How I Survived a Breast Cancer Diagnosis

A picture of me, taken two months before diagnosis, when I was planning my new business.

In January of 2015, I learned that I had breast cancer. It was early stage, highly treatable breast cancer, but cancer nonetheless. I had just turned 40, had a 5-year-old son who would be starting kindergarten in the fall, and was trying to start a new business. Thankfully, the news wasn’t the worst it could be, but it was still devastating.

Before that day, my path through life had felt fairly certain. Now there were only questions. What would treatment be like? How much pain would I have to go through? Would my body ever feel normal again? Would I get to start my business? How would I make sure my son felt safe and secure while he watched me struggle? What if the cancer came back some day? How long did I really have to run my race? Was I ever going to be more than a cancer patient?

It was a harrowing time, and I want to share my story with you in case you have found yourself facing down your own cancer diagnosis. One of the things I found helpful during my cancer journey was hearing what other cancer patients had experienced before me. Their stories gave me hope, and perhaps this story will do the same for you.

So, after diagnosis, what did I do?

First and foremost, I did something nice for myself.

On my way home from the doctor that first day, I bought myself flowers, and this would become a regular ritual throughout treatment. I needed to show myself some love.

Next, I mustered the troops.

I immediately called some of my close family members, and then pow-wowed with them at home. Not long after, too, I made the decision to share my diagnosis widely. Not everyone is comfortable doing that, but I personally felt it was important to have as many people on my side as possible as I began my journey through treatment, and for me it was incredibly helpful. Calls came in from around the country. I felt loved and supported by a large group of people right from the start, and my son also got a safety net. I enlisted the help of some of his friends’ parents, and they became a support group just for him.

Then, I gathered as much information about treatment as I could.

I had watched some family members undergo cancer treatment and knew what it could be like, but not so much what it would be like specifically for me. Neither did the doctors from the outset. To get to my final diagnosis of ductal carcinoma in situ (DCIS) of the left breast, I went through two mammograms, two biopsies of the left breast, an MRI, and then a biopsy of the right breast with MRI. Initially, they thought I had cancer in both breasts, and that I would have to have lumpectomies in both, radiation in both, followed by five years of Tamoxifen, an oral medication that keeps estrogen- and progesterone-positive breast cancers, like mine, from growing. I was terrified of the radiation and the Tamoxifen, which I later found was unwarranted, but at the time they sounded pretty terrible. The radiation, which was supposed to kill off any cancer cells that weren’t removed from surgery, would burn my skin and exhaust me. The Tamoxifen could give me hot flashes, cause irregular periods and fatigue, and push me into menopause.

I wanted to avoid all that and also wanted to make sure that I didn’t get cancer again. So, I actually began to think I may want to have both of my breasts removed. Along with a breast surgeon and medical oncologist, therefore, I met and spoke with a plastic surgeon about breast reconstruction. She was very honest with me about the risks involved with implants, and I was quickly dissuaded from going that direction, especially because I received some other important information along the way. I learned that I was BRCA gene negative. In other words, my body was not coded to get breast cancer.

A second opinion confirmed my lower risk, and ultimately helped me choose my care team.

An article came out in the paper around that time that said DCIS was often over diagnosed or mis-diagnosed, and that in order to avoid unnecessary treatment patients should always send their biopsy samples out for a second opinion. I had also been reading Crazy Sexy Cancer Tips by Kris Carr, a wonderful guidebook for younger women with cancer, and it advocated for shopping around for a care team I really trusted. Still somewhat up in the air about how I wanted to go with treatment and a little unhappy with the care I had received thus far, I decided to get that second opinion. I arranged for my samples to go to Johns Hopkins Hospital for retesting, and they found that I did not have cancer in my right breast. Luckily for me, too, the Hopkins Breast Center, one of the best breast cancer programs in the country, was within reasonable driving distance from my home. I made an appointment with my surgeon there, David Euhus, right away. With all the information we both had to work with at that point, he recommended the same surgery, radiation, and Tamoxifen care plan, but only for the left breast. I took a deep breath, and dove in.

My husband and I after completing the Avon 39 Walk to End Breast Cancer, May 2015.

The surgery was scheduled, but the journey toward it had been long, and I took steps to keep myself sane in the meantime.

Between diagnosis and surgery, there were four months of anxious waiting and worrying. I started having panic attacks and developed asthma. I couldn’t sleep. I felt out of control of my health and my future, so I took control over the things I could. A dear aunt of mine had lived with liver cancer for ten years by making profound changes to her lifestyle. She was a big proponent of the book Ultraprevention by Dr. Mark Liponis and Dr. Mark Hyman. I made that book my Bible at the time, swore off all refined carbohydrates, and loaded up on vegetables. I cleared my house of toxic chemicals. I also practiced yoga daily and, with my husband, trained for and completed the Avon 39 Walk to End Breast Cancer, raising over $14,000 for the cause with the help of dear friends and family. In the evenings, I leaned heavily into parenting and spending time with my loved ones. We continued to make memories together in the midst of the chaos, and that was a tactic I held onto in the months that followed.

For me, the surgery was easy.

We drove to Hopkins for the outpatient procedure and got home in time for dinner (some chicken soup from one of my friends who had organized a meal train for us). There was a bandage over my wound, and I wouldn’t get a chance to see the damage until a few days later. Lumpectomies can be deeply scarring, leaving the breast deformed. I was nervous about what I was going to find, but when the bandage finally came off all I had was a perfect half-moon of a scar. It turned out David Euhus was an artist of a surgeon, and he let me know soon after that he had been able to remove the lump with clean margins, or in its entirety. Within a few days, I was running errands around town, and our family started packing for a summer escape.

Watching the B Mets with my son, July 4th, 2015.

I scratched back a sense of normalcy, freedom, and independence between surgery and radiation treatments on a massive road trip through New York and New England.

For months I had been poked and prodded. I woke up every day and went to bed every night thinking about cancer. It was all-consuming and exhausting. I needed a break from it, and so did my family. So, we hit the road to forget about it all for a couple of weeks, and it was some of the best medicine I could have received. We love baseball, so the trip was largely built around that. We stopped in Cooperstown and checked out the Hall of Fame. We spent July 4th watching a ballgame and fireworks at the Binghamton Mets stadium. We toured Boston, watched the Red Sox at Fenway Park, and took a pedicab back to the hotel under the stars. My son brought some of his favorite costumes on the trip and transformed into an action hero every evening in our room. We ate great meals, slept in, and laughed, and laughed, and laughed. By the time we got home, my tank was full, and I could face the next round of medical care. That trip was one of the smartest moves I ever made.

Thank goodness for it, too, because radiation was not so fun, despite some careful preparations.

A few days after we returned, radiation treatment began at Sibley Memorial Hospital, a subsidiary of Hopkins closer to home. I was brought in first to get fitted for the machine, which included permanent tattoos, little dots on my chest, side, and back that were used to make sure the radiation was directed to the same spot every time. I had never had a tattoo before, and the procedure was unnerving. I couldn’t pretend that what I was going through was temporary anymore.

Having full faith in my wonderful radiation oncologist, though, and determined to make it through the next four weeks of treatment as gracefully as possible, I took the treatment calendar they gave me and got ready to cross off the days. I gathered some materials that would be helpful, too: calendula cream to treat the burns (this worked like a miracle), loose-fitting clothes, a crescent-shaped pillow a friend bought me to keep seatbelts from rubbing against my chest (thank you, Dierdre!), and my awesome radiation treatment playlist. I had to drive about 40 minutes every day for treatment, and on those rides I listened to the most calming music I could find.

I wish I could say that everything went like clockwork after that, but it didn’t quite. For the most part, each visit was as comfortable as it could be given that I had to undress every time and lie face down on a rack with my arms held awkwardly while the radiation did its thing. By the third day, though, I was wiped out, tired all day. Inevitably, too, there were some days when the staff had a hard time calibrating the machine and I would have to stay in position much longer than normal, wrenching my shoulders into an overnight spasm. It was a tough go, and as I neared the end of treatment, it became clear that there had been some miscommunication. On the day I thought I was having my last radiation treatment, I was told I actually had one more to go. When you are living for your last day of treatment, that is about the most demoralizing thing that can happen to you.

The issue was resolved happily, however, and ultimately I did make it through radiation pretty well in comparison to many others. This was one advantage of having cancer at age 40 and not later in life. And, as I would find, the next part of the journey wouldn’t be so bad.

As it happened, I could have been a poster child for Tamoxifen.

I met with my medical oncologist the week after radiation ended and went home with the prescription for my first bottle of the drug. I was still afraid of the potential side effects but made the bargain with myself that I would at least give it a try for six months and see if I could hack it. I found that I did get hot flashes, especially if I ate carbs before bedtime, but in every other way I felt fine. In fact, it made my periods more regular and easier, and my breasts didn’t swell and hurt every month. It was almost like I had gone back in time to my twenties. Yahoo!

This meant that I could start getting on with the rest of my life. But how?

In those first few months, it was a slow go. I had to be really compassionate toward myself and give myself the space to heal. I didn’t get my full energy back until about two months post-radiation, and I had lost a lot of my self-esteem. By that point, though, my son was in the middle of his first fall semester at school and I knew it was time to get my mojo back.

Right away I hired a personal trainer. I wanted to get strong again, and she helped me find my inner power. I also continued to follow a healthy diet. Then, I got to work. I made a professional comeback and did start my own business. I kept flexible hours, which allowed me to take care of myself and focus on fostering community. We moved into a new home not long after treatment ended, and I took the opportunity to get to know my neighbors better and make a great new group of friends. I focused on raising my son, doing good for my clients, and taking care of myself. That’s what I needed to thrive, and over time I did.

These were my first steps toward wholeness after treatment, and the journey continues to this day.

In the end, cancer had its silver lining. It helped me see what was most important to me: my family, my friends, and, of course, my health. I came out of treatment so much more grateful for the people I loved, and grateful for life and the chance to get up every day and make the most of it. Our time on this earth is so precious, and I have been determined ever since treatment to make my time here as worthwhile as possible. I want to be well, stay well, and make a difference. I want to watch my son grow up, and I want to run my race.

The Outer Banks, Summer 2016

To ensure I get the chance to do that, too, I am constantly seeking new ways to make my life better and to live longer. I have become a health and wellness coach in part because I need to keep health central to my daily life. I always get my annual cancer screenings, and I also keep my eyes peeled for the latest research on cancer prevention and longevity. I’m careful with my diet and exercise every single day. At the beginning of 2021, I quit drinking except on very special occasions. Most recently, I have started to foster my spiritual life, by taking meditation classes and getting involved with my local Unitarian church. If COVID permits, I’m looking forward to getting back to regular travel and nights out at the Kennedy Center.

Each day I make the choice to actively foster my own wellness. For me, wellness isn’t a noun. It is a verb, and each new day holds the possibility for making my life a little better, a little longer. I can act on that possibility because I was one of the lucky ones who survived a breast cancer diagnosis. I survived it because of early detection and a fantastic, carefully curated care team. But, I also did it with self-care, radical lifestyle change, knowledge, and persistence, and with the invaluable love and support of my husband, son, family, and friends. I hope that telling you about my journey helps makes yours a little easier. Know, friend, that if you are facing down cancer, you can do it.