Tag Archives: New Primary Cancer

My Breast Cancer Came Back


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I heard the whispers, words I wasn’t meant to hear. “Did you know her cancer came back?” whispered a colleague I had known for 20 years. “Is she going to die?” was the new colleague’s response. The first colleague replied, “Not likely. She just gets cancer whenever she wants time off work. She never dies.” The words cut me to the bone, leaving me hurting yet strangely numb at the same time.

There really was no need to whisper about my diagnosis at work. I never hid the fact that I had breast cancer in the past. I was surprised the gossip mill had started so soon as very few people knew I had been diagnosed with breast cancer for the fourth time. I had only just received the news myself and had told those in management I would be taking extended sick leave once again once I had a surgery date.

The comments confused me. I get cancer whenever I want time off work? Surely there are easier ways to take time off then having another mastectomy and more chemotherapy. I never die when I am diagnosed with cancer? Well that has been true so far but at that point I had not had any scans or tests to see if the cancer had spread. At that point, all I knew was the cancer was back after a 16 year reprieve since cancer number 3.

“She never dies” rang in my head the rest of the day. Do they really want me to die to prove I actually was sick? Do they not understand the physical and emotional toll breast cancer and its recurrences take on an individual? Would having a funeral make everything better for people so they could recast me as a heroic figure battling cancer to the bitter end instead of just a physically and emotionally battered woman trudging through treatment over and over again? The one thing I have learned about recurrences is that their negative effects are cumulative over time. Each recurrence is emotionally harder than the one before. Each time your recurrence is contained before it spreads throughout your body makes you feel you are living on borrowed time and that your luck will run out eventually.

The message that is repeated over and over is that once you reach the 5 year cancer free mark, you are “cured” of cancer. This may be true for many people but it is not universally true for everyone. Many people have local recurrences of cancer in the same breast where they had it the first time. They may develop new primary breast cancer in the other breast or more rarely like me, develop a new primary cancer in the same breast. The pathologists decide if it is a recurrence or a new primary cancer based on how closely the second tumour resembles the first. If the second one is markedly different than the first, or if it occurs in the other breast, it is considered a new primary breast cancer. If it is a recurrence, it is thought that surgery/radiation/chemotherapy left some cancer cells behind that grew and multiplied to form a new tumour. As long as the recurrence or new primary is confined to the breast, it cannot kill you. It is only when it spreads beyond the breast(s) or mestastisizes to another body part, that it becomes lethal. Once that happens, there is no longer any talk of curing the cancer, only treating it until the treatments stop working.

Recurrences/new primaries produce interesting responses in people. With my first breast cancer at 29, my divorced parents who hadn’t talked to each other in 8 years, rallied together and stayed with me for weeks during surgery and radiation.

When my second cancer in the same breast was diagnosed at my 5 year “cure” mammogram, my mother had died 6 months earlier and my father made many excuses why he could not make the trip a second time. This was the first cancer that happened while at work and most of my colleagues rallied around this scared 34 year old facing a mastectomy and chemotherapy. They treated me as though this was my first breast cancer. I know that the night of my mastectomy, numerous work colleagues were gathered around my hospital bed. I was groggy and in pain but was aware enough to know that they were there and they cared. In the weeks that followed, many workmates dropped off food and accompanied me to my chemotherapy appointments. I felt supported, cared for, and loved.

I felt a litle less love from the local breast cancer community. The first time around, doctors and social workers went out of their way to hook me up with other breast cancer survivors. Granted most of these women were 40 – 50 years older than me who had lived long and full lives, but I appreciated the effort. With the first cancer, I had a very proactive medical social worker who hooked me up with relaxation groups, guided meditation groups, and the only support group they had at the time for patients battling all kinds of cancer.

By the time of my second cancer, I was pretty much left on my own. No volunteers, no social worker, and I had to beg to see a real live person who had reconstruction surgery. One finally showed up the night before my mastectomy but had a completely different surgery than I was having. I had the same breast cancer surgeon as I had for the first cancer. I couldn’t help but feel he was less interested in answering my questions this time around. I guess I was one of his failures for not quite making it to the 5 year
cure mark. He just kept drumming into my head that I would have to wait an additional 5 years to get pregnant or my baby could very well be left without a Mommy. Sometimes during that experience, I felt like the medical professionals viewed me as just another Dead Woman Walking.

The cancer struck my other breast 2 years later. I had barely returned to work and then was off again for surgery and radiation. By now, I was quick to pick up the signals that something was wrong with my mammogram. The technician would call me back into the room for a few more mammograms. Then she would disappear, returning with one or more people, who would whisper among themselves. At one point, I swear a whole group of student trainees crowded into the mammogram room, looking intently at the pictures. I would say “what are you seeing?” and the original technician would tell me there was nothing to worry about, this was just routine. I’d had enough mammograms by then to know this was anything but routine. When I got the official news from a doctor a couple of days later, it wasn’t exactly an overwhelming surprise.

My Dad was too busy to come visit once ago. I had a new boyfriend who I would eventually marry (and divorce) who took good care of me. We even bought a puppy to aid in the healing process. Again, this was his first time dealing with my breast cancer so he was supportive.

By this time, my colleagues were suffering battle fatigue dealing with my illnesses. There were a few meals, a lot less visitors, and more people who felt I should bounce right back. This was my third new primary breast cancer in 7 years and I was feeling beaten down and not terribly bouncy. Cancer surgery in the late 80s and the mid 90s involved removing all the lymph nodes under the arm on the side of the cancerous breast. This procedure is not the routine anymore but at that time it was and it made even a lumpectomy a gruelling operation with an extended recovery period.

Also, each time there is a recurrence/new primary, there are a battery of scans of the liver, brain, lungs, and bones and numerous blood tests to see if the cancer has spread. Each new test is nerve wracking as you never know what may turn up. I have been very lucky so far that the cancers have been caught before they spread beyond the breast.

I noticed when I started radiation treatments after Cancer 3, the other women would be friendly while we waited our turns. If however I said this was my second time doing radiation or that this was breast cancer number 3 at age 36, the women would clutch their floral housecoats tighter around themselves and would instinctively move a little farther away from me, as if my repeated cancers were contagious.

I lucked out for the next 16 years. No cancer. I went for a routine mammogram and was called back for more pictures. The technologist told me to wait in the mammogram room while she went to check something. When she said more pictures were needed, I demanded to speak to the radiologist as I knew something was wrong. To my surprise, the radiologist did enter the mammography room. He stared at his shoes the whole conversation. He obviously didn’t talk to patients very often. He said there were calcifications on the mammograms that were highly suspicious for a malignancy. He had reviewed my prior mammograms and what he was seeing was new. I pushed him harder on what “highly suspicious” meant until he said he was almost 100% certain it was cancer again, but only a biopsy could provide the absolute truth. I was immediately sent for an ultrasound where no tumour could be found. Even after referring to the mammogram, no lump or bump could be felt. The surgeon thought this meant it was a tiny cancer caught extremely early. She was in no rush to schedule a biopsy or a surgical date.

Things started going off the rails at the biopsy. Even with the mammogram, they weren’t sure they were hitting the right spot so the needle went in over and over again. When it was confirmed to be triple negative cancer again, the scans started. My sternum lit up on the bone scan. It had been broken 4 years earlier and they couldn’t be sure if they were seeing the break or cancer. The CT scan showed a web of tiny blood clot embolisms at the bottom of my lungs. As I had a spontaneous pulmonary embolism in one lung five years before, they immediately started me on blood thinners and debated delaying the surgery. The surgery went ahead as planned and to everyone’s surprise, it was 2.7 cm in size, making it a Stage 2 cancer. The reason it couldn’t be felt was that it was deep inside, close to my chest wall. The pathologists are evenly divided as to whether this was a new primary or a recurrence that had been hiding in my body for 16 years.

By this time, my father was in a nursing home and I didn’t even tell him about the new cancer. I was a single Mom with 2 children, then aged 9 and 11. Some of my work colleagues did get together and raise money for flowers and groceries. 2 of them would visit me at least once per month while the rest kept their distance. One friend brought over her husband and brother-in-law and they and my kids did a good job housecleaning. I had a medical social worker again and she helped with getting me free rides to chemo and getting me into 2 healing touch sessions.

This month marks 3 years since I finished my last chemo. After numerous CT scans, the radiologists have concluded that the bright light on my sternum during bone scans comes from trauma not cancer. The blood clots on my lungs disappeared after 6 monthes of daily injections in my stomach with blood thinners.

Having multiple recurrences has taken a huge emotional toll on me. I no longer have faith in my body. It has betrayed me too many times. I no longer believe in an orderly universe where good things happen to good people and bad things happen to bad people. The universe seems pretty random to me. Cancer survival seems especially random to me. Every day on Facebook, I read about another woman with breast cancer who has died. Very often they are young and leave small children and a grieving partner behind. These were women who ate organic foods, ran marathons, and looked after their bodies. They did everything right and yet were struck down in the prime of their lives.

Although I have had a double mastectomy, there is no guarantee I won’t get another recurrence/new primary breast cancer again. No matter how close they cut, it is impossible to remove every single breast cancer cell during surgery. I could probably summon the emotional strength to battle a recurrence/new primary for the fifth time, if only for the sake of watching my children grow up. But what worries me is that I have been playing Russian Roulette with breast cancer for 26 years now. I have been wounded but am still sitting at the table, waiting for my turn to press the gun to my head. How many times can you stare death in the eye and walk away still alive? One of these times, a new recurrence/new primary won’t be caught and treated in time. Or like 30% of women initially diagnosed with Stage 1-3 breast cancer, there will be no recurrence, just the dreaded metastasis to brain, bone, lungs, or liver from cancer cells still lurking in my body even after the last surgery and chemotherapy.

I read in so many forums how women are terrified of having a recurrence. Please remember if it is local to the breast, it can be treated and life will go on. It is metastasis that you need to worry about as for that there is no cure.

Have you had a recurrence/new primary since your initial treatment? Did you have early stage cancer that you thought was cured but it metastisized elsewhere? Please share your experiences in the comments below.

What the Media Doesn’t Tell Us About Breast Cancer


Over the past 2 decades, the media
has painted a picture of the ideal breast cancer survivor. We see a smiling white middle aged woman telling the world how she beat breast cancer with her positive attitude and her unwillingness to ever give up the fight. She doesn’t just stop with the lessons of how she beat breast cancer. She continues her story with how having conquered cancer, her whole life has changed for the better. To her, cancer was the greatest gift she ever received from the benevolent universe.

We sometimes hear that her reconstructed breasts look better than
they did pre-cancer. How lucky she was to have gotten a free boob job! The hair loss was a bit of a drag but it grew back better than before. She speaks of how breast cancer has brought her closer to  her friends and family.  Breast cancer was a tiny blip in her life, no more annoying or life threatening than a root canal. Breast cancer has been described as the “good” cancer to get as everyone wears pink, races around a lot, and nobody ever dies.

I have no doubt that this does represent reality for some breast cancer survivors. It is also possible that some of these smiling women have repressed the worst aspects of their breast cancer experience and are choosing to only publicize the positive things that happened along the way. They present their stories through a gauzy pink veil that filters out the bad memories leaving only the good. We don’t see pictures of the very young or the pregnant or the Stage 4 breast cancer patients. We don’t see many pictures of women as they are trudging through treatment, pale and bald.  We don’t hear about the single mothers who go through treatment with little family support. We don’t see the black faces or the Asian, or the Hispanic ones. The media has painted a simplified and unrealistic picture that doesn’t accurately reflect the many faces or feelings of breast cancer.

The problems with this stereotype are many and they are troubling. Most survivors I”ve met in person or online do not relate to breast cancer being the greatest experience of their life. They remember the fear they felt when first diagnosed. Until they had the tumour removed and all the tests done, they didn’t know if the cancer had spread and if they were already dying. They remember the pain of their treatment, whether it was surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, or some combination of all  three. They may have received a lot of emotional and practical support during the diagnostic and the early treatment phases of their cancer only to find people slipping away the more time passes.
 
        
If they had reconstruction on one or both breasts, there may have been multiple painful surgeries involved with tissue expanders, implants, or the removal of another body part (skin and muscle from the stomach, back, or buttocks) to create the new breast(s). The end result of this surgery may still leave them with body image issues with the reconstructed breast not matching the natural one, the implant becoming hard and encapsulated with scar tissue, or even the body rejecting the transplanted body part and the person being left with no breast(s) at all, either temporarily or permanently. And what is never mentioned is that even if the reconstructed breasts look cosmetically wonderful, almost all feeling and sensation is gone. Forever.

Women are often fearful of the cancer recurring again or it spreading and metastisizing to their bones, lungs, liver, or brain. They may fear leaving young children behind should their cancer spread and they die.  They may find their shaky marriages dissolving from the extra weight of a cancer diagnosis. They will soon learn who their true friends are and will watch others in their life simply disappear as news of their breast cancer becomes known.

About 10% of breast cancer patients will learn that they are already Stage 4 at the time of the initial diagnosis. Another 30% will reach this stage eventually even if their initial cancers were caught at an early stage. There is no Stage 5. Stage 4 means the cancer has already spread elsewhere in the body. It can only be treated, not cured. Stage 4 is the only kind of cancer that kills although medical advances have allowed women to live longer with Stage 4 cancer than ever before. But for these women, chemotherapy and other treatments may go on for the rest of their lives, to keep the cancer from spreading even further.  They will never “beat cancer”. Their stories aren’t popular in the media.

Other women like myself will have cancer recurrences or grow new primary breast cancers in the same or the other breast. We do not die from local recurrences but the fear is even greater the second (or third or fourth time around). We know we are pushing our luck on the cancer wheel of fortune. How often can we keep catching recurrences in time before they spread into distant body parts? You don’t see many women in commercials saying I thought I beat cancer once but then it came back and I am in treatment again. This doesn’t fit with the storyline that if it is caught early and you survive 5 years, you have beaten cancer.

Stage 1 – 3 patients may be strong and full of fighting spirit while going through treatment but then fall apart when treatment ends. This is a fairly common occurrence as it feels that
your medical safety net is gone without the constant monitoring of your health by medical professionals. While active treatment can be very tough, there is still something reassuring about being seen by a medical team on a regular basis. Also, cancer treatment is like a full-time job with numerous appointments to see oncologists, plastic surgeons, and lab technicians. It is easy to set milestones and goals – 1 chemo down, 5 more to go. Treatment gives structure to your days and a final goal to keep working towards – the end of treatment. When that abruptly comes to an end, many survivors are left wondering, “what happens now?”

Friends and family may not be as supportive now that treatment is over. They feel that the worst is over now that you have completed surgery , chemotherapy, and/or radiation. They move on to other people and things, leaving you alone at a time when you might need their emotional support the most.                      

You may feel pushed and rushed by others to immediately resume your pre-cancer life once treatment ends and to put all that negative cancer stuff behind you. You may question yourself as to why you aren’t bouncing back from treatment more quickly like your friends, family, and the pink media ladies say you should. Your doctors may tell you to find your “new normal” before you even have had time to reflect on the very abnormal process that you have just experienced. 

Once you have had cancer, every follow- up oncologist appointment and every new scan, mammogram, or blood test brings anxiety levels up sky high again. Every new headache could be a brain tumour and every new ache and pain could be a sign that the cancer has spread to your bones.

You may wonder to yourself what you are doing wrong – why you didn’t find your pot of gold at the end of the pink rainbow.   

It does a disservice to those newly diagnosed and those just starting their cancer treatment process to portray breast cancer survivors as a uniformly brave, strong, courageous, and positive group of women. We survivors are all those things and more. But we are also scared, anxious, in pain, confused, disoriented, and angry at times. And that is normal. And that is okay.

Doctors have known for decades that a cancer diagnosis is an extremely stressful event and freely hand out anti-anxiety medication throughout the treatment process. They have heard their chemotherapy patients complain for years about “chemo brain” where forgetfulness and short term memory loss are common features that linger on after chemotherapy ends. They know many women suffer from the shock of a completely altered body with their breasts removed by mastectomy, their hair lost to chemotherapy, and their reproductive systems pushed into early menopause, either temporarily or permanently, by chemotherapy. New American studies have shown that approximately 25% of breast cancer patients will suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder sometime between diagnosis and the end of treatment. European studies have placed that number at closer to 50% of patients.

Many of these newly diagnosed women are in their 20’s and 30’s, just starting careers or families. Many received their breast cancer diagnosis while pregnant or while still breast feeding shortly after giving birth. Others are encouraged to undergo fertility treatment before starting chemotherapy so that their eggs can be frozen in the event that premature ovarian failure or permanent menopause prevents a future pregnancy.

More women each year are being tested for genetic defects that can hugely increase their risk of breast and ovarian cancers. If they test positive for a mutation, they will be strongly encouraged to have a double mastectomy and to have their ovaries and fallopian tubes removed by age 35. If they test positive for a mutation, this becomes a family affair with the whole immediate and extended family having to decide if they too should be tested to see if they also have the same genetic mutation. If a woman already has children, she will learn that each of her children, male and female, have a 50% chance of also inheriting this mutated gene. As genetic testing is not carried out on children, she will have to wait until they turn 18 and decide whether to get tested to see if she has passed her mutated gene onto her children.

It can be encouraging to read stories of women who have survived for many years after a cancer diagnosis without a recurrence or without the cancer spreading. All the memes on the internet urging you “to fight like a girl” or “to beat cancer’s ass” or even the more blunt and to the point, “Fuck cancer”, can be very empowering for both the woman undergoing treatment and the long term survivor. But I know for myself that it is difficult to stay in fighter mode 24 hours per day, 7 days per week. Again, speaking only for myself, I can’t live on a constant diet of positivity messages when I read or talk about cancer. It is like living on a high sugar diet. After awhile, the sugar buzz fades and I come crashing down. Hard.

Cancer has definitely changed my life, not always for the better. I need to read about the struggles of the newly diagnosed, the stories of women going through treatment, and especially the stories of the women with Stage 4 cancer. I need the grit of painful reality so I don’t forget where I came from and what I went through. I need these stories so I don’t sugar coat my story for the next person struggling with some of breast cancer’s less positive realities, thinking to myself that cancer or treatment or facing multiple new primaries wasn’t all that bad. It was that bad and some days still is. What is your cancer story? Do you prefer only to read positive stories or can you make room for some less positive ones as well?

Sharon Greene November 23, 2014

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Why I Chose Not to Have a Double Mastectomy


Ok, I’ll admit that the title of this article is slightly misleading. But only slightly. I now have a double mastectomy but it took 22 years from first diagnosis and 4 bouts of breast cancer to get there. I never did choose a double mastectomy. It just kind of happened when I had exhausted all other treatment options.

When people hear that I am a 4 time survivor, they shake their heads and wonder why I didn’t have a double mastectomy when I was first diagnosed with cancer. The reasons for the decisions I made were partly historical, partly personal choice, and partly based on the medical advice I received at the time.

Historical and Medical Reasons

My first diagnosis of breast cancer was in 1988. This was at a time where women’s health advocates had been fighting for years to provide women with breast conserving options after many decades of the standard treatment being the Halstead radical mastectomy. This operation bears little resemblance to today’s mastectomies as all the chest muscles and structure were removed along with the breast, leaving a large hollow on that side of the chest. By all accounts, this was a horribly disfiguring surgery that almost guaranteed the patient life long problems with the arm on the side where the breast had been removed. The 1980’s brought in a new surgery – the lumpectomy – which removed the tumour and a wide area around it which allowed women to keep part or most of their breast, depending on the size of the tumour and the size of the breast. The removal of a big tumour in a small breast would be much more disfiguring than the removal of a small tumour in a big breast. Lumpectomy combined with 6 weeks of radiation treatment was found to have comparable results for mortality and reoccurrence as a full mastectomy (removal of breast with chest muscles left intact). These same statistics hold true today, except for women like me who have a genetically based cancer. The prevailing mood of the times was that the lumpectomy and radiation regime was a huge step forward for women taking back control of their bodies from the male dominated medical profession.

The knowledge base in the 1980’s was much more limited than it is today. Today we recognize at least 5 major types of cancer: lobular, inflammatory, hormone positive, herceptin positive, and triple negative, the type that I have. In 1988, herceptin had not been discovered and without knowledge of its existence, there was no category for triple negative cancer as the triple means the cancer is not fueled by the hormones estrogen and progesterone nor by herceptin. It is now often said that triple negative cancer is the most aggressive cancer but in 1988, all that could be said was that my cancer was not caused by hormones. We now know that the prescence of triple negative cancer in a young person often leads to the conclusion that the cancer is hereditary in nature. I was diagnosed at 29. The average age for breast cancer patients is 55-60.                
             
There was no genetic testing for breast cancer as there is today. There was the knowledge that having a family history of the disease was a risk factor but there was as yet no proof that some cancers were due to a genetic mutation in the BRCA1 or BRCA2 genes. A family history was just one of many risk factors that could make a person more likely to get breast cancer, no more or less significant than failing to have a pregnancy before 20, failing to have breast fed a baby, or having an early start to menstruation. I had all of these factors working against me so while the doctors noted my young age as being unusual for this disease, the combination of all my risk factors provided some explanation. My young age in itself did not set off any warning bells as it would today.

I was given the option of either a single mastectomy or a lumpectomy with radiation. No one would have even considered suggesting a double mastectomy as the other breast was seemingly healthy. Why cut off a perfectly healthy body part in a 29 year old woman? It was pretty much assumed by the doctors that I would go the lumpectomy route as I was a young unmarried woman with no significant other and no children. I did agree to meet with a plastic surgeon to see how they could reconstruct my breast if I chose a single mastectomy. Let’s just say reconstruction surgery has progressed tremendously in the last 25 years. Looking through the book of photos that the plastic surgeon proudly showed me,  I was appalled and horrified at the results. Thanks but no thanks! I”ll have the lumpectomy if you don’t mind. Doctors, family, and friends all assured me I’d made the right decision.

I stayed healthy and was cancer free until I went in for my 5 year check-up. I always thought that if you made it to 5 years, your cancer was cured. Unfortunately, another lump was found in the same breast. Lumpectomy was no longer an option as you can only have radiation treatment on the same breast once. My only option this time was a mastectomy and 9 months of chemotherapy. I was 34 when I had a mastectomy on my left breast. The pathology report again said I had hormone negative cancer but it was much more aggressive than the first tumour had been. The pathogists concluded that this wasn’t a recurrence of the first cancer but was a brand new primary cancer. I was told that even if I’d had a mastectomy at 29, I still would have gotten cancer again 5 years later. Again, no one suggested a double mastectomy as triple negative cancer still hadn’t been discovered and genetic testing wasn’t available.

Two years later at 36, a mammogram of my right breast showed a tiny cancer that was too small to be felt. Having breast cancer 3 times in 7 years at my age was highly unusual but my family doctor was the only one to push me towards a second mastectomy. Genetic testing was now just becoming available so I agreed to having a lumpectomy immediately and would have a second operation for a mastectomy if I was found to have a genetic cancer. The type of genetic testing that was available at the time only looked for the wrong “lettering” in the parts of the BRCA 1 and 2 genes that had been decoded to date. In other words, if the code was supposed to be ” “abcd” and your code read “abcf”, the test would catch it and would compare your code with others with the same lettering to see if it had been linked with breast cancer. They did find one wrong letter in my coding but it was of “unknown significance” (and still is 18 years later) as there weren’t enough people with this particular variation to determine if it was associated with breast cancer or not. I was basically told that unless I heard otherwise, to assume I did not have a hereditary cancer. The doctors called it a new primary cancer as it was in the other breast but assured me that as it was caught so early, the likelihood of recurrence or metastisis was miniscule.   (We now know that early detection doesn’t always work that way and many people do have recurrences and metastasis even when caught at such an early stage). So the breast stayed after a lumpectomy and another 6 week stint of radiation.

I was cancer free for the next 16 years, only going for yearly mammograms. I felt pretty damn safe after all that time. Cancer was a thing of the past, something I had seemingly outgrown. But in 2011, the mammogram
picked up some calcifications in my right breast that were highly suspicious for cancer. I had my second mastectomy in 2011 followed by a different type of chemotherapy than I had when I was 34. It was at this time that I learned I was having my fourth battle with triple negative cancer. The pathologists had retested the old tumours to come up with this finding. They saw that each cancer was progressively more aggressive than the one before. The pathologists are divided as to whether this was my fourth new primary cancer or if this was a recurrence with the previous cancer cells hiding and evolving in my body for 16 years. I was urged to be genetically retested as the tests could now also look for things other than rearrangement of the coding letters. The retest showed that I was missing a large portion of genetic material at the end of my BRCA1 gene. The genetic counsellor described it as being like a book with the last 4 chapters ripped out. It took 22 years to learn I had genetic triple negative breast cancer. The deletion in my BRCA1 gene also put me at a high risk of getting ovarian cancer so after chemotherapy was over, I had my ovaries and tubes removed as a preventive measure. Just as having a mastectomy does not guarantee you won’t get breast cancer again either in the scar tissue or metastisized to some other organ, ovary removal does not mean you can’t get cancer where your ovaries used to be. But I’m keeping my fingers crossed that 4 bouts of cancer are enough for one person!

Personal Reasons

My first three cancers occurred in my 20’s and 30’s. While there were support groups available, I never met anyone who was even remotely close to me in age. I thought I was the only one my age going through this. I was single, trying to re-enter the dating market, and couldn’t imagine doing so without a breast. (After all, who wants to date the only 29 year old woman in the world without a breast?) The reconstruction pictures I saw at 29 were frightening and the actual reconstruction I got at 34 was even worse. I was not anxious to do the whole thing over again at 36 when it was such a tiny cancer that had been caught early. And by 36, I had done my due diligence, gone for genetic testing, and had been cleared for hereditary cancer. Coupled with that, my mother had a lumpectomy without radiation in 1980 and her breast cancer never came back. By the time of my first cancer diagnosis, she had not only survived breast cancer, but she had also battled ovarian cancer 3 years earlier. By the time of my second cancer, she was dead from her second bout of colon cancer but her breast cancer never came back.

Call me vain and shallow for wanting to keep my breasts as long as I could. That’s okay. It was a different world then. Breast cancer was still stigmatized, I was insecure, I was scared, and I had no idea my genetic make-up predisposed me to having cancer after cancer. My present oncologist believes I still would have had multiple breast cancers even if I had double mastectomies back in 1988 as like my mother, I get new primaries not recurrences.

I try to imagine what I would have done had medical science been more advanced, had complete genetic testing been available, and had I been living in a world of online support groups for young women. A world like today where breast cancer is fully mainstream and there is a whole month of the year dedicated to raising awareness of the disease. Would I have done things differently? Maybe, but I don’t know for sure. Even if all my choices were wrong, breast cancer is such a crap shoot that I find myself still alive and kicking 25 years later while so many others who did everything right are dead. Breast cancer isn’t just or fair. I carry my fair share of survivor’s guilt but that is a topic for a whole other post.

Sharon Greene November 5, 2014

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Goodbye Pinktober… see you next year.


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Goodbye October with its pink ribbons, pink merchandise, and silly pink uniformed  athletes. The color pink in October symbolizes breast cancer awareness month. Some people run races for “the cure” while others buy pink trinkets that promise to donate some (tiny) portion of the purchase price to an unspecified breast cancer charity.

There is a lot of controversy about Pinktober in the breast cancer community. Many survivors hate it as all the money spent on “going pink” translates into very little money spent on actual breast cancer research for better lives, better treatment, or an actual cure for the disease. After the merchants and the big cancer charities take their cut of the profits and donations, the little money left goes to promoting breast cancer awareness and to organizing more pinktober races and events for the next year. I think it is safe to say that the majority of the nation is already very aware that breast cancer exists. They may not be aware that early detection and yearly mammograms do not always save lives. Some 30-40% of us continue to die of the disease. There is nothing pretty or pink about any kind of death from cancer.

When I was first diagnosed with breast cancer at 29 in the Dark Ages of 1988, Pinktober didn’t exist. Neither did the internet with its information and support groups. It was still seen as an old ladies’ disease and at 29, I had no sense of community with others in my age group that were fighting this disease. I would have loved a pink ribbon and people running races on my behalf. Pinktober did what it set out to do and took breast cancer out of the closet and into the light.

But with that goal accomplished, Pinktober has turned into a massively commercial operation, a lumbering elephant, that exists with no clear purpose anymore. Instead of going pink, try donating directly to Metavivor, one of the few breast cancer charities that actually spends all its donation money on research for a cure. Or better yet, if you know someone with breast cancer, offer to drive them for treatments, look after their kids for a few hours, or bring by some groceries or a few home cooked meals. This will do more to support those living with the disease than all the pink ribbons or Save the Tatas teeshirts you can buy.

Happy November everyone! No more pink for another year. Thank God.

Sharon Greene November 3, 2014

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