That Was Then, This Is Now: The Army Ending Breast Cancer

Back in the 50's, breast cancer was a taboo topic. Women that were diagnosed felt obliged to keep the diagnosis hush-hush, it was spoken of only in whispers and shrouded in fear. Radical surgeries, highly toxic treatments, and social stigma left women that were diagnosed devastated by the disease. The 60's and 70’s saw some improvement to this, as stories of survival gained public attention, women’s health initiatives grew, and the American Cancer Society stepped up its communications efforts. The 80's brought the onset of the "breast cancer awareness" movement, a result of growing disease incidence and news media propagation. Emotionally evocative breast cancer stories filled media air time and made the cover of prominent magazines.


No doubt about it, the evolution of breast cancer consciousness is responsible for reducing breast cancer deaths. As the subject became more "normalized" and less taboo, pro-health communications campaigns circulated. The disease went from something never spoken of to something discussed in nearly any social circumstance. The message of "early detection" found its way to more and more women, resulting in more cancers identified during early treatable stages. With cancers identified sooner, the survival rate increased. Early breast cancer benevolent groups were effective in saving thousands of lives.

Awareness walks emerged, effectively serving the dual purpose of visually reminding the public of the breast cancer epidemic and bringing participants together in productive collaborations. The “charity walk” paradigm spread, with well meaning walker/fundraisers now having to choose one beneficiary alliance over another. Two day walks, three day walks, relay walks, regional walks...the field of breast cancer walks and coalitions grew. While raising money for the cause, participants in these humanitarian walk efforts gained real benefits of increased self-esteem, social/emotional networking, and empowerment. Before long, hospitals began sponsoring their own breast cancer "awareness raising" events which, not just by coincidence, reflected positively on their marketing agendas.

As the movement twisted, turned and wove a complex web, corporate America jumped onboard, its marketing gurus seeing the potential of “cause association” advertising. The pink ribbon, inspired by the success of the AIDS awareness ribbon, became associated with the breast cancer cause. Beginning in the early 1990’s, breast cancer charities, in their zeal to collect as much money as possible, began partnering with profit-driven entities for whom "altruism" ranked 2nd to "product promotion". As evidence of its potential economic collateral mounted, charitable organizations like Komen sought registered trademarks in the use of the iconic pink ribbon symbol. Promising varying percentages of product profits, corporations inked the evocative pink ribbon on everything from soup cans to pot scrubbers, lest there be any question of their stance "for the cure" (as opposed to "against the cure"?). Competitive Corporate America, driven to distinguish brands and products, jumped by the hundreds into the sacks of bloated breast cancer non-profits. The proliferation of the ubiquitous breast cancer "pink ribbon" began to actually mimic cancer, spreading to a point of phenomenal "pink noise". Cause-related marketing spread like an uncontrolled disease. The pink ink syndrome occurred particularly during October, which was deemed Breast Cancer Awareness month. (Folks, I assure you that breast cancer is a year round disease). Discriminating companies, those supporting the most effective breast cancer organizations, have truly made a remarkable impact in saving lives from the grips of breast cancer. However, some of the tremendous earlier efforts to reduce fear have become eroded by the overwhelming use of the pink ribbon on consumer products. For many, particularly those directly impacted by breast cancer, the repetitive visual reminder is not unlike the incessant “nevermore” reiterations of Poe’s Raven.

That was then, this is now. From its beginnings in the mid-twentieth century to the pink ribbon period, the “awareness” and “commercialization” chapters of breast cancer are waning. A new and exciting chapter in the fight against breast cancer is commencing, one that will not only eradicate breast cancer, but will also shed light on stopping cancers of all types. This final chapter is focused on stopping breast cancer before it starts. It requires targeted, collaborative, and concerted research partnerships. And, this cancer prevention research, in order to be truly fruitful and expeditious, requires scientifically significant study enrollment.

So, back to the grass roots that got us this far. Just as Dr Susan Love and other grandmothers of the breast cancer movement effectively engaged humanity in life-saving breast cancer awareness, the time has arrived for women and men to become engaged in research that will prevent the disease from occurring all together.

Wise organization like the National Breast Cancer Coalition, the Avon Breast Cancer Foundation, and the Army of Women are leading the way, calling for an end to breast cancer by 2020. So far, half a million ordinary people have committed to the solution, ready to write the next chapter against breast cancer. The Army of Women research database, and the technology that enables it, are the wave of the future. This time, the grass roots span the entire global community. Any individual, anywhere in the world that has internet access, can act to be part of the solution by simply allowing researchers to study their lifestyles and health. It’s about significant research acceleration enabled by the participation of ordinary people. This new chapter of the breast cancer legacy will take the ribbon that was once used to symbolize breast cancer and use it to tie the disease up – forever. Join the Avon/Love Army of Women today at www.armyofwomen.org and be part of the countdown to the end of breast cancer.

The Importance of Breast Reconstruction After Mastectomies

My name is Donna Bramante InDelicato. I am a mother, a wife, a daughter and friend, a communications professional. I hail from the small town of Windham, New Hampshire. I am compelled to share my story of hope. What I have to share is big. It’s about women’s welfare.

Gentlemen and ladies…when I tell you I am thrilled to be here…. I mean that quite literally. You see, I am two-time breast cancer survivor.


I am ONE woman.. in a sea of MILLIONS.

THIS VERY DAY, 3780 women all over the world will hear the dreaded words, “You have breast cancer.” That’s about 25,000 EVERY SINGLE WEEK!!!! For many of you reading this, breast cancer is, or will be, personal.

My story is one of MILLIONS.. a narrative of epic battles and incremental steps forward, a roundabout journey from which I am finally home. Two winters ago, I closed what I hope will be the final chapter of my breast cancer story. My cancer has been in remission for seven years, and all that cancer took away from me has been restored and more.

Nine years ago, at just 34 years old, a diagnosis of cancer was the last thing I ever expected. Not a single person in my extended European (Italian-Polish-Danish) family had ever had cancer. My cancer adventure began in the office of my gynecologist, where a clinical exam confirmed a palpable breast lump. I was granted passage to a breast surgeon’s office, where ultrasound and a biopsy led to my diagnosis: early stage breast cancer. Shared tears, a stiff brandy, several sleepless nights, and a partial mastectomy later, my family and I believed our breast cancer episode was done (whew!). But, that was not to be…..

Four years later, while breastfeeding my darling daughter, I felt a lump. An eternal optimist, I brushed this off, thinking it was due to lactation. What I assumed was “nothing” turned out to be a serious malignacy – invasive, triple negative breast cancer, infiltrating out of my breast to several lymph nodes. This diagnosis was tough on me, but even tougher on all the people that love me, who helplessly stood by, masking their fears.

Life can change pretty quickly, I learned. I was swept up in a rip tide of activity threatening to pull me under. The first order of business was to get the cancerous cells out of my body with the removal of both my breasts. In a matter of weeks I was reduced from a vibrant, active entrepreneur and busy mother of two to a bald and sickly “two-dimensional woman-boy”. I needed an arsenal of treatments to survive, and was subsequently infused with chemotherapy and zapped with radiation. I lost my long hair, and felt totally diminished.

“This difficult time will pass”, my beloved oncologist said, and indeed it did.

But the consequence that remained with me, and pervasively affected my life, was the amputation of my breasts - a deformity I lived with for 4 ½ prime years of my life.

Although breast cancer caused a torrent of challenges for me and my family, I never, ever, allowed it to drown me. I thanked heaven for so many valuable lifesavers – my family and friends, wonderful nurses, and a team of terrific doctors. My crazy sense of humor helped me fight my way to the surface when cancer dragged me down. Oh, yes. I was the crazy chemo patient spicing up the infusion room with silly costumes ! Imagine a witch, a cowgirl, and a “pink punk rocker” tethered to an i.v.. At times, “coping” involved intentionally flipping my wig for a reaction. Once, I faked a call from the Olympic Bobsledding Team soliciting my flat, aerodynamic body. Actually, I did notice some improvement to my golf swing and my archery without womanly “impediments”!! My violin, however, had no place to rest. My jokes about being breastless got me and my family through some pretty dark days. Every time my loved ones looked at me, however, they were, on an emotional level, reminded of my serious illness.

I tried wearing prosthetics, but found them to be uncomfortable and silly. They made me feel like a guy in drag. One UFO incident in the swimming pool (unidentified floating object) was enough for me to put my foamy fake friends away in a drawer forever. I returned to my fitted clothing, and got used to the sideways glances from strangers. I imagined them thinking, “I’ve seen FLAT, but that woman is CONCAVE!” Others assumed I was anorexic; my lack of breasts made me appear super thin. With no breast fold to hold bathing suit tops from riding up, bikini beach volleyball was definitely crossed off my list. I resorted to pathetic little-girl styles.

Well, determination and humor only get you so far. For years, my chest concavity and surgical scars caused much deeper emotional ones. The truth is, this loss doesn’t just physically degrade a woman, it erodes her self-confidence, and takes away an innately primal aspect of the female identity. (Perhaps the men reading this will ponder what a comparable physical loss could mean in terms of one’s masculinity.)

Words cannot convey how much I missed my breasts – the way they made my clothing look, the role they played in my sexuality, the comfort they offered my young children as they cuddled on my lap. My reduced confidence impacted my professional productivity as well. My deformity, a visible symbol of my cancer, diminished my family’s faith in my long-term wellness. The sympathy it elicited from others affected my social life and shaded my friendships. What I saw in the mirror clouded the quality of my life, and prevented me from mentally moving BEYOND my cancer. After a while, I just stopped looking in the mirror, stopped wearing stylish clothes made for normal women’s bodies, and ceased enjoying my sexuality. Subconsciously, I became rather depressed.

Several times over those breast-less years, I visited plastic surgeons desperately seeking the possibility of breast reconstruction. Each time I was told that restoration was not possible – the mastectomy tissue removal had been extremely aggressive, life-saving radiation treatments had badly damaged the tissue remaining, and I was thin. I gave up hope that I would ever be whole again. My wish was modest – just a normal “bump” would do. The idea of “transferring” tissue and muscle from other parts of my precious body, even if this were possible for me, was quite unappealing.

OK. Enough with the pity! Now comes the good part of my story!! Now I get to tell you how the sun returned in my sky and the color back in my life! Thanks to LifeCell Tissue Matrix and silicone implants I became whole again, and even greater than the sum of my parts. THIS is the happy ending, and new beginning, that ALL women facing cancer should have the right to choose.

How did I learn about this procedure? A chance meeting in my daughter’s ballet class waiting room opened the door to the beginning of the rest of my life. A fellow “ballet mom” gave me the business card of the brilliant and compassionate Dr. Karl Breuing, plastic surgeon. Fall of 2007, I decided to investigate breast restoration one last time, and am I glad I did! A few months later, I became the recipient of two incredibly restored breasts constructed with AlloDerm (acellular donor tissue matrix), my body’s own natural regenerative process, and cohesive gel implants! I learned that the use of this tissue supplement in my reconstruction helped provide adequate interior space, mechanical support, and a sub-dermal barrier enabling anatomic breast implants to be permanently positioned in place. I was able to emerge from a single breast reconstructive surgery entirely and permanently restored! When I woke up from surgery and looked down at familiar shapely mounds, rivers of joy trickled down my face. I wanted to leap out of bed, do my “BellaDonna” dance, and hug everyone in sight!

In retrospect, I never consciously acknowledged how the loss of my breasts affected my psychological wellness, and the energy my sadness drained from me, until I got that vitality back. I left my depression and anxiety in the operating room of Faulkner Hospital in Boston!. Adios! Thanks to LifeCell Tissue Matrix , I’ve truly and totally recovered - with a tremendous sense of hope, self confidence, and purpose. This reconstruction allowed me to move entirely past my breast cancer bout.

My girlfriends would tell you “Donna’s got her mojo back”! My little daughter proclaims, “Wow mom! You look like my Barbie dolls now!” and “You look just like all the other moms.” My 14-year-old son, the topic of “breasts” evoking, um, mixed emotions, tells me he’s “happy for me” and picks up on my improved mood. My children are happily thriving, my cancer to them is now a fading memory. My parents are just plain relieved.

How is my life after reconstruction? FANTASTIC! I can wear any style of clothing again! Even strapless! I can tell you (and my husband would agree) “It’s good to feel sexy again!” Breasts play an important role in intimate satisfaction for both partners. It’s all quite natural. To summarize, “I’m much happier now!”

My cancer taught me so much. I have re-organized my priorities, and utilize my communications skills now for the welfare of others. For better or worse, Life sometimes hands out sour lemons. I am busy now making and sharing lots of lemonade!!! Incidentally, the lemons image shown here is utilized by the UK’s “Lemonland” breast cancer support website, devoted to global breast cancer education. The caption reads “have you squeezed you lemons lately?”


Anyway, It’s not what happens to you in life that matters, it’s what YOU DO with it!! Cancer has given me the opportunity to take stock of my life and purpose, to live more deeply engaged. Each of us CAN make a difference. My involvement with the breast cancer community runs deep, so I’ve had the privilege of sharing lots of dialogue with thousands of others. Through various aspects of advocacy work I’ve touched, benefited and learned from a wonderful cohort, tens of thousands of breast cancer sisters. I have walked women through the process to recovery hand-in-hand, spoken at public forums, and allowed the news media to publicly share my story of hope. I have become inspired to great activism, leading “Team BellaDonna” in raising $250,000 for the international Avon Breast Cancer Foundation. I will not stop until I know that all women everywhere know about this type of reconstruction. It has been over 8 years since it was first pioneered; the time is long overdue for this information to become public knowledge.

What do I want women to know? LifeCell Tissue Matrix allows individual women and their care teams to address dynamic treatment considerations. It makes reconstruction predictable, adjustable, adaptable, and available for all women. Many women can now have breast reconstruction in a single procedure. It allows women to preserve the rest of their bodies. And, the cosmetic results are great!

All women deserve the chance to make smart and healthy choices, choices that appropriately balance wellness benefits with compromise. For me, it’s not just about improving lives like mine; it’s about potentially preventing deaths. We all have a responsibility, a stake in that. Sharing the possibilities of breast reconstruction affords so many women diagnosed with breast cancer, AND those at identified risk of developing the disease, the chance to make life preserving choices. Informed, empowered women make better wellness choices.

I’d like to convey the appreciation of my family, friends and millions of breast cancer sisters. The biomedical scientists and professionals making tissue repair products possible, and my reconstruction possible, are leading the way towards healthier futures for so many. The biologics frontier is just beginning to open up. Let us hope these fields continue to get the support they need to take medicine and wound care into the 21st century and beyond.

For more information on LifeCell Tissue Matrix and Breast Reconstruction visit: www.breastreconstructionmatters.com, The American Cancer Society, and The American Society of Plastic Surgeons.

Crayons and Tears: My Breast Cancer Diagnosis

I shall never forget the heavy and humorous circumstances surrounding my second, and hopefully final breast cancer diagnosis.

On a beutiful day in May of 2003, I drove with my precocious 1-year-old daughter to the office of Breast Surgeon Dr. Yvedt Matory at Brigham and Women's Hospital in Boston. A few weeks prior, I had undergone an excisional breast biopsy of a suspicious mass. Despite having had early breast cancer removed from the same breast just 4 years prior, I approached this appointment with confidence. I'd had two other breast lumps biopsied in the two years prior, both of which had been benign (non-cancerous), and expected this news to be the same. So, when both my husband and mom offered to come with me to this spring 2003 appointment, at which I was to have the biopsy incision checked and receive pathology results, I incessantly declined their offers. "I'll be fine!" I very stubbornly insisted. I suppose, in hindsight, I had taken my optimism a bit too far.

The long drive into Boston for that appointment was lovely. I remember it well. My toddler daughter Victoria and I sang nursery rhymes along the ride. Having had very early breast cancer 4 years before and, therefore, being at elevated risk, I truly treasured and celebrated out loud the fleeting, rhyme-singing days of motherhood. Victoria was (and remains) innately musical/artistic. We arrived on time, but, as usual, were stuck in a crowded waiting room for over an hour. Still, my cherub sang on, much to the delight (for some, annoyance) of our fellow "waiters".

I (we) were finally called in to the exam room, with its sterile aroma, crinkly exam-room tissue, single magazine, and muffled calcaphony of bustle and voices. We were way past nap time now, my cheerful toddler growing restless in the confines of the blank blah-beige walls. Ahh..those blank walls. We were two minds with nothing to occupy us while waiting for the familiar chart retreival from the door bin, click of the door handle, and appearance of our beloved Dr. Matory. My toddler wriggled in my lap, bored of the magazine we looked at, and getting generally "antsy". I recalled the crayons and paper I had in my mom-bag-o-tricks. Thank you Crayola! My little Picasso got earnestly to work.

I have a way with people, tending to easily establish meaningful connections. Such was the case with Dr. Matory; we shared an interest in music, education, patient communications, and had children of similar ages. (Dr. Yvedt Matory has since sadly passed away, a young victim of skin cancer). Despite having a ridiculous overload of patients, as is the case for surgeons at most of Boston's teaching hospitals, I do believe that she had a particular love for me. In the years ensuing my first cancer, what I perceived as Dr. Matory's personal interest in my well-being inspired my faith and helped allay my cancer recurrence fears.

As Dr. Matory entered the door that fateful day, her demeanor was different than what I had ever before experienced. Strained emotion showed on her cocoa colored face, and a serious furrow appeared between her beautiful deep brown eyes. "Hello Donna," she said. Hmm. No gregarious smile? No quick interest in the progress of my adorable attention-craving baby girl? "She looks really tired," I recall thinking about Dr. Matory. In the years since I had been seeing her for cancer follow-up appointments, every 3-6 months, she had shared with me the difficulties of finding balance - being a top surgeon, and being a commited, involved mom. Tired. Yes, that's why the long face. She's tired. "We have some things to talk about," were her next words.

So, I pulled up a chair next to her, as we reviewed the biopsy results. Me with a polite smile on my face, legs crossed, sitting up straight, listening intently. What followed was a bit of a teacher-from-Charlie-Brown experience, with just random words bouncing around in the frozen parts of my brain. "We found more cancer....waaaa.waaaa.waaaa." "Invasive, aggressive.....waaa...waaaa" "Mastectomies...waaaaa..chemo...waaaa...radiation...waa,waa,waa,waaaaaaaa." And still, I smiled politely, nodded, cheerfully agreed to make the necessary appointments with the secretary for more surgery and medical consults, etc. "Wow, you are handling this very well!" Dr. Matory added. More polite smiles.

I was not truly able to process what I was hearing. By that point she may as well have been speaking to an alien going through programmed responses, but not really emoting. I was like "Data" from Star Trek. My intellegent, multi-dimensional neural network suffered complete gridlock. Only one brain path stayed open for processing; the one that deals with just basic functioning and survival. It was all so surreal.

And then something happened that I will never forget. We both turned around, Dr. Matory and I. Those boring walls? The ones that drive patients crazy with their blankness? Well, my 18-month-old Picasso had found a perfect canvas, and outlet for her boredom!! The walls now featured my daughter's first-ever "public showing" of her budding artisitc talent! God works in some very strange ways indeed. No more boring walls, a distraction for both physician and patient, a happy toddler, and a well-timed moment of comic relief shared by two working moms - all provided at once by my darling daughter in my moment of need. "Oh my!" I exclaimed with raised eyebrows. "Don't worry about it," said Dr. Matory as we smiled at eachother.

What happened next? I remember making some appointments, leaving the hospital, securing Victoria in her car seat (where she promptly fell asleep), and driving down Memorial Drive, along Boston's Charles River, bound for home. At some point, the neurons were released from their bondage, my brain turned back on, and....the dam of emotions broke. About mid-way down Memorial Drive, I started sobbing like I have never sobbed before. I realized the impact all this would have on my husband, 6-year-old son, mom and dad, brothers, and all those that love me, and dreaded sharing the news. I pulled over in a random Cambridge parking lot, unable to see beyond my tears. Looking back at my precious sleeping daughter snug in her carseat, and with her whole wonderful life ahead of her, I resolved to fight the ugly cancer monster again and win. I would be there to watch my son and daughter grow up and add their own unique "Crayola colors" to this wonderful world.

Seven years, lots of beautiful "artwork", and many great memories later, I'm thriving, happy, and blessed in so many ways.

Ruffles and Roses and Life Without Breasts

Having survived early stage breast cancer and a lumpectomy at the age of 34, I marched forward with my life.  Assured by my beloved late breast surgeon, Dr. Yvedt Matory, that the result of two consecutive surgeries had, in fact, removed all the cancer cells in my right breast, I re-boarded the train of my life, destined again for great places, wonderful vistas, and friendships along the way.  

The removal of the lower third of my small (but perky) breasts did pose some interesting challenges.  But, all in all, the cancer removal had little impact on my life.  Try getting an underwire bra to stay "under" when there's no breast "fold" to keep the wire from sliding up.  Alas, aside from the elimination of popular underwire bras from my lingerie possibilities, I rarely thought about my disfigurement.   Padded bras helped fill in the missing contour quite nicely, and, well, I still had my wonderful nipples! 

Four years later, things changed.  I discovered a lump, wound up in the operating room again, and....yada, yada, yada.....the biopsy revealed breast cancer again.  This time, the prognosis was much more grim.  (I shall describe the emotional and slightly humorous instance and circumstances of this diagnosis in a later blog.)   With infiltrating invasive breast cancer, my "choice" of having a mastetomy was clearly the best course of action.  The removal of the contra-lateral left breast was optional, but given my history, the agressiveness of my cancer, and my desire to "never have to deal with this again" I signed up for bilateral mastectomies.   This was my second time around, and I was anxious to get the *@**##!  cancer out!

Back to the operating room again at Brigham and Women's Hospital in Boston, this time for  major and literally life-saving surgery.  

On the recommendation of my surgeon, I had a consult with a plastic surgeon prior to surgery.   This, of course, SHOULD be standard practice, as all possible aesthetic outcomes should be considered before the treatment and surgery plans are devised.   Did you know that according to the American Society of Plastic Surgeons less than half of all women diagnosed with breast cancer in this country are afforded breast reconstruction information?  Unacceptable!   Well, my plastic surgoen presented me with the option of having immediate breast reconstruction performed during my breast removal surgery.  I would wake up without my real breasts and with some scarring and loss of sensation, but with perfect silicone-filled substitutes. 

Well, that was not to be.

The cancer was very extensive, five underarm  lymph nodes were also cancerous, and a nasty infection had taken hold in the breast as well.  Not good.  The reconstruction was not possible.  And, a year-long treatment plan was put in place involving chemotherapy and tissue-damaging chest radiation. 

I woke up from surgery with no breasts at all.  Not a mound, not a nipple.  I was beyond just flat, with a concave contour where my lovely curves once resided.

Breastless is how I spent the next 4 1/2 years of my life. 

With the support of my family, my husband, and friends, I made the best of my LWB (life without breasts).  I approached this period of my life with humour and determination, although the smiles often hid the emotional suffering this disfigurement truly caused me.   I determined to keep wearing the same fitted styles I always enjoyed, my GAP tees, fitted sweaters and the like.

Among the many sentiments people sent me during my period of recovery, the Hallmark Fresh Ink card sent by my cousin Dolores and depicted above is my absolute favorite.  It about sums up how I felt, how my breastlessness affected my self-esteem.  She really GOT it, and that validation made me laugh hysterically (still does) and cry.   "I think the ruffle really makes a difference, don't you?"....as though the little fringe at the bottom of the bathing suit could really mask the low self-esteem obviated by the depicted woman's body language.  "I think the ruffle really makes it."  Ha.

On so many levels, I related to the cartoon on the card.  Tiny hair (that's what my then 3-year-old daughter called my newly re-growing hair after chemo), concave body, and a weirdly fitting girls bathing suit.  I think the flowers really make a difference, don't you?  Perhaps I should have chosen ruffles? (smile)

My grandmother and others, truly "ruffled" by my diagnosis,  tried to "restore" me to my former self.  I adore fitted clothing, knits, body hugging styles.  That's me.   I battled a new malady - the invasion of the ruffles!  In the years ensuing my mastectomies my closet became half-full of interesting gifts:  crazy ruffle-front shirts that look like they were taken off pirate ships, tops with "gathers" to "fill me out", crazy prints deigned to "trick the eye", and coordinating rose pins that nearly screamed out my flatness.   All well intentioned from giving folks that love me.  Did I mention I come from a gigantic extened family of Italians, Polish and Danes?  These "style tricks" could not take away the reality that a primal part of my female identity, my "curves", had been taken away.  Forever.

My life without breasts hurt in more ways than one.   Ways that one untouched by cancer might never consider.

My breasts represented many things to me:  my identity as a woman; a source of intimacy and vital physical pleasure for both me and my husband; the sentimental symbol of my breastfed babies; a certain female power that comes from atrractiveness to the opposite gender; a required contour for beautiful lingerie and clothing made for women.  All gone in a single surgery that preserved my life.

In some recent speeches I gave on the subject of breast reconstruction, I challenged every man in the audience to consider what a "comparable" loss might mean in terms of their "masculinity".   Picture lots of crossed legs and flushing faces.  The fact of the matter, and the reason for my awareness crusading, is that breast loss undermines women's well-being in ways that pervasively impact her life.   

Ruffles and roses, humorous cards, loving family and friends all helped me in their way.  But, it was the flourish, the bloom, and the joy I re-discovered in ME that helped me emotionally recover and get on with my life.  My breast reconstruction surgery helped finally put the train back on the track.

The Year of the Colorful Pants

The Year of the Colorful Pants.

I hereby designated 2010 "The Year of the Colorful Pants”.

I came by the above trio on a recent trip to a store named DELliAs, where my objective was to return a not-so-colorful Christmas gift from my husband, a “soft” and “fluffy” sweater that nearly swallowed me up. Not a shopper, I intended to accomplish the return in a matter of minutes, receive cash back, and put it to practical use. Call it an epiphany, foreshadowing, a sign from a higher power - I was actually seduced by a pile of colorful pants! Like a bee to honey. The "SALE" sign may as well have been flashing neon. In collusion, the fitting room mirror encouraged me along. A quickened heartbeat later, I exited the store as the proud owner of boldly colorful pants! It was the first week of January, and things were looking very bright.

Why on earth was I so emotionally charged by a few pairs of cotton pants? I found myself singing the whole car ride home! ("I can see clearly now, the rain has gone.....I can see all obstacles in my way................it's gonna be a bright, bright, bright, sunshiney day....)

I brought the pants home, tried them each on again, my husband serving as a very willing audience (smile). My son and daughter both looked surprised and nervous. What alien had taken their normally conservative mom and plunked down "Donna with the Amazing Technicolor Pants"? Had I made a mistake? Been intoxicated in the store by the overwhelming hue? No, no. The pants arrived in my life right on time. Life, I have learned, does put things in our path in very timely ways.

How wonderful, how metaphorical that these pants ended up in my closet, otherwise filled with tailored styles and safe, classic hues. The boldness, the infusion of color, felt like a celebration of joy for "living". These pants declare out loud what I am compelled to do - to inspire others affected by cancer to their best possible outcomes. On the days I wear them, I feel a little brighter. On the days that I wear them, sometimes consciously on days of self-doubt, I am reminded that change happens by engaging, doing, acting. "Go, girl, go," they say.

To understand how my life became color-deprived is to understand the psychological burden of breast cancer. You see, from the time I was diagnosed, a shadow hovered over me, a little dark cloud of anxiety that followed me like an unwanted friend.

For me, the bright spectrum of living did not return all at once, but in steps forward that helped me move entirely beyond a serious diagnosis to a state of normalcy. What helped me to move forward? First, the personal support of my oncology team, treating me and my family with compassion and individualized care. Then, participation in some social programs that got me thinking outside my “cancer” box. (Oncology social workers are truly unsung heroes in the universe of cancer care.) Yoga classes and a “Day of Beauty” offered at my cancer clinic, archery classes with my son, learning to play golf, playing my piano and violin - these activities helped my re-engage in "living", got me thinking forward again to a life full of possibilities. Breast cancer fundraising, advocacy and motivational speaking offered tremendous purpose to my days, delivered the rare gift of "meaning", and heralded my future.

Finally, breast reconstruction moved my post-cancer life a giant step forward, helping put the sun back high in my sky, and the color back in my rainbow.

The darkness, the draining of color from the lives of those affected by breast cancer is something I hope to address not only in this blog, but through actions and associations I hope will lead to a more holistic treatment of cancer patients. I feel compelled to help others like me move from grey back to colorful lives. Perhaps this starts with the donning of colorful pants! They certainly have inspired conversations, and dialogue is an important start.

I think I can, I think I can…life is again operating at full steam. The wheels stopped turning turning for awhile, but the engine has restarted. The schedule no longer controls me, I am the engineer. Cancer taught me that.

Yes, this is "The Year of the Colorful Pants".