Lisa's F-Cancer Blog

Today I had a biannual oncology checkup. This past August marked three years since my diagnosis.

Dr. Brufsky said, “You’re three years out. The cancer isn’t coming back.”

“Really?”

“Really! It’s not coming back!”

The. Best. News. Ever!

I’m still in the contrast enhanced mammogram study, which Dr. Brufsky said is actually better than a MRI. My next mammogram is in January; I’ll ask then if there is a possibility of an extension once I complete the study.

In the meantime, I’ll continue to see Dr. Brufsky every six months for two more years. I also have two more yearly follow-ups with the surgeon’s office.

Obviously you never know what can happen, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to 100% relax, but for Dr. Brufsky to basically give me the all clear feels surreal. It’s also tempered by the fact that one of my best friends, Katie — whom I met in 4th grade! — was diagnosed with breast cancer almost exactly three years after me. The weird thing is another friend of ours (whom I also met in 4th grade) had breast cancer before us (she “only” needed a lumpectomy and radiation). Really makes me wonder about the environmental impact…

Indeed, too many people are impacted by this disease. According to breastcancer.org, there are more than 4 million women with a history of breast cancer in the U.S. This includes women currently being treated and those who have finished treatment. In 2025, approximately 316,950 women will be diagnosed with invasive breast cancer, and 59,080 with ductal carcinoma in situ, which is non-invasive. And no, you’re not imagining it – female breast cancer rates have been slowly increasing, particularly in younger women. 

This is another reason why this year’s federal funding cuts really hit home. So many promising treatments for breast cancer and other conditions are being halted. Private donations to research will be key, as is voting on Election Day for the party who cares about medical research and affordable health care, not just tax cuts for billionaires.

As Breast Cancer Awareness Month comes to an end, for too many of us, it is not just one month out of the year. Here’s hoping for a cure!

My friend Chani asked me to write a poem about the theme “A Time to Fight” for her Sounds of Jewish Music event tonight. While I’ve been through many challenges in my life, my most recent one with breast cancer mostly inspired these words.

For your viewing pleasure:

Last night was the second annual 412 Thrive Casino Night, where all the concept photos from the shoot were on display. Each was six feet tall, accompanied by a poster board with a photo of that person’s scar and their story.

The event was held at Acrisure Stadium (formerly Heinz Field), and was very classy and well done. The video from the photo shoot is beautiful; I can’t wait to get the link so I can share it. Hopefully everyone’s portraits will eventually be on 412 Thrive’s website; they’re all incredible. I’ll also get the digital version of the photo. We got to take home the one on display. Now, where to put it??

My story is copied and pasted after the photo, for easier reading, followed by some pictures from the event.

My breast cancer story could be anyone’s – with one crucial difference. What makes mine unique is that I was born profoundly deaf. I interact by reading lips and speaking. Going through breast cancer treatment in 2022 and 2023 meant I also had to deal with universal masking required because of COVID. My only means of communication was effectively cut off. 

“Adfl etgjw ilserj mjikas!” That’s what a person wearing a mask sounds like to me, if I can hear them at all. I was never more cognizant of my disability than during the pandemic, and having to advocate for myself on multiple levels made my cancer journey even more exhausting.

It all started in July 2022. When in the shower, I felt a long, hard mass in my right breast that seemingly appeared overnight. But I didn’t think a 4.0 cm mass constituted a breast cancer “lump.” 

Boy was I in for an education!

When it didn’t go away, I scheduled a mammogram. That was immediately followed by an ultrasound, and later, a biopsy. 

Then came the diagnosis: Invasive ductal carcinoma. Triple negative.

I was told I needed chemotherapy – something I’d always been afraid of. I had immunology along with 16 rounds of chemo (AC and Taxol) and experienced almost all of the side effects. Next were a lumpectomy and sentinel node biopsy. A few days after surgery, I discovered a blood clot and had to go on blood thinners for three months. Twenty rounds of radiation later, I finished treatment. My taste buds didn’t return to normal for months.

During my biopsy and port placement, one nurse wore a clear mask and stayed on my left side to give me a play by play and hold my hand. I can’t have an MRI because of my cochlear implant, so I had a PET/CAT scan. I had to sit still for an hour after being injected by dye – an exercise in patience, since I couldn’t rely on anything audio to help pass the time. The scan presented some difficulty because I couldn’t communicate with the tech while in the machine. We came up with hacks to make it work.

During chemo treatments, I couldn’t talk to any patients in the room. I missed out on that sense of community and sharing of information. And even though the medical professionals wore clear masks for me, the most commonly available ones either didn’t provide protection for the wearer or had a too small clear window. My favorite one, the FaceView (in my photo), isn’t FDA approved for healthcare providers. 

When it comes to clear masks, they benefit everyone, not just those of us with hearing loss. Fifty-five percent of communication is visual, and facial expressions are important for perceived empathy and building rapport. They help us retain our humanity. 

Going through cancer is difficult and isolating enough. Going through cancer as a deaf person was even more challenging. I can only hope that having me as a patient has made the Pittsburgh medical community realize that accessibility needs to be improved. 

After all, breast cancer doesn’t discriminate.

I had my regular checkup with Dr. Brufsky today. The front desk person joked that she almost didn’t recognize me (because my hair is growing in).

I actually emailed Dr. Brufsky last week because of pain in my other breast (I never had pain in the cancerous breast). He said it could wait until today. I noticed it went away with Ibuprofen, and it’s a lot better this week. All looks fine. He said it miiiight be a sign that my period will come back – apparently that happens. What? I haven’t had mine since September 2022 – one good thing about chemo! I recently gave away all my products! Hopefully the Crimson Tide never comes back!

Another thing I learned today: I thought if my cancer doesn’t return in five years, then it won’t return. Triple negative, however, is different because it’s aggressive. If it comes back, it tends to come back within the first three years. Since I was diagnosed in August 2022, if it doesn’t come back in the next 18 months, it won’t come back! 

I’m glad the timeline is shorter, though it’s also scary. I try not to think about it but it’s always there. At least I’m halfway through!

Because I’m doing so well, my next check up with Dr. Brufsky isn’t for six months. Going from check ups every three months to six – another milestone to check off!