Pinktober 2016: New Milford Area Women Share Breast Cancer Survival Stories 'Behind the Pink Ribbons'

NEW MILFORD, CT — Editor’s note: During the month of October we will be sharing personal, inspirational stories of women who are fighting, or who have battled breast cancer in an effort to raise awareness during Breast Cancer Awareness month. To submit your story please email wendy.mitchell@patch.com. Below is my personal story of survival.

Written By Wendy Ann Mitchell, Patch Editor: October is breast cancer awareness month. Before my cancer diagnosis I saw the sea of pink tee shirts, the little pink ribbons and seemingly endless Pink-A-Thon fundraisers as something ”those people” did. Cancer didn’t affect me— until it did.

I was living my life like most middle class 40-somethings raising three kids in Suburbia. Life was a maze of busy days playing the role of Mom’s Taxi, Dance Mom, Field Hockey Mom, Working Mom. Then out of nowhere, BOOM! Life threw me the biggest curve ball I’d ever experienced.

On Feb. 4, 2015, coincidentally World Cancer Day, I heard those three dreaded words nobody ever wants to hear; “You have cancer.” It was Stage 1 Triple Negative Metaplastic Carcinoma. After four surgeries, half a dozen needle guided biopsies, Sentinel Lymph Node removal and countless complications, I'm glad to say I'm now 100 percent cancer free but not yet home free.

I found the lump while dying my fiery, long red hair. I dropped a glob of Manic Panic Vampire Red hair dye on my left breast. When I wiped it off I felt “it.” The next morning, I called my doctor who brought me into the office right away. I was hoping he was going to say “it’s nothing,” or “it’s just a cyst.” I thought wrong. I was going to need a biopsy.“It’s a good thing you came in when you did. Your last mammogram just ten months ago looked clear,” the doctor said. I tried to let the words sink in before he continued, “This grew really fast.”

How does it feels to get the news? It feels like you got stabbed with a knife to the heart. For a few seconds, you can’t breathe because you’re in a state of shock. You feel like you’re choking. Life comes to a screeching halt. The doctor’s words echo in your mind before settling down into your brain and back down to reality, “You have cancer.”

My doctor told me over the phone. After I hung up I heard myself say it slowly out loud for the first time to my husband, “I have cancer.” Nobody in my family has this so how could I have it? It is so surreal. So many thoughts were swirling through my brain. Wait, is it in my brain? How will they know?

I told myself: I am strong. I will beat this. And then I fought like hell.

On Feb. 17, 2015, I had a lumpectomy to remove the tumor. I thought I’d only have to do the surgery and radiation but after the pathology results came back my doctor told me I had a “rare and aggressive type of cancer only one percent of women are diagnosed with called Metaplastic Carcinoma. I’m also Triple Negative which only occurs in 15 percent of women. Both types have a higher recurrence rate than other cancers and require very aggressive treatment and careful follow-up.

Once healed from surgery, I began 16 long, hard weeks of chemotherapy called ACT dose dense chemo. This is the kind that makes you feel like you're at death's door and might not ever wake up again, the kind that makes you start planning your funeral playlist in your head, the kind that makes you wonder if your husband of 21 years will remarry after you're gone, if your children will remember all the good times you shared and everything I taught them, or if you made a difference in the world.

They call ACT chemo “The Red Devil” because it is red in color and highly toxic. The nurse who administers the drug comes in the room in what looks like a hazmat suit; a mask, gloves, goggles, blue scrubs, a paper gown over the scrubs. Two nurses have to double check to make sure they’re giving the right drugs. They gave me four huge syringes of the red medicine through my port. When it goes through the system it turns the urine red. It’s scary stuff. But it kills cancer. I was nauseous, dizzy, exhausted all the time. You feel like you have the flu, and then got hit by a Mack truck, all at the same time for about four months straight.

Then came the Taxol. This made my bones hurt so bad I wanted to cry. It caused neuropathy in my fingers and toes that still lingers slightly. Each chemo also came with a finger prick for blood work, a weekly doctor visit, a Neulasta shot to boost white blood cell counts and the usual weight, blood pressure checks that go along with a regular doctor visit.

And then after all that was over? They found another lump. After surgery number three, I suffered through 30 treatments of radiation, more complications, skin infections, radiation burns, neuropathy in my hands and feet, aches and pains in my joints and other physical ailments, but the ongoing mental battle was not one I was prepared for.

Now that the physical battle is over, I’m left bruised and scarred on the inside and out. I wear my war wounds proudly; a scar under my left arm from the Sentinel Lymph Node Biopsy, two scars in an “X Marks the Spot” stamp on my left boob, a bump and a scar on my upper right chest from where the chemo port once was. And I’m left to pick up the pieces of this war on cancer— a few broken relationships, a lot of lost finances, new perspectives and realizations and a newfound appreciation for every day of live I’m blessed with.

Some battle scars I’m left with are obvious while others lay beneath the surface of a smiling face. I can’t force people to be in my life if they don’t want to be, even if they are family, so I need to learn to be grateful for those who have been there for me, and are still here, since the beginning.

Because I’m also Triple Negative I can’t be on any follow up medications as other cancer patients take when they’ve completed treatment. Because I’m Triple Negative I can’t take the Onco test to see if or when the cancer will return. All I can do is live a healthy live, try to stay positive, pray, pay it forward by helping others and enjoy every single day I’ve been given. I’ll be checked every 6 months for a year and then when I reach 3 years cancer free it’s a yearly checkup. Five years is the magic number when the recurrence rate going down drastically.

Since getting the news, my world has been turned upside down and inside out. The roller coaster I'm on has had its ups, downs, loop-dee-loops and scary dark tunnels, but as of October 15 I will be one year post treatment and that's when I'm "supposed" to start feeling good again.

I share my story to raise awareness for early detection so others have a fighting chance— so that we can help others, not only in Pinktober, but year-round. Thankfully I caught the cancer when it was only Stage 1 and it didn’t spread to the lymph nodes. I lost my eyebrows, eyelashes and fiery red hair but not my fighting spirit.

Here is my message: Sometimes yearly mammograms are not enough. You have to feel your boobs on a regular basis. If I didn’t find the lump myself while dying my long, red hair, that’s no longer long due to losing it (how ironic), I might not be here to tell this tale. I consider myself blessed and feel it’s my duty to spread awareness for early detection.

While I was “officially” finished with treatment last year on Oct. 15, 2015, I'm not done because the dark shadow called “recurrence” will try to follow me due to the rarity and aggressiveness of this type of cancer. Since Metaplastic Carcinoma was only recently discovered in 2000, not much has been done in the way of clinical trials and research. Being Triple Negative means I lack estrogen, progesterone and Her 2 receptors so I can’t take any follow-up meds for “insurance.”

My Radiation Oncology doctor told me I have a different type of insurance— the long, harsh and fierce treatment that I’ve endured. This will kill any last trace cell that may try to mutate and change to lung, skin or bone cancer. The meaning of Metaplastic is “change in form.”

And my Oncologist, who has worked with thousands of patients over the last 30 years told me, “You caught it early and it didn’t spread. You’re going to be fine!” I have to believe him. My hope is that I can be healthy and strong so that soon I can be in the position to help others.

I never remembered to do monthly self breast exams because I’d gone for my mammogram every year since I turned 40. I thought I was low risk; no history in my family, not a smoker, get checked every year. But that didn’t matter.

As soon as I found the lump I knew the diagnosis had to be about something much more than just me. I began a #MyLeftBoob selfie awareness campaign to remind people to do monthly self breast exams. It saved my life and it could save yours too. Read more about #MyLeftBoob selfie campaign here.

I also had the pleasure of being included in The Boob Project video. You can see me at 0:40. The song was written by eight-year-old Archer Nelson from California whose mom is battling the disease. The song was produced by DJ Irish Greg with KFOG Radio San Francisco and features members of The Grateful Dead, Florence Welch, Hozier, Graham Nash and many more. So far the song has raised over $10,000 for breast cancer research.

And most of all it reminds us of something very important:

“Never forget the good things in life, like candy, life, eating, having fun, because in the end all that matters is you.”

Read more survivor stories below:

• Behind the Pink Ribbons: Close Encounters With The 'C' Word
• Behind the Pink Ribbons: Danbury Woman Encourages Cancer Education
• Behind the Pink Ribbons: Southbury Woman 'Refuses to Sink'
• Behind the Pink Ribbons: Greenwich Woman's Breast Cancer Survivor Story
• Behind the Pink Ribbons: A Shelton Breast Cancer Survivor's Story
• Behind the Pink Ribbons: Cancer Survivor Suffered Emotional 'Whiplash'
• Behind the Pink Ribbons: 'Men Get Breast Cancer Too!'

Photo: Wendy Ann Mitchell