Reflections of a 10-year breast cancer survivor

It was exactly 10 years ago that I got that phone call that completely changed the trajectory of my life: You have cancer.

Actually, it was “your biopsy was positive for invasive ductal carcinoma,” but who’s splitting hairs?

10 years is a pretty big milestone. While it will never be zero, my risk of recurrence of breast cancer is pretty low.

Low enough that the further away I get from September 7, 2012, the easier it is to let go of my anxiety and fear. And for that, I am celebrating today.

But when I go deeper to think about how I really feel today, it’s much more complicated.

Last night I dreamt about Maya.

Maya, my close friend who died of breast cancer earlier this year.

This morning as I was reflecting on those dreams, I wondered, “Why now? What is Maya trying to tell me?”

I don’t know if I believe that Maya herself is communicating with me from the beyond, or whether it’s just my own subconscious, but suddenly I found myself in tears.

I miss her so much.

Why did I survive and not Maya? Is everything just luck? Arbitrary? Why do bad things happen to good people?

I’ve been asking myself that question for the past 10 years. And I still don’t have an answer.

But what I do have is this: We don’t get to control the circumstances. But what we do get to control is what we do with them. How we react. The meaning that we create. The way we give back. The way we transform tragedy into triumph. (Thanks Victor Frankl.)

For the past 10 years I have spent my life trying to give back to a world that for whatever reason, decided to keep me around for the time being.

I left my corporate job and moved into non-profit. I founded Thrivacious to give women in Israel who have been touched by cancer a safe space to heal and thrive. I now coach women on how to thrive through a major life challenge, reimagine their relationship with control, and turn their “WTF Moment” into the upgrade of their life.

I support my incredible husband who saves lives on a daily basis. I have the opportunity to raise a beautiful daughter and teach her the values and knowledge that she will need to bring love and light into this world.

Maya didn’t get that opportunity. And when I think about that I feel the rage start to bubble up inside of me.

What is she trying to tell me?

Maya and I both got breast cancer in our twenties because we carried a gene known as BRCA1. BRCA1 causes a high risk of both breast and ovarian cancer, as well as an elevated risk of prostate cancer and pancreatic cancer.

I beat breast cancer, but I’m nearing my 39th birthday and my risk of ovarian cancer is about 3% now. Once I pass my 40th birthday, that risk will go up to about 10% over the next 10 years.

That risk is too high.

Ovarian cancer is deadly. It has a 50% mortality rate. There are no reliable screening techniques.

The only way to reduce the risk is to remove one’s ovaries completely. And that means early surgical menopause.

I’ve been in denial and anger about that lately. The guidelines say to remove the ovaries between 35-40. I’m pushing it here.

I think that Maya was trying to tell me that I need to celebrate my 20-year cancerversary. I think she was telling me that I am so lucky to have my beautiful Ella and that I need to make sure I am here for her. I want to dance at her wedding.

She was telling me that it’s time to start accepting the circumstances that I can’t control. And that it’s up to me to make sure that I triumph over that tragedy.

Knowledge is power. And hiding our heads in the sand because we don’t want to face reality is dangerous.

Somewhat auspiciously, this week I got some bad news: A close family member has been diagnosed with prostate cancer.

All of the feelings came flooding back. The trauma. The anger. How much more will this gene take away from me and my family?

Thankfully, the cancer seems to have been caught at a very early stage and I believe that everything is going to be ok.

Thankfully, this family member knew that they carried the BRCA1 gene and was getting monitored regularly for prostate cancer - something that is not typically done for men his age in the general population.

And the reason he knew he had the BRCA gene is because of me.

My sudden diagnosis of breast cancer at age 28 prompted many of my relatives to seek their own testing. This family member was positive. And as a result, he’s been getting appropriate high-risk screenings for the past 10 years.

So I can choose to relive my trauma here and dwell in my anger. And you know what, there’s a place for that. Cancer isn’t cool.

But I can also choose to see the beauty in what my own tragedy has given someone else: Life-saving knowledge.

Thank God he knew. Thank God I know.