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.

Baking Pies and Saving Lives

Janet S. is a breast cancer survivor and Susan G. Komen 3-Day® walker who raises money in the sweetest way possible—baking pies! For years, she has been using her mother-in-law’s foolproof recipe to bake delicious pies for her family. When it came time to fundraise for the Komen 3-Day, she began baking and selling mini pies at her friend’s bakery for $5 each, once a week, which they called “Pie Day Tuesday.” She would make two flavors, apple and triple berry (blueberry, raspberry and blackberry) which always sold out rather quickly. Soon, she found herself scaling her pie fundraising by baking in higher quantities for events such as community-wide swap meets, garage sale days, and school bazaars. Seeing how much people loved the pies, she then started to sell them on Facebook a few times a year. Before she knew it, she was offering nine different flavors. “When I do an event or Facebook sale, I usually bake 200 to 250 pies in a two-day period… I have a regular kitchen and one oven, so things get pretty crowded.”

Janet’s pies are made entirely from scratch and her husband assists in tasks like peeling apples and managing the kitchen during busy baking periods. She has even involved her grandchildren in the pie-making process, teaching them how to roll dough. Immediately after the San Diego 3-Day each year, Janet kicks off the next year’s fundraising by baking about 30-35 full-size Thanksgiving pies to raise money for breast cancer treatment and research, a cause that is near to her heart. Janet was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2002 after her annual physical check-up when her doctor performed a breast exam where he found nothing, but suggested she get her first mammogram anyway. Janet tended to procrastinate but didn’t delay this time, a decision that saved her life, since the cancer was detected at an early stage (DCIS). She underwent a lumpectomy followed with five years of Tamoxifen treatment before she joined the Pink Bubble. She was inspired to walk when she learned that her friend and fellow survivor Darcy H. was participating, and Janet knew that she wanted to do something to advocate for early detection. She and her daughter Jessi C. began walking the following year at the 2007 Seattle 3-Day where they participated yearly until transitioning to San Diego in 2022. They have since walked the San Diego 3-Day in 2023 and have plans to return in 2024.

She encourages others not to hesitate in asking for donations, noting that people are often willing to contribute when they know the cause. In addition to baking pies, Janet’s family has organized fundraising events like bunco nights and “bowling for boobies” at a local bowling’ alley which she says always have a great turnout. To Janet, the Pink Bubble is a place of solidarity, gratitude, and determination to overcome the disease which has affected so many of us. She expresses her appreciation for the support of others during her walks and emphasizes the importance of gratitude throughout her journey.

Cynthia S. Recounts her Battle with Breast Cancer and First Time at the Susan G. Komen 3-Day®

By Cynthia S., 3-Day Walker

I had always taken my breast health seriously. On my father’s side of the family my great grandmother, grandmother and great aunt were all diagnosed with breast cancer in their fifties. Mammograms started yearly at age forty for me. I realized the importance of these screenings as I was called back at different times for more images to be taken to ensure all was clear. This was comforting to me as I knew mammograms worked and I was being checked over carefully for anything that could look suspicious.

One year after the extra images were taken it came to be known that I had atypical cells that needed to be removed through surgery as they could potentially turn into cancer cells. I continued to follow through diligently every year with my mammogram hopeful that I would continue to get that letter in the mail that everything looks good and no abnormalities.

In July of 2011, I received a call that I needed to go in for a biopsy. Then after a few days of anxious waiting I was told that I had breast cancer. I still remember the words ringing in my ears as I was listening to my trusted gynecologist on the other end of the line. Soon after that day we were on our family vacation at the lake with our three young daughters and both sets of our parents. My husband and I would go into town each day because of the limited cell service and make several phone calls to make sure I had all the necessary appointments in line for when we returned home. It was not until after we knew exactly what the prognosis was that we explained what was going on to our children.

I was diagnosed with invasive ducal carcinoma of the left breast. My oncologist recommended I get the BRCA gene test urgently because of my family history and having three daughters. He also recommended a new cutting-edge test at that time called Oncotype DX to determine my treatment plan after surgery. In the end those tests suggested the most effective path for my treatment, two surgeries, and a lumpectomy. My treatment plan included six weeks of radiation, oral medication for five years, and six infusion treatments of Zometa for the strengthening of my bones.

During this challenging time, I felt so much support and love from my family, friends, and community. I had a friend tell me, “The good thing that will come out of this difficult experience is the outpouring of those who want to help and be there for you in any way they can.” She continued with, “There will be people you may not even know, but they will come, and your life will be different because of their kindness and encouraging words.”

This past September, I participated in the Susan G. Komen Chicago 3-Day with two of my three daughters, Lauren and Bella. My youngest, Sophia, is still in college and cheered us on as we trained and prepared for the special weekend. I had been wanting to participate in the Komen 3-Day and this seemed to be the perfect opportunity as the stars aligned to join the Pink Bubble for the weekend to raise money, share experiences, and meet new friends and support each other. My middle daughter, Bella, spoke at the event as a co-survivor, which brought tears to my heart. Looking back, you are very scared as an adult, but in a child’s eyes nothing is scarier than the unknown and having a mom with cancer. She and her sister connected with the other co-survivors that weekend which was comforting in so many ways for them.

It’s hard to describe the special weekend in the Pink Bubble as you have so many emotions. You laugh, cry, give hugs and smiles, you learn of other people’s stories and the importance of this community of people coming together for a special cause. My girls and I were honored to be there amongst such strong warriors. As you walk the route you are taken by the hand the hand the whole way by either a car driving by honking [and cheering] “Let’s go!” or several of the volunteers meeting you at each stop dressed in fun pink attire. At times we were even greeted by complete strangers that want to encourage you and give you candy or fun tattoos! We really enjoyed the photo opportunities along the way! Super fun and such a great memory! This is an experience like no other and we are all doing it together for the fight to end breast cancer!