Overcoming Breast Cancer with the Support of the Pink Bubble

Frederika B., Fabrika’s Angels

In 2016, I was 48 years old and had gotten my annual mammogram/sonogram at the very posh and social New York City office of radiologist Dr. Miriam Levy. One of many easy, breezy routine visits where tiny, porcelain-skinned, wild-red-haired Dr. Levy would give me a clean bill of health from behind three ginormous computer screens with images of my cancer-free breasts. I left with a healthy report card in hand, excited to add that white paper scrap to my collection from prior years. I felt organized, I was taking such good care of “the girls” and I wanted to celebrate my lucky fortune. I will never really understand why I had that reaction that year, but I emailed my boss, and said I wouldn’t be returning to the office. Instead, I went to Sheeps Meadow in Central Park, one of my all-time favorite spots. I laid flat on the bright green grass and looked straight up at the blue sky and felt very, very grateful. I even took a picture of the lawn that day. It was risky to not go back to the office, but a greater voice was urging me to honor my health by grounding and thanking the universe. There are so many anecdotes to that day’s visit to Dr. Levy’s office; running into an old work friend who shared the same birthday that I hadn’t seen in years; the woman who told us she comes in every six months, instead of waiting a full year, because the waiting was too much to bear; the woman who said she always gets worried when it takes too long to see Dr. Levy after the tests because it means bad news. And it does, as I found out the very next year, when I went back in at age 49.

I didn’t run into anyone that visit, and I did wait a very long time for Dr. Miriam to call me back to her office. But I was too naive to be scared, so I just waited as we all do at busy doctors’ offices. She called me in, looking paler and tinier this year, even though her hair was bigger. She said there was something suspicious that we should biopsy, so I said, with no fear, “Let’s do it! Can I do it now?” And because it’s New York City and a posh office, the answer was yes. So, a smush, clip and ouch later, I was all done, once again feeling very organized that I was taking care of “the girls.”

It was a few days later on Thursday, March 23, 2017 and I was taking a cab down the West Side Highway to work at 1 World Trade Center. My cell phone rang and Dr. Levy was on the other line. “I’m delighted to hear from her,” I thought. That was a rookie reaction. It was not a social call; it was a call to tell me that I had cancer. I was teary-eyed in the back of a yellow taxi, speeding down the West Side Highway with my window all the way open, looking out at the Hudson River. My cell phone was pressed to my ear, the cabbie looking at me through his rear-view mirror, listening to me sob. I had breast cancer.

I was in utter disbelief. I managed to end the call with Dr. Levy, pay the cab driver, show my badge to security, remain calm in a crowded elevator, make it to the 18th floor, walk down the corridors, past offices with colleagues in them, slide my glass office door open, then shut, dial my parents at home and bawl. “I have breast cancer,” I stuttered. Four life-changing words I’d never thought I’d utter. That moment feels like yesterday, but when I look back at the selfie I took in my office that day after hanging up with my parents, I feel like I look like a baby. A lost baby, and I realize that was a lifetime ago.

That Friday, in an unbelievable turn of events, I was let go from my job. After 11 years of working with that company, the one-two punch of a cancer diagnosis and losing my job was devastating. It all felt like the end of life. Cancer is scary, especially when it happens to you, and in New York, top media jobs are far and few between. It is very hard to land one, especially at the age of 49. I suddenly felt very old and frightened, and to this day I still feel the ramifications of that one, two punch.

Treatment was with an excellent team at Memorial Sloan Kettering. My breast surgeon performed a successful lumpectomy, and out to dinner that night I went. Treatment for my stage 1, IDC breast cancer, Onco score 18, included chemotherapy, radiation and Tamoxofin. It was grueling, and I spiraled into early menopause with hot flashes, falling spells, and crying jags. My mental health crashed. Tamoxofin comes with a warning about mental health side effects which I took seriously, conferring with both my psychiatrist and my oncologist. We all agreed I should try a half dose for a month and see how it goes. I also had to stop taking my anti-depressant/anti-anxiety medication. And everything seemed OK, didn’t it? So, I moved on to the full dose, but after four months my brain chemistry changed. The trauma of the cancer diagnosis and the job loss led to a total identity crisis that was amplified by chemo-induced menopause. I was no longer just fighting breast cancer. I was also fighting for my mental health, and that has turned out to be a fight for life, and the fight of my life. I used to blame the loss of my mental health on the Tamoxofin, but the truth is, I was struggling with my life. I wasn’t happy; I was single, lonely, working very hard in a stressful job in a tough city. I didn’t have it all, and I wasn’t grateful enough for what I did have.

I wasn’t on my feet yet when a second cancer in my other breast appeared in July of 2019. I wasn’t strong enough for a brutal second round of fighting, and I was more alone than ever, having scared and alienated many friends and family. They had known me as a funny, independent woman. They did not like, nor could they handle, the scared child I had become following my diagnosis. Who was I? What had I become? Where had that old me gone? Would she ever come back? I remember sitting on a sofa in a friend’s living room, talking in a monotone voice, wondering if I would ever laugh again. Spirit and soul had left me, and I was frightened senselessly by the excruciating prospect of more chemotherapy and medication that would set me back, yet again, mentally. Following my second diagnosis, I had a lumpectomy and radiation. On the cold floor in my dark apartment in the late fall and early winter nights leading, I had many haunting dark nights of the soul when COVID came. I left New York and moved to California to reclaim my life, and it was in San Diego that I found beauty, peace, pride and love in the Pink Bubble of the Susan G. Komen 3-Day®.

A friend of mine was walking to honor a close friend of hers who had lost her fight with breast cancer, and I wanted to walk with her in November 2023. I wanted to honor her friend, honor my own fight and raise money to eradicate breast cancer. It seemed like such a terrific way to get into shape, enjoy San Diego, and raise money for a cause close to my heart. Little did I know that the Komen 3-Day would show me I was not alone, and walking would fuel me to fight again. I discovered that I had sisters everywhere around the world and we were all in this together. I had never felt that before and it gives me a reason to live. On March 27, 2024, I received my third diagnosis that months later was confirmed Stage 4 breast cancer that had metastasized to my lungs, colon and chest. I have the most glorious pink sisters along with me for this journey and I am stronger, more satisfied with my life. I was still rebuilding it, but I have come a long way, and I am eager to face and fight cancer again because the rewards are moments of exuberance and community that define the Pink Bubble.

One of my favorite memories from the 2023 San Diego 3-Day® that I’m looking forward to experiencing again in 2024 includes the rally call for survivors and those living with breast cancer to lead the walk on the first morning. It was profound and stands alone as one of the most awesome moments in my life. I was overcome by emotion as we gathered together, feeling as if we were all stars with everybody cheering us on. It was magnificent. It didn’t feel like the start of a walk, it felt like a ceremony celebrating life. Since it was my first 3-Day, I didn’t know survivors would be called out. And out of nowhere, I just burst into tears. I felt the floodgates open. And it was so cathartic. These were my people. I have people. And there they are in all their glory. It was a stunning moment. Indescribable. Time stopped still. I moved along with the crowd of survivors, humbled and in awe at the same time. It was the first time I saw beauty in the cancer world; no pain, no fear, just joy, love and laughs—the Pink Bubble. The Pink Bubble is protected from the outside world fiercely, filled with kindness, support, love and vulnerability.

I also loved seeing all the local policeman on their bikes, decked out in pink gear, radios blasting tunes to keep us moving. I loved seeing the local high school cheer squads, the wild outfits, hearing the poignant stories of why women walked. I loved learning how the organization helped those in need, and I loved the Closing Ceremony. Once again, survivors and those living with breast cancer were called to lead all the walkers, not to start the walk but to finish it. And as we held hands, we walked past friends and family, and I looked every single person I passed in the eyes. And they looked right back at me, directly into my eyes with such love and adoration, it was unbelievable. I couldn’t get enough of it. It was as though all those years of starvation for love and affection were melting away. When the days get hard now, I look forward to experiencing that again. I hope to experience that again.

As everyone cleared the lawn to return home, I jumped on the stage with my survivor rose and danced, which my friend videoed. Although I don’t love how I look in the video, I LOVE that video and I posted it on my Instagram anyway. It is me; the me who walked through fire and got to the other side, the me who is facing the fire again, but with the Pink Bubble behind her. I have never in my life experienced the level of unconditional love, support and recognition that lives inside the Pink Bubble, a 72-hour human experience packed with enough love, spirit, wisdom, humor, audaciousness and support to get the sisterhood through the hardest fight of their life. It is a 72-hour lesson in human compassion, empathy, resilience, and determination. I felt safe, loved, free, happy, and unencumbered. I felt rewarded, challenged, lucky and important. I could be myself and talk to anybody about anything. I was seen and heard. And I looked and listened. Because that is the glory of the Pink Bubble.

I need the 3-Day to survive. It is an essential part of who I have become, and I want to be a part of the end of breast cancer by raising money for the cause. I can’t wait to see everyone again in San Diego.

November Pink Bubble Story of the Month – Debra E.

Every year, thousands of philanthropic individuals come together in cities across the country to walk 20, 40, or 60 miles, united by a common goal—making a significant impact in the fight against breast cancer. Amongst those in the ocean of pink this year was Debra E., a breast cancer survivor who participated in her first ever 3-Day this year in Denver, both as a crew member and 1-Day walker. We met with Debra who shared her personal journey, reflecting on how this experience deeply touched her heart.

Last year, Debra heard about the 3-Day on a Facebook post which prompted her to become involved with Susan G. Komen both locally and with the 3-Day. Inspired by her own survivorship, her grandmother and several close friends who have battled breast cancer, she decided to participate in the 2022 Susan G. Komen Denver More Than Pink Walk. Having loved her experience at that event, she signed up for the 3-Day to further contribute to the cause.

As a first-time 3-Dayer and combination crew member and walker, Debra was unsure of what to expect, but was blown away by her experience. She was able to make friends with both crew and walkers, so while walking on Day 3, crew members that she met in days prior were cheering her on along the route and at the finish line. Recounting her first-time laying eyes on the sea of people who were all there to support survivors, thrivers, and those walking for loved ones that could not, the feeling was indescribable. “Everyone had a smile and supportive words, and it was so infectious,” she shared. “Walking was a very supportive experience. Even when I struggled because I had a knee injury, I was still getting encouragement and support from everyone in the Pink Bubble!”

Participating in the 3-Day necessitates both physical and mental preparation. To adequately prepare for the monumental event, Debra took advice that veteran walkers shared on the Facebook pages and during the online Social Hours. She went on training walks and fundraised through social media and by emailing everyone she could think of.

Debra recalls her favorite moments of the Denver 3-Day meeting the incredible walkers and crew members, and that seeing her loved ones as she crossed the finish line was particularly humbling. Her advice to anyone who is hesitant to sign up is “Just do it! It may sound very daunting, but I expect that you will get caught up in the excitement and won’t even notice the miles go by.” Having loved her experience at the 3-Day, Debra has signed up to crew/walk the 2024 Denver and crew San Diego 3-Day.

It’s people like Debra who make the 3-Day possible and such a rewarding experience. It is about so much more than walking, but coming together to do something challenging as we raise funds to advance breast cancer research, treatment, and awareness. In Debra’s very own words, “We [walk to] raise money so that we can eradicate breast cancer FOREVER!”

See previous Pink Bubble Story of the Month blog posts here.

October Pink Bubble Story of the Month — Sandra G.

Sandra’s journey with the Susan G. Komen 3-Day began in the bustling streets of Manhattan, with a simple yet powerful step. While in remission from breast cancer, she was walking a 5K and found herself yearning to make a more profound impact. It was at this event when Sandra met a man whose wife was walking the same 5K while in the midst of her battle with breast cancer. Noting her own health and this woman’s bravery, Sandra began researching what more she could do, when she stumbled upon the 3-Day.

With a clean bill of health, Sandra registered to embark on her 3-Day adventure in 2020, which was unfortunately delayed due to COVID-19. The following year, she found herself with a Stage IV breast cancer diagnosis and ended up participating in her first walk while fighting the disease. For the past three years, her motivation to continue walking has been deeply rooted in the incredible community support and the substantial funds she and her team have raised. As she faces the challenges of Stage IV breast cancer, Sandra remains steadfast in her resolve to participate in the 3-Day, not only to raise funds for herself but to stand alongside others who share her experience. With each step, she strives to make a difference that extends beyond her own story, so that future generations don’t have to endure the tumultuous path she has endured. This year, she’s taking her mission to the Pacific coast as she walks in San Diego, continuing once again on the path of hope and healing.

Among the myriad of memories Sandra cherishes from her past 3-Day walks, one stands out as a testament to the remarkable connections forged during this saga. Two years ago, she found herself climbing a challenging hill, her determination slightly waning. However, a fellow walker approached her and struck up a conversation, asking about her story. Their interaction and shared purpose propelled her to conquer that hill, proving the incredible power of human connection in overcoming obstacles.

Sandra’s commitment to raising funds for breast cancer research is unwavering, fueled by her personal experiences. As she puts it, “no mother, daughter, son, husband, etc., should ever have to go through what I have been through,” referencing the years of chemotherapy, radiation, and emotional toll the battle has put on her and her loved ones. Her conviction is a driving force that motivates her to push her limits and inspires others to join her cause.

When asked about the best piece of advice she’d ever received regarding the 3-Day, Sandra emphasized the importance of taking care of one’s feet by wearing proper shoes. It’s’ a simple yet crucial reminder that speaks to the physical demands of the event (and a great opportunity to buy a cute pair of sneakers).

For those who are contemplating joining the 3-Day but have yet to take that leap, Sandra offers a message of hope and reassurance: “It is an inspiration and, in the end, not as hard as it seems. The cause is worth it.” Her words echo her own experience, showing that the path to making a difference is accessible to all who are willing to embark on it. While hard, she notes that walking 60 miles is not as hard as what she has been through in her fight against breast cancer. She wants to show people it can be done, and that walking is worth the effort to find the cures.

In closing, Sandra reflects on her extraordinary journey, one that began amidst challenges and uncertainty. Her inaugural walk, postponed due to the pandemic and undertaken after her Stage IV diagnosis, stands as a testament to her unwavering spirit and determination. With a sense of pride and hope, Sandra reveals that, in just three years, her efforts have contributed to raising around $100,000—a sum that serves as a beacon of hope for the future. As she continues her journey with the 3-Day, Sandra’s story serves as an inspiration, demonstrating the phenomenal impact that one person’s dedication and determination can have on a cause that touches so many lives.