and beauty of fresh flowers can soothe anxiety, ease loneliness, and even help rekindle optimism during tough moments. During my own cancer treatment, I experienced this in a way I didn’t fully understand until much later. During the six months I was in chemotherapy treatment, my husband William brought me flowers every single week: lilies. He’d place them in the living room, right next to the couch where I spent most of my days drifting in and out of sleep. They were always there. Quietly. Consistently. It wasn’t until near the end of my 16 rounds of chemo that I suddenly saw  them. I remember looking over and thinking, Those are so beautiful. When did we get flowers? William said, “I’ve been bringing them home every week.” That moment stopped me. Chemo fog is real. It narrows your world to the immediate—the fatigue , the nausea, the appointments, the next hour. You don’t always have the capacity to see what’s around you, even when it’s lovely. Even when it’s love. But then, slowly, the fog lifts. And you start to notice again. Flowers as a Form of Connection Cancer can at times feel isolating. Treatments, hospital visits, and the physical and emotional fatigue can make social interactions  harder to sustain. Flowers can bridge that gap. They sit there quietly saying, “Someone thought of you today.” And on hard days, that matters more than we realize. For caregivers , giving flowers can be a small, heartfelt way to express empathy and support—which William had been doing every week for six months. For patients, receiving them can feel like a breath of fresh air—a symbol of care, renewal, and hope. Flowers can prompt conversation, evoke memories, or simply bring a smile during a difficult day. Mindful Giving If you’re thinking of offering flowers to someone who has been diagnosed with cancer, consider practical details too. What kinds of flowers are best for their situation? When are flowers not the best idea for someone going through cancer? And what are some alternative ideas?  Every situation is different, and in many cases flowers can be a great option. In general, here are some things to keep in mind: If someone is undergoing chemotherapy treatment, they may experience changes to their sense of smell and become highly sensitive to fragrance, thus making flowers unpleasant. Check with them before sending flowers. Low-pollen options such as orchids, roses, or succulents may be safer choices for allergy concerns. Consider low- versus high-maintenance flower arrangements, especially if the person is experiencing fatigue.  For those undergoing inpatient treatment at a hospital, flowers may not be allowed in their hospital room. Verify the hospital’s policy before sending flowers. For those living with metastatic disease, receiving flowers can be emotionally difficult because of their finite nature and possible associations with funerals. It may be best to forgo flowers altogether if you think they could be triggering for the person. In circumstances where fresh flowers may not be the best option, dried bouquets or artificial arrangements can carry the same emotional impact. The gesture doesn’t have to be elaborate. A single stem in a mason jar or a handmade paper flower from a child can convey immeasurable warmth. What matters most is the intention—to brighten someone’s day, to remind them they’re loved , and to connect through beauty. Receiving Flowers with Gratitude If you’re on the receiving end, allowing yourself to accept such gifts is equally powerful. Flowers can be a gentle reminder to embrace moments of joy. Whether they grace a bedside table or a kitchen window, flowers invite us to pause and breathe. They remind us of nature’s quiet promise: growth and beauty persist, even through seasons of hardship. Read More: Cancer Etiquette: How to Talk With Loved Ones About Their Breast Cancer Navigating Relationships After a Breast Cancer Diagnosis Supporting Loved Ones with Breast Cancer: How to Offer Meaningful Help Managing Fatigue During Breast Cancer Treatment: Tips for Conserving Energy On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations You’re Not Lazy: The Real Science Behind Cancer Fatigue Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

Experience Artistic Expression with SBC! Check out the recording of our Mandalas class: Art therapy—encompassing writing, drawing, painting, and poetry—has emerged as a powerful and accessible tool for empowering those diagnosed with cancer to reclaim their psychological well-being and quality of life. For those who are currently facing or have gone through breast cancer, creative expression provides more than a distraction; it offers healing, validation, and community. Art by Linda Recent Research on Art Therapy A recent peer-reviewed systematic review published in the Journal of Cancer Survivorship  synthesized findings from 31 randomized controlled trials involving breast cancer survivors and various art interventions, including visual arts (drawing, painting), music, dance, and poetry.  The results were emphatic: Visual art and music-based interventions consistently led to significant improvements in anxiety, depression, and overall quality of life for those who had completed primary treatment for breast cancer. Dance-based interventions yielded mixed outcomes—showing most promise with body image enhancement—while data on poetry, though promising, remained limited and highlighted the need for further exploration. Why Art Therapy Matters: Addressing the Aftermath of Cancer Art by Mary Even after completing treatment, cancer survivors face other challenges, including anxiety, depression, altered self-image, and existential uncertainty. Conventional medical care often overlooks multi-layered needs. Art therapy offers survivors avenues to process complex emotions, express fears, and cultivate resilience. Enhancing Quality of Life The act of making art—whether painting emotions on a canvas, crafting verses, or simply coloring—can reduce psychological distress and foster a sense of control and hope. Art therapies serve not only as an emotional outlet, but as a means to restore agency and connection: Creative writing and poetry enable survivors to reframe their experiences, articulate new narratives, and find community through shared storytelling. Drawing and painting provide a nonjudgmental space to process thoughts and externalize feelings that are difficult to verbalize. Group art sessions build bonds among participants, reducing the sense of isolation common in survivorship. Art practice often triggers beneficial physiological responses, such as emotional regulation and reduced stress. Creative Healing in Practice at SurvivingBreastCancer.org SurvivingBreastCancer.org   offers a plethora of creative programs as core, evidence-based components of survivorship support. Our programs include: Artistic Expression Expressive Writing  (all stages) Expressive Writing for Metastatic Breast Cancer Meditation Reflection Our offerings are completely free and open to anyone diagnosed with breast cancer, wherever they are in their cancer experience. Want more? Check out lots of videos on our Expressive Arts YouTube playlist ! Art by Stacey The Call to Creativity Art therapy unlocks an individual’s innate healing potential, allowing them not only to cope, but to truly thrive. Research shows that supporting cancer recovery also means supporting creativity—in all its beautiful and restorative forms. “When you create with intention, your subconscious mind begins to speak,” explains Artistic Expression facilitator Elisa Herrera. “As you choose colors, shape forms, or allow words to emerge, you are receiving messages from your inner self. This process becomes a quiet yet powerful conversation, one that reveals what is happening beneath the surface, the emotions that are asking to be acknowledged, and the importance of giving them space to be seen, felt, and honored.” Artistic Expression participants share their experiences: This is one of my favorite programs SBC offers. Learning to express myself is great! I didn't know what to expect from the class. It was good to experience other participants' art and their emotions and stories along with the support. Always a pleasure to attend. My favorite part is when everyone shares. Like always, I love this safe, sacred space! Learn more and register for programs at survivingbreastcancer.org/events . On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations Breast Cancer Stopped My Life—Music and Meditation Helped Me Breathe Again Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Carol Monteiro It was 2021, and the world was holding its breath. The pandemic had reshaped everything – our routines, our fears, even access to healthcare. Annual checkups became afterthoughts, including mine. Everyone I spoke to felt blah! Spending time on couches, overeating, drinking and weight gain. Life felt off. I blamed it on a year-long sabbatical, the comfort foods, the extra wine, the lack of movement. I chalked up my low energy to pandemic blues. And then…   The Discovery I felt a hard mass  under my right collarbone. I ran my fingers over it absentmindedly, assuming I’d bumped into something. Not alarmed a bit. Weeks passed. Then months. I gave it no further thought. It was not until one day I felt the need to call my doctor for a virtual consult as I was experiencing pain in my right wrist. I found I was losing strength and grip. After evaluating the wrist virtually and while writing up the requisition for an x-ray, “Anything else bothering you?” he asked casually. I hesitated as nothing came to mind. Then I felt the need to say something and casually mentioned this hard mass I had discovered under my right collarbone. His tone shifted immediately. Calm to clipped. No questions asked he said, “I want you to go for an express ultrasound – today. You’ll hear from me in two hours.” Two hours? That sounded urgent. Still, I pushed aside the worry, telling myself not to overreact. This had never happened before.   The Diagnosis At the lab, I got in quickly. The ultrasound technician spent an unusually long time over one spot, clicking image after image. Her questions, though not alarming, were gentle and casual. When did you notice it? Does it hurt? How are you feeling? Concern flickered in my mind. But again, I brushed it away. “Your doctor will receive the results within two hours,” she said after over 45 minutes of examination. I found that odd, but yet again, did not give it much brain space. Fifteen minutes after I left the lab, my phone rang. My doctor, his voice, firm now. “We need to do more tests,” he said. “I’ve booked you for a mammogram first thing tomorrow. There may be further steps.” “Further steps?” I asked curiously. “I can’t say more until we investigate,” he replied. “The doctors at the hospital will walk you through. Give yourself 2-3 hours.”  I was puzzled, and the lack of a prognosis was beginning to make me anxious.   The Words That Changed My Life Following the pandemic protocols, patients were not allowed to arrive with companions. As such, I sat alone at the hospital, COVID restrictions keeping my husband outside. After registration, I was handed a stack of forms to fill out. The waiting room smelled like antiseptic – too clean, too sterile. The chair beneath me was stiff, unwelcoming. I found a corner and started filling out the forms. As the questions delved deeper into my and my family’s medical history, particularly with regard to cancer, I began to feel my stomach tighten. I had to make a few calls to my mum to ask details on those that had cancer in our family. As she was getting worried, I comforted her that I was just filling some medical forms and it was nothing to worry about. Meanwhile, I was finding it hard to keep the myriad of thoughts out of my head. I handed the clipboard to the receptionist and took a corner spot in the waiting room. My fingers traced the edges of my phone, its screen flashing with unread messages. “Breathe!” I told myself. “It will all be okay – just breathe.”  First it was the blood test – uneventful, done by a cheerful student. Then came the mammogram. Then the ultrasound. Picture after picture. Reading after reading, the technician swiped honing in on that hard mass. Her face betrayed nothing, but her silence screamed. Forty-five minutes passed before she paused and told me she would need to bring in a doctor. She quietly left the room. Meanwhile, I could hear the notifications of my husband’s messages. My phone was in my purse on the door and there was no way for me to comfort him. And then a doctor entered, direct and unsmiling. His presence tightened the air. “We need to do a punch biopsy. It will be quick. I will freeze the area, which will sting, and then it will all be over.” The needle pierced deep, a dull, insistent ache blooming under my skin. My breath hitched, but I didn’t flinch. Pain was irrelevant now.  Later, I was escorted to a waiting room, where I quickly gave my husband a brief on what had transpired. Minutes later, the oncologist arrived. I had my husband on speakerphone. The doctor asked how I was doing and then said with conviction… “You have breast cancer.”    Four words. That was all it took. A crack split through my world, invisible yet absolute.    My husband sobbed through the phone. I sat frozen. My mind grasped at disbelief, but my body already knew. I asked, “Are you sure?” Duh! Of course he was. The doctor confirmed it with a solemn nod. He went on to say, “You’ll need a mastectomy  within the month.”  Then, just like that, he was gone. A nurse stepped in, placing her hand over mine – warm, grounding and caring. She handed me a bag of something. I hung up on my husband, who was uncontrollably sobbing in the car waiting for me to get done.   I looked down. The bag was full of pamphlets. A thousand unspoken fears.    The biopsy was sent for pathology. However, the doctor gave me an unofficial diagnosis based on what information he had. He was convinced and called me back in a week for the official diagnosis after the biopsy pathology. The Turning Point Forty-eight hours. That’s all it took.  One moment, I was worried about wrist pain. The next, I was staring cancer in the face.    I had two choices – break under the weight or rise. I chose to RISE!   The first night, fear settled in like an uninvited guest. I lay awake, my mind clawing through every moment that led to this. “Where did I go wrong? How did I miss it? What comes next?” The silence was unbearable, thick with unanswered questions . Then I heard it – a quiet voice inside me, steady, unwavering: “There’s purpose in this.”   I didn’t know what that meant yet. But I knew one thing: I refused to disappear under the weight of this disease.    My husband was unraveling. My children, desperate to help. I saw their pain, their helplessness, their fear reflected back at me. I couldn’t fix everything. But I could be their anchor. So I focused on what I could control: ME .    I kept the news close, guarding it like something fragile. My mother-in-law was unwell, and I was not ready to share my news with the world.    Some nights, the fear returned – sharp, insistent. But with every sunrise, resolve took its place. I learned. I questioned. I shifted. My diet changed. My mind sharpened. My body moved more. I meditated. I studied. I prepared. I was diagnosed with invasive ductal carcinoma in my right breast. It started as stage 2; however, after I changed hospitals and had a second opinion  with repeat tests I was staged as 3. I was HER2+. Cancer was in my life. But I would decide the terms   on which it stayed!    I’d faced mountains before – starting over across continents, rebuilding a career, raising children without nearby family, learning to drive, swim, ski as an adult.    I knew I was resilient! This? This would be another mountain. And I would climb it.    A New Purpose My treatment plan included chemo (8 sessions of AC, paclitaxel, and trastuzumab), a full mastectomy, radiation, and 15 sessions of Kadcyla. I was fortunate to qualify for a DIEP flap reconstructive surgery and am beyond delighted with the results. I guess that is the silver lining of this experience. My Treatment Experience I had a great team of doctors who managed my expectations well. That, coupled with my “can do” approach to life, I feel I cruised through it. But I would like to be realistic: The treatments were harsh, and dealing with side effects challenging. I struggled to share my pain with my family as even in my state I felt I needed to take care of them. My children were my huge support. However my spouse really struggled coping with the uncertainty and discomfort. He buried himself in work and did his best to emotionally be there for me. My temperament changed and I felt that those around me could not understand my pain because of my cheerful personality.  Due to COVID protocols, I had to go to my appointments alone and the anxiety of going through treatments, chemo, radiation was only mine.  I found when I shared my dark moments with those close to me, I would end up having to look after them and manage their emotions. I did not have the bandwidth for it and so learnt to manage things on my own or leaned on my girlfriends and another friend who was going through the same. Some relationships faded. Others became lifelines. Five steadfast friends – and their partners – rallied around me . They became my shield, my safety net, my steady ground. My children’s friends sent care packages, their handwritten notes carrying a warmth that reached places medicine couldn’t touch.    Even strangers stepped forward – my pharmacist, my hairdresser, my neighbors. Each one showing up as if the world itself had decided I wasn’t fighting alone. But I wasn’t just surviving. I was transforming.    I now mentor others through various organizations, helping them find strength in food, movement, and mindset. In the quiet moments, I remind them: “You are not alone.”   Cancer forces you to meet yourself. All your fears. All your strengths. Every limit, every possibility. All the love I received had to go somewhere. I couldn’t just absorb it; I needed to channel it. So I built “ ThrivedIT ”, a space for those touched by cancer. A sanctuary of raw stories, hard-earned wisdom, and defiant hope.  And if you’re walking that path – patient, caregiver, loved one – know this:  “You are stronger than you think.” “You do not have to do this alone.”  Connect with the author, Carol Moneiro: ithrivedIT@gmail.com www.thrivedIT.com Read More: Empowering Yourself: Questions to Ask Your Doctor After a Breast Cancer Diagnosis Why a Second Opinion Matters for Breast Cancer Permission to Feel: 10 Tips for Navigating Cancer and Treatments with Honesty and Humor Preparing for my Double Mastectomy and Assembling my Care Team Supporting Loved Ones with Breast Cancer: How to Offer Meaningful Help On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations Breast Cancer Stopped My Life—Music and Meditation Helped Me Breathe Again Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

Contact: Laura Carfang laura@survivingbreastcancer.org SurvivingBreastCancer.org FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE BOSTON, MA  — SurvivingBreastCancer.org  was named among the recipients of new grants from the Gilead Foundation . Totaling over $3 million to 53 organizations, this financial commitment aims to support people affected by metastatic breast cancer (MBC). The Gilead Foundation’s initiative will increase support for MBC education, care accessibility, and support services. Healthcare systems are often unable to accommodate the MBC community’s need for holistic, patient-centered care. This grant from the Gilead Foundation validates the importance of community-based support systems in cancer care. Patients and caregivers alike in the SurvivingBreastCancer.org  community have expressed that education, navigation, and emotional support are vital components of living with MBC.  As a grant recipient, SurvivingBreastCancer.org  views this moment as an acknowledgement of the need for trust and lived experience in cancer care’s evolution. Community connection plays an essential role in navigating the most challenging aspects of post-diagnosis life. Financial support in this area is an empowering reminder that the sentiments of the MBC community are heard loud and clear. What This Investment Means for the Metastatic Breast Cancer Community While MBC treatments have advanced in recent years, more progress is needed. “The five-year relative survival rate for people with mBC is 29%, highlighting an urgent need for improved education and integrated support services to help patients navigate complex treatment decisions and improve outcomes,” the Gilead Foundation stated . Additionally, people living with MBC are far more than mere statistics, and survival rates fail to capture human experiences. These unique individuals face unimaginable challenges and side effects on a daily basis — all while attempting to traverse an often-discombobulating and fragmented healthcare system. With support from the Gilead Foundation, SurvivingBreastCancer.org  will expand and strengthen its metastatic breast cancer programming through a focused, multi-pronged approach designed to address the real-world challenges people face after diagnosis. Grant funding will be used to: Expand metastatic breast cancer-specific education  by developing accessible, evidence-informed content that helps individuals better understand treatment options, disease progression, and shared decision-making. Strengthen patient navigation and health literacy support , ensuring individuals living with MBC can more confidently interpret medical information, prepare for appointments, and advocate for their care. Increase access to emotional and psychosocial support , including peer connection opportunities and facilitated community spaces that reduce isolation and emotional burden. Advance culturally responsive and inclusive programming , with an emphasis on meeting individuals where they are and addressing disparities related to language, access, and health literacy. SurvivingBreastCancer.org ’s Role as a Trusted Community Partner Since 2017, SurvivingBreastCancer.org  has addressed the overlooked aspects of cancer care through patient-centered education and community-driven programming. The organization has become a trusted resource for the MBC community, with initiatives informed by lived experiences. By prioritizing the needs of those impacted by MBC — including patients, caregivers, and advocates — SurvivingBreastCancer.org ’s programs and educational resources are shaped by real people to address their challenges. These programs and support services continue to bridge the gap between clinical treatment and everyday life while remaining accessible, relevant, and compassionate.  “Investments like this grant from the Gilead Foundation move the field forward by validating community-based organizations as essential partners in cancer care,” said Laura Carfang, Ed.D., founder and executive director of SurvivingBreastCancer.org . “When we center the lived experiences of those impacted by metastatic breast cancer and invest in sustainable support systems, we don’t just improve care — we restore dignity, agency, and hope.” The Gilead Foundation’s recognition of SurvivingBreastCancer.org  also highlights the need to address disparities in access to information and support. Many individuals with MBC also face health literacy gaps, cultural and linguistic barriers, and limited access to trusted resources. SurvivingBreastCancer.org  remains committed to inclusive, accessible education that meets people where they are and reflects the diversity of experiences within the breast cancer community. Building Sustainable, Patient-Centered Metastatic Breast Cancer Care SurvivingBreastCancer.org  recognizes the Gilead Foundation’s commitment to advancing education, care, and support for people affected by metastatic breast cancer. As a grantee, SurvivingBreastCancer.org  will transform this investment into tangible educational resources and community-driven programming. This investment invites donors, partners, and media to recognize the vital role community-based organizations like SurvivingBreastCancer.org  play in strengthening cancer care. By investing in education and sustainable support models, this grant helps ensure that people living with metastatic breast cancer are not only surviving but are informed, supported, and empowered. Contact:  Laura Carfang  Founder and Executive Director laura@survivingbreastcancer.org www.survivingbreastcancer.org

By Annette Lindell Annette speaking at City of Hope Cancer Center’s Pink Coats ceremony in September 2025 Imagine being newly engaged to the love of your life, going on holidays together, planning a future, working a great job and living in an incredible city and then all of a sudden everything changes. Two and a half years ago, my life changed with the discovery of a single lump. It was small, unexpected, and easy to dismiss, but something in me knew it needed attention. On April 17, 2023, I received the diagnosis  no one ever wants to hear: Stage 2B  triple-negative breast cancer, an aggressive form of the disease  that often leaves little room for delay. In that moment, the world felt as if it had tilted on its axis. Everything familiar suddenly looked different, colored now by uncertainty and fear. But what I didn’t know then was just how deeply resilience, love, and purpose would shape the months ahead. The treatment plan was daunting: eight rounds of chemotherapy, 16 rounds of immunotherapy, two lumpectomies, and 20 sessions of radiation. Each phase brought its own obstacles, both physically and emotionally. Chemo days tested my endurance, immunotherapy  pushed me to redefine strength, and surgery and radiation forced me to confront the vulnerability of my own body. Yet through all of this, something inside me refused to break. I held fiercely to hope and made a decision early on: cancer would change my life, but it would not steal my joy. What surprised many, including myself at times, was how much life I managed to fit in between the appointments, infusions, and recoveries. Cancer did not stop me from showing up for the moments I had always dreamed of. I celebrated two bridal showers, laughed my way through two bachelorette parties — one of them a wild, unforgettable weekend in Nashville — and walked down the aisle at a beautiful, joy-filled wedding to the love of my life, who never once left my side. We took a mini-moon, followed later by a full honeymoon, making memories that reminded me of who I was beyond the patient, beyond the diagnosis. Even more astonishing to people around me was that throughout this whirlwind of treatment and celebration, I rarely took more than three or four days off work. For me, staying engaged wasn’t about ignoring my illness; it was about holding on to a sense of normalcy and purpose. Work gave me structure, community, and a reminder that my identity stretched far beyond hospital rooms and scan results. Every day I chose to show up was an act of defiance — proof that I could still live fully even in the middle of something life-altering. I wasn’t doing it alone. My journey was carried on the shoulders of family and friends  and even my doctors at City of Hope Chicago, who became my rocks. They offered rides, meals, laughter, late-night pep talks, and the kind of unwavering presence that makes even the darkest moments feel survivable. My husband’s strength and tenderness grounded me; his belief in my resilience helped me believe in it, too. My doctors guided me  with utmost patience every step of the way. Cancer might have challenged my body, but my community fortified my spirit. And then came a chapter of my story I once wondered if I’d ever reach: remission. Today, I can say those words with gratitude that feels almost indescribable. But remission wasn’t the final miracle. Not long after reclaiming my health, I stepped into a role I had dreamed of for years: motherhood . I am now the proud mom of a beautiful baby girl who will soon be eight months old. Holding her is a daily reminder of everything I fought for: the future, the love that sustained me, and the belief that life could bloom again after so much uncertainty. When I look back, what stands out most is not the hardship, but the sheer force of will that carried me through. There’s no way to soften the truth that treatment was hard. There were days when my energy was gone, when fear crept in, when progress felt too slow… but I learned that the mind is an extraordinary thing. A strong mindset doesn’t eliminate hardship, but it transforms how you face it. I leaned into determination, into gratitude, and into the conviction that I would get through every phase. And I did. Sharing my story isn’t about celebrating myself; it’s about offering something to anyone who needs a reminder to pay attention to their bodies, trust their instincts, and advocate for their health. If something feels off, check it. Don’t wait, don’t minimize it, don’t assume it can wait for another season of life. Make the appointment. Do the scans. Get the mammogram. Early detection does more than save time — it can save your life. My journey has taught me that adversity doesn’t erase joy; it reshapes it. It sharpens your awareness of what matters most and amplifies gratitude for moments you once took for granted. I found strength I didn’t know I had, witnessed the power of community, and learned that even in the hardest chapters, life can still be filled with love, milestones, celebrations, and the promise of new beginnings. Today, as I watch my daughter grow and feel the fullness of a life I fought so fiercely to protect, I am reminded of the importance of listening to your body and honoring your wellbeing. My story is one of challenge, but also one of triumph, resilience, and overwhelming love. And if it encourages even one person to take their health seriously, to seek answers sooner, or to believe in their own strength through struggle, then sharing it is worth every word. Read More: From Diagnosis to Determination: My Triple-Negative Breast Cancer Journey After Your Breast Cancer Diagnosis: Planning Your Next Steps Questions to Ask Your Doctor After a Breast Cancer Diagnosis Understanding the Different Stages of Breast Cancer: What You Need to Know Supporting Loved Ones with Breast Cancer: How to Offer Meaningful Help The Critical Role of Oncofertility and Genetic Counseling The Role of Hormones in Breast Cancer Advances in Immunotherapy: A New Frontier in Breast Cancer Treatment On the Podcast: Breast Cancer Conversations Preparing for Breast Cancer Surgery: What You Need to Know with Dr. Tammaro Share your story, poetry, or art: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events

By Mich Moret In 2026, I choose to be lightbound. I anchor myself to goodness, truth, and clarity. I release what dims my spirit, confuses my path, or drains my energy. I move forward with discernment, not fear— choosing what is real, what is kind, and what is aligned. I allow light to guide my decisions, my words, and my rest. I do not chase brightness; I remain tethered to it. I trust that what is meant for me will meet me in truth and integrity. I am steady. I am protected. I am lightbound. Share your poetry: https://www.survivingbreastcancer.org/submit-breast-cancer-story SurvivingBreastCancer.org Resources & Support: Podcast Weekly Meetup s Free Events