Latest news with #Tamoxifen
Daily Mail
01-07-2025
- Health
- Daily Mail
BREAKING NEWS Urgent warning as prescription drug taken by tens of thousands recalled due to cancer risk
Health officials have urgently recalled a common daily pill taken by cancer survivors over fears some batches may not work. UK medicines watchdog the Medicines and Healthcare Products Regulatory Agency (MHRA) stuck an alert on one batch of Tamoxifen 20mg tablets. It is feared the drug may not dissolve into the bloodstream effectively after failing routine dissolution tests. But the MHRA, which published the alert, said it had not yet received any complaints or reports of harm from patients who had taken the 30-pack tablets. The recall only impacts one batch of the pills, manufactured by Wockhardt UK Limited, with the batch number HZ10030 and an expiry date of April 30, 2027. Tamoxifen is a daily pill taken by around 550,000 British breast cancer survivors. It can slash their risk of recurrence after treatment by up to 45 per cent. It's also offered to women with a strong family history of the disease, as it cuts their odds of ever developing it. Tablets and capsules taken orally remain one of the most commonly used means of providing treatment. Dissolution tests are commonly conducted to check the time taken for the active ingredient in a dosage form to release into the body and help predict how the drug performs inside the body. The effectiveness of these drugs relies on the drug dissolving in the fluids of the gastrointestinal tract prior to absorption into the blood stream. The dissolution procedure is an important test both to evaluate safety, predict efficacy and stability with respect to manufacturing and storage conditions. The MHRA said patients should continue to take medicines as prescribed by your healthcare professional. The recall is being actioned at the pharmacy and wholesaler level as a precautionary measure.
Business Insider
14-06-2025
- Health
- Business Insider
I got breast cancer at 30. My treatment means I'll need to delay having kids for 5 to 10 years.
Shortly after my 30th birthday, I was diagnosed with hormone-positive breast cancer. I froze my eggs ahead of my partial mastectomy; treatment means I can't get pregnant for five years. I resent that I have to wait to build a family, but grateful for the chance at survival. When I turned 30, it felt like I was stepping into a new chapter. My partner and I had spent most of our 20s together and were finally in a place where planning for the future felt tangible. After a few difficult years, including the sudden loss of my father and several career missteps, I found myself longing for something joyful and grounding. I wanted purpose, direction, and maybe even a little stability. For the first time, I began picturing myself as a mom. Then I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I was shocked when I got my diagnosis I was diagnosed by accident. I had gone years without seeing a gynecologist. During a routine check-up, I casually mentioned this to my primary care physician, who offered to do a quick breast exam"just in case." That's when she felt a lump. I mentioned that I'd recently been laid off and was in between jobs, without insurance. She told me to reach out once I had coverage and she'd write a prescription for a mammogram. On the drive home, I felt a quiet but urgent instinct not to wait. As soon as I got home, I called her back and asked for the prescription. After a mammogram, ultrasound, and biopsy, I received my diagnosis: stage 1 estrogen receptor-positive, progesterone receptor-positive invasive ductal carcinoma. I couldn't make sense of what I was hearing. Nothing about me fit the narrative I'd grown up believing about who gets breast cancer. I have no family history, don't carry the BRCA gene mutation or any other genetic markers linked to increased risk. What was once seen as a medical anomaly is becoming increasingly common among women my age. My treatment plan included a partial mastectomy, four weeks of daily radiation treatments, and a daily hormone therapy regimen of Tamoxifen, prescribed for five to 10 years, depending on how my system responds. Tamoxifen, often prescribed to treat hormone-positive breast cancer, suppresses estrogen and simulates menopause. It comes with a parade of side effects, including hot flashes, weight gain, and unpredictable mood swings. I learned I can't get pregnant during my treatment Then came a very different kind of blow. Pregnancy while on the medication is strongly discouraged due to the risk of serious complications, including birth defects, miscarriage, and stillbirth. Beyond that, the hormonal surge associated with pregnancy before completing treatment could increase the likelihood of a cancer recurrence. I was scheduled for surgery just one month after my diagnosis. And two weeks before the procedure, my oncologist urged me to freeze my eggs. She explained that pregnancy wouldn't be advised until I was at least 35 due to the complications that could be caused by Tamoxifen — an age that, however dated or insulting it sounds, qualifies as a "geriatric pregnancy" by medical standards. I dissociated my way through a blur of hormone injections, blood draws, and invasive procedures that I barely had time to process. Thankfully, I was spared the financial burden, an immense relief amid the mental, emotional, and physical toll. In 2018, my home state of Connecticut became the first in the nation to require insurance coverage for fertility preservation in cancer patients. Delaying motherhood isn't my choice Though my treatment plan gives me the best chance at survival, it comes at a cost. I'm losing the ability to choose when I want to have kids, and now, I won't be able to have them before 35 at the earliest — possibly as late as 40. I resent that, like it or not, I'll have to be an "old mom" before I ever had the chance to be a "young" one. So far, my partner has been supportive. But I know he always pictured himself becoming a dad sooner rather than later. And when I see him play with our friends' kids, I feel a pang of guilt I can't always ignore. Now we're stuck in limbo while our friends move forward — throwing baby showers, assembling cribs, and posting first-day-of-school photos. I picture myself at preschool, the silver-haired mom whose knees crack at circle time. And I hate that I care. But I do. Then, there's navigating the dissonance between medical necessity and personal expectation. By my 30s, I expected to have it all figured out — career, family, identity. But my timeline was taken from me, redrawn by scans and blood tests, follow-ups, and daily pills. There's also no villain here, no one to blame. It's just a sterile, clinical equation guiding huge decisions about my future. I don't know what's next, but I'm still grateful I'm grateful to be here. I know many people diagnosed with breast cancer never get to consider family planning at all. But I also want to be honest about the loss, the uncertainty, and the weird in-between space where you're healthy but still healing, coping but still grieving the version of your life that never got to happen. I don't know what comes next. Maybe the family I envisioned is still on the way, just a little later than I thought. This isn't the path I planned, but it's the one I'm on. And for now, that has to be enough.
STV News
15-05-2025
- Health
- STV News
Mum diagnosed with breast cancer months after daughter treated for skin cancer
A Scottish mum was diagnosed with breast cancer just 16 months after her daughter was diagnosed with melanoma. Michelle Harris, a teacher of complex needs, recalls her shock when she was diagnosed with skin cancer in November 2019. The 38-year-old, who is now in remission, was on a family holiday to Finland when her husband Alistair first noticed a mole on her back had changed shape and was growing larger. The mum-of-two had noticed the mole had also become itchy, so she visited her GP and was referred to University Hospital Monklands in Airdrie for tests, which confirmed she had cancer. Cancer Research UK Family holiday with Michelle Harris front right and her mum Lorraine Taylor. Recalling the tough moment of telling her children, Abby, 17, and Kaden, 13, about her diagnosis, Michelle said: 'I was very matter of fact and open when I told the children I had cancer. 'I explained that doctors had told me it was stage 2b melanoma, so they had gotten the cancer early. Although I had to go through an operation, I was going to be okay. She added: 'I just had to get on with things. It was good that the NHS were there to look after me so well, and my GP was fantastic.' Cancer Research UK Left to right, Michelle Harris and her mum, Lorraine Taylor, set off on holiday. Michelle had surgery on November 30, 2019, to remove the mole as well as lymph nodes from under her arms. She required no further treatment but has regular check-ups on other areas of her body where there are moles. Just 16 months after her diagnosis, her mum, who had helped her through treatment, was told that she had breast cancer. Lorraine Taylor had no symptoms when she attended a routine breast screening appointment. However, a few weeks after the screening, the 64-year-old was asked to attend the West Scotland Breast Screening Centre in Glasgow, and in March 2021, she was given the news. Cancer Research UK Left to right, Michelle Harris, 38, and her daughter Abby Harris, 17, getting ready to go on holiday. 'I went to the appointment on my own, which, looking back on it, I think was a mistake,' Lorraine said. 'I remember coming out of the appointment and feeling shell-shocked as I called my daughter Michelle to give her the news.' Lorrain said, although it was a 'really stressful' time, she felt lucky the screening had caught the cancer early. 'Michelle was a great support to me, and so was my husband Martin, who came with me to appointments after that,' she said. She eventually had the surgery at Kings Park Hospital in June 2022, followed by eight sessions of radiotherapy at the Lanarkshire Beatson in Airdrie. She was prescribed the hormone therapy drug Tamoxifen and receives annual mammograms. Lorraine will join her daughter, Michelle, and her granddaughter, Abby, on the start line of Cancer Research UK's Race for Life at Glasgow Green on May 18. Speaking on the race, Michelle said it was 'personal' for her and her mum. 'Cancer turns lives upside down, steals precious moments and affects far too many of us,' she said. 'We talk almost every day and plan weekends away together. Mum was an amazing support for me when I was diagnosed, and when mum faced cancer, I was right there for her. 'Taking part in Race for Life is not just about the miles. It's about giving back to a cause that has given our family and so many others hope. 'Research means more people are getting through cancer. We're proud to support that, to cross the finish line in honour of those going through cancer right now and also in memory of some friends and colleagues we have sadly lost to cancer.' Abby, 17, spoke about her participation, saying: 'My mum and my gran are both amazing, strong women and I'll be proud to be by their side at Race for Life Glasgow.' Lisa Adams, Cancer Research UK's spokeswoman in Scotland, said: 'We are grateful to Michelle, Lorraine and Abby for their support and know their family story will make an impact on everyone who hears it. 'Sadly, nearly 1 in 2 of us will get cancer in our lifetime, but all of us can support the research that will beat it. We're proud that Race for Life has had such a positive impact. Every pound raised supports our life-saving work, which has helped double cancer survival in the UK over the last 50 years. 'We'd love for as many people as possible across Scotland and beyond to join us at Race for Life. There is an event for everyone and we mean everyone. Our events are strictly non-competitive which means everyone can have a go- and love every minute. There's no pressure to finish in a certain time, just give it what you can. Lace up and join in. 'Whether people are living with cancer, taking part in honour of or in memory of a loved one with cancer, in it for the medals or just for the fun of fundraising, there is a place for everyone.' Get all the latest news from around the country Follow STV News Scan the QR code on your mobile device for all the latest news from around the country
IOL News
09-05-2025
- Health
- IOL News
Through the lens of love: a journey of healing amid cancer
After Anna's annual checkup, she had a panic attack. Each year, her 'scanxiety' fluctuates, but it's worst when she experiences symptoms she can't explain and fears they could signal a recurrence. Image: Rathkopf family I was at work when the call came. The woman on the line from my doctor's office asked if I had five minutes, then casually told me she was sorry but that I had cancer. I glanced out the window, watching people walk, talk and carry on as if it were just a normal day. But for me, everything had changed. At that moment, I felt like I was already dead. My husband, Jordan, and I had just started talking about having a second child. Now, suddenly, that future was gone. I was 37 years old, and I would soon learn that even if I survived the cancer, the treatment would leave me infertile. The day after my diagnosis - later confirmed as triple-positive breast cancer - Jordan and I picked up our cameras. Photography has always been part of our lives, but now it became something more: a shield, a way to cope without words. We documented everything - the sterile waiting rooms, the narrow hospital corridors and the quiet moments at home - capturing our new reality as it unfolded. But we never shared our images with each other. Anna and Jesse reflected in a mirror. Image: Rathkopf family Our cameras helped us express our inner lives while concealing our pain. It's hard to talk about the most painful parts of life. Sometimes, words fail and silence takes their place. That's when photography stepped in. The result is the photos you see with this story, as well as a book we published in October. I started taking self-portraits. As treatment progressed, I no longer recognized myself. The more fractured I felt, the more people told me I was strong, even beautiful. But inside, I mourned my fertility. Chemotherapy had damaged the eggs in my ovaries, while Tamoxifen (which I still take) put me into an early menopause. The combined treatments stripped me of my ability to give my then-3½-year-old son, Jesse, a sibling, and I felt betrayed by my body. The loss created a wedge between Jordan and me. He, too, had wanted another child, but as he learned more about my cancer's aggressive nature, an unspoken fear crept in - what if he had to raise our son alone? That fear, paired with my grief, deepened the divide between us. Anna's body bandaged with ice after her lumpectomy. When she woke up from her surgery, still in a daze, she noticed her surgeon's initials signed onto her chest right above the area where her tumor had been removed. Image: Rathkopf family Conversations turned into arguments, so we stopped having them. Silence became our default. We explored adoption and foster care, but the process felt overwhelming. As the reality of not having another child set in, the emotional distance between us grew. A 2018 study by researchers at the Huntsman Cancer Institute in Salt Lake City found that young cancer survivors - ages 20 to 39 - 'were at an increased risk' of divorce and separation. 'The emotional and financial burdens of cancer may lead to marital stress for younger cancer survivors,' the researchers concluded. Infertility can add new layers of stress, tension and sometimes anger. Jordan and I experienced firsthand how illness can expose the deepest fractures in relationships - how emotional needs go unmet, not out of neglect but because neither partner knows how to reach the other through their pain. Anna's self-portrait as her chemotherapy treatments were beginning. She bought a variety of cheap wigs and never wore any of them except for portraits at home. Image: Rathkopf family
Boston Globe
01-05-2025
- Health
- Boston Globe
The C-Word: Let's talk about cancer – starting with my own.
The following is a lightly edited transcript of the May 1 episode of the 'Say More' podcast. Shirley Leung: Welcome to 'Say More' from Boston Globe Opinion. I'm Shirley Leung. This is the first episode of our series, 'The C-Word: Stories of Cancer.' When I was diagnosed with cancer, it's like I was waiting for it my entire life. Because when I was 12, my mom's mom, my Wai Po, died of breast cancer. I watched my chubby cheeked grandma waste away after chemotherapy and a double mastectomy. She, like me, had been diagnosed with breast cancer in her forties, but unlike me, she didn't have the advantage of early detection in the 1970s. There were no annual mammograms. She found the lump herself, and by then, the cancer had spread. Wai Po was only 55 when she passed away in 1984. She had fled Mao Zedong's communist China, but couldn't outrun cancer. Back then it was like the Dark Ages. A diagnosis felt like a death sentence. A 1979 photo of Shirley Leung (l) when she was 7 years old with her grandmother at Longwood Gardens in Pennsylvania. Handout/Kam-Ken Leung For the next month on 'Say More,' we'll be sharing stories of cancer, starting with my own. Some of these stories end in tragedy, some lead to new beginnings. When my cancer journey started, I didn't know whether I was headed for death or a new start. For now, I'm fully cured, but in some ways I'll never quite get over cancer. I'm in the studio with 'Say More' producer Anna Kusmer. Anna Kusmer: I remember the first time you told me you had cancer, we were having dinner together and you mentioned it sort of offhand, and I was really intrigued. I was like, 'I've known Shirley for a while now and I didn't know this about her.' I had a million questions, but I didn't know if it was okay to just grill you about it. Over time I did hear more of your story. How long has it been since your cancer diagnosis and what kind did you have? Leung: So it's been eight years since my successful treatment. I had early-stage breast cancer. Mine was caught by an annual mammogram. It was stage one; I had a single side mastectomy. My left breast is gone now, and I have an implant. I had five years of a drug called Tamoxifen. It's a type of hormone therapy that reduces the chances of my cancer coming back. Kusmer: So you write a lot about your personal life in your columns but you've never written about your cancer. Why did you wait so long to talk publicly about this? Leung: When I was first diagnosed, I thought about writing about it. Between my diagnosis and my first surgery, I was thinking about doing it and I got this really good advice from somebody who said, 'Don't write about it now, you are going to be going through so much surgery and a diagnosis. You need to focus on your treatment.' That was the best advice I got during that period because I would later learn that it took me probably two years until I stopped thinking about cancer every single day. And to stop thinking about the idea that I might die of cancer. Kusmer: Can you take me back to eight years ago when you first found out you had cancer? What were those first couple days like? Leung: I was about 45 years old and I just had my annual mammogram. I got a call back saying, 'I think we want to call you back. Can you do another mammogram?' So I came back and then they said, 'Oh, we want you to have a biopsy now.' So I went in for a biopsy and they took two biopsies in two different places in my left breast. Then I had to wait. It was actually very excruciating to wait. I think from my first mammogram to my biopsy result, it was probably almost three or four weeks, and I was kind of in limbo. And I remember, I got a call from the doctor's office. Kusmer: You were at work, right? Leung: I was at work. I'm thinking, 'Well, I must not have cancer. Who calls you up and tells you over the phone that you have cancer?' So it was almost a relief that the doctor's office called. But no, I learned that no, they actually do give you your cancer diagnosis over the phone. Kusmer: Oh my God. Leung: And I couldn't believe it. So I'm sitting in the office at the Boston Globe. It was literally the week that we were moving from our old headquarters on Morrissey Boulevard in Dorchester into 53 State Street, here. So it was a pretty empty newsroom. I'm unpacking my boxes. I'm trying to file a It was like my world stopped. It was just like all those movies where you're told you have cancer or, some horrible thing and you know, the world, the room was just like spinning. Once the nurse on the other line said ,'You have cancer,' I just stopped listening. I couldn't even understand what she was saying. I have no idea what she said after that. I just knew I had to get off the phone and call my husband right away. Kusmer: So what kind of breast cancer did you have? Leung: So I had something called Ductal carcinoma in Situ (DCIS). It's the kind of breast cancer you wanna have, as my doctor was explaining to me. It's both very treatable and beatable. It's a kind of cancer that's supposed to stay in the breast, which means it's not supposed to break out and spread throughout your body. But I had very aggressive tumors, and if left untreated, it probably would've become invasive. My prognosis was good, but having cancer, it's like a series of cliffhangers. You get diagnosed, then you meet with a lot of different doctors. Then you go through surgery, there's more biopsies. They're trying to figure out if it spread. Not only did they take my left breast, but they took the first lymph node to just make sure the cancer had not spread. And then after that, I didn't have to do chemo. I didn't have to do radiation. But I did have to take five years of a drug called Tamoxifen, and that prevents cancer from recurring, because now they're concerned about my right breast. So they're making sure it doesn't come back. Kusmer: So you didn't come out publicly about your cancer for understandable reasons, but who did you tell? Did you tell your little kids that you had cancer? Leung: It wasn't hard telling my kids. They were only four and six. They had no idea what cancer was or what it could do. Of course I told friends and colleagues about my diagnosis, but the hardest conversation was with my mom. And that surprised me. I actually think I waited a bit to tell her. That's because her mom died of breast cancer and I'm a mom now, and if one of my kids called me up and said 'I have cancer,' it would've crushed me. And so I didn't want to break her heart, telling her that her daughter has breast cancer just like her mom. Leung as a young girl with her grandmother in New York City's Chinatown in an undated photo. Photo by Lou Chen Kusmer: So how did that conversation go with your mom? Leung: It was a hard conversation. I remember she had called me about something else. I think we were talking about summer vacation plans and then I blurted out I can't do any of that because I have cancer. And we both just started crying. I have very vivid memories of that call. When doing this series, I was curious what my mom remembered of that call. We actually never talked about it. Kusmer: Your mom who lives in California, we connected with her via Zoom. We wanted to see what she remembered. Leung (recording of call to mom): Hello. Ma? Leung's mom: Hello. In the office, is it now your home? Leung: Yeah, in my office. She was really nervous, Anna. She must really love me if she was willing to go on my podcast Kusmer: She told us a little bit about her memory of the call. Leung: Do you remember that day? When I gave you a call? Leung's Mom: Yeah. It was morning time. I was shocked, crying. 'Why do you have cancer? You are so young.' 'It's people my age who have cancer, not your age.' Leung: I asked my mom if she was scared about me having cancer. Leung's mom: Of course. Scared. And sad, very sad. Leung: Why were you sad? Leung's mom (translated by Leung): Your kids are so young and if they lost their mother, the family would be broken. Leung: I asked my mom if she was really nervous for me because her own mother had died of breast cancer, and I was really surprised by her answer. Leung's mom: My mom had breast cancer so long ago, 40 years ago, and there are so many advances in medicine and treatment. Leung as a young girl with her grandmother in front of her home in Jackson Heights, New York in an undated photo. Photo by Lou Chen Leung: My mom knew, I think deep down, that I'm not going to be my grandmother. Anna, you and I went to Dana-Farber. I hadn't been to Dana-Farber Cancer Institute until I had my cancer. Had you been to Dana-Farber? Kusmer: I've definitely heard of Dana-Farber. The Jimmy Fund, a philanthropic wing of Dana-Farber loomed extremely large in my childhood. I remember every time we'd go to the movies, there'd be buckets passed around to raise money for the Jimmy Fund. So I've always been aware of this world class cancer institution in Boston, but I've never been inside and it was really interesting to go there with you. Leung (clip from Dana-Farber visit): All right, so we're outside Dana-Farber. This is the main building, right? Leung: I called it the Four Seasons of Hospitals because it's just so welcoming, but also it's very sobering being in there because some of the people there are very sick. Kusmer: When you first walk in there, there's really high ceilings. Tons of light coming in through the atrium. It does look like a hotel lobby. And the juxtaposition between that and what you know about it, it's mostly full of cancer patients, those two things together makes you feel like this is a place of great purpose and importance. Leung: I think purpose is the right word. Often when we talk about cancer, we talk about it as the war on cancer, right? You do feel like this is a place where you are on the front lines of fighting cancer and you have doctors and nurses and staff and researchers helping you battle cancer. Leung (clip from Dana-Farber visit): There's this garden, serene garden, and I remember sometimes you can come in here, it's a healing garden. You don't see this in other hospitals. Kusmer: One place we went to together was this indoor garden. I've never seen that in a hospital before. Did you go there when you were getting treatment? Leung: I did. I did because it's such a special place. Maybe you're waiting in between appointments or before your appointment. After an appointment, you go into this garden and you have these benches and it's warm and it's sunlit and you can just sit there and meditate. As much as cancer is a physical disease, it's also a mind game. Kusmer: It seems like this garden is a physical representation of the fact that it's not just the physical biological support you need in this journey. You also need these other supports like spiritual places to contemplate your life. Leung: It's something my oncologist, Ann Partridge, seemed to really get. Kusmer: Actually right after the garden, we went to see her. Leung (clip from Dana-Farber visit): You look good. Ann Partridge: Thank you, my friend. How about you? How are you? Kusmer: Tell me a bit about Dr. Partridge. Why did you choose her? What did you like about her? Leung: Her specialty is dealing with younger women who have breast cancer. I think the average age of a woman who gets breast cancer in the US is in her early sixties, and so her specialty is women in their twenties, thirties, and early forties. She said she was inspired to work with younger women with breast cancer because of a friend of hers who was diagnosed when she was 30. Partridge: She presented with a lump and sure enough, it was breast cancer. What that did do, at a tender young age for me, was open my eyes to some of the things that the medical community doesn't focus on. So you're focusing on the disease and what treatment do they need? What surgery do they need? Should we give them chemo or not? And she was also grappling with starting to date a guy. 'When do I tell him?' 'And what kind of camisole do I get if I choose to have a mastectomy? And when can I do the reconstruction?' And things that, kind of as a doctor, you're like, 'Talk to the nurses. Go to the boutique.' But when you are either a patient or you're close enough to a patient, when they're sharing those things, you're like, 'Oh, what's she going to do?' We don't know any of this stuff. And more importantly, how is she going to feel in a couple of years as the dust settles with her decisions, decisions about fertility, decisions about reconstruction. So there's a whole Pandora's box that gets opened for our youngest patients, especially that there wasn't as much research to tell us what to think about her future risks, let alone how to counsel her. So that's an area that we focused on a lot to try and bring more information to the table as people are making these difficult decisions. Kusmer: One thing that I really liked about Dr. Partridge is that it seems like she took listening to her patients and really understanding her patients to be one of her biggest jobs besides the technical work of treating cancer, like understanding what their values were in life, what their fears were, and truly trying to get patients to open up to her about these really deep life or death questions. That doesn't seem like every type of doctor would have to wrestle with that. Partridge: I see it as, 'What can I do to make this better for this person?' That's true for everybody that I take care of. How can I make their journey better? I find that as both an extraordinary privilege and responsibility because in order to help make a person's journey better, whether they have low-risk early-stage breast cancer, or they're living with an advanced disease, you have to get to know that person. And that's part of what pulled me into cancer, breast cancer specifically, because it's a long haul journey. Even when they're ultimately going to die of the disease, we often can get them on a treatment that contains it for some time. So to me, that was part of the compelling draw, to take care of patients who are dealing with something very serious. Each bring their own unique gifts and baggage to it, so you can help to get to know them and take care of them and hopefully make their journey better. Leung: Ann, and other oncologists that we talked to for this series, so much of their focus was on quality of life. It wasn't about, 'We are going to do everything possible to kill the cancer, even if it almost kills the patient.' I feel like before it was one size fits all for cancer treatment, and now it's like, 'No, we can customize your treatment so you don't lose all your hair or you don't lose both breasts.' The advances are about allowing people to live better and fuller lives. It's not just about survival. Kusmer: Dr. Partridge also talked a lot about the mental health journey of the cancer patient. She said even mental health experts with cancer struggle. Partridge: I had a patient this past year, who is a psychiatrist. During a forum, she said, 'I'm a psychiatrist. I teach people how to cope. And all of my usual coping mechanisms are not working.' And that's not an uncommon phenomenon. Kusmer: So one thing that surprised me, Shirley, is that you mentioned earlier that you weren't exactly relieved when you found out that you were cancer free. Can you explain that? Leung: Yeah, I was surprised, too. After surgery they test the lymph node so that they know if I am definitely going to beat this cancer. And the doctors are eager, actually to declare you cancer free. And as a cancer patient, I mean, those are the magic words you wanna hear. You are waiting for that moment. And yet I didn't feel cancer free because there's another C-word. Cured. And that can land just as hard. And, I found out, it's just as complicated. And I remember talking to Dr. Partridge about, 'Why don't I feel better? Why don't I feel relieved? This was supposed to be amazing.' She was the one that suggested, I see a therapist and Dana-Farber has a therapist who specializes with cancer patients. And so I went to see a therapist for the first time. Kusmer: So what did you learn? Leung: Well, I learned that it was pretty common for patients to feel this way. I also learned that I still equated cancer with death because of my grandmother's death, and I needed to be reminded that I am not my grandmother. It was hard for me to relax because of cancer. And it was like having a ticking time bomb inside me. And I mean, how many of us know people who beat cancer only for it to return with a vengeance? And I was like, is that going to be me? And I didn't want to jinx it. I didn't want to think that I'd actually beat cancer. Kusmer: So one of the themes of this series is the ways that people who have cancer are treated differently once they do come out and tell people. How did you feel about the way people talked to you and treated you and kind of talked about your cancer while you were going through it? Leung: In the beginning it was awkward. Still to this day, some people still ask me, 'How's your health?' And I'm thinking, 'It's been eight years.' It comes from a good place, right? That they want to recognize that you had cancer, and it was a tough period for you. So I appreciate it. But you are treated differently. People won't talk to you the same way. And it can be a little awkward now because so much of the narrative around cancer is like, 'You are a survivor. You are a warrior.' And I didn't feel like either one of those. I felt lucky, really lucky, that I had a very treatable and beatable cancer. Yes, I had this major surgery, but as cancer goes, it was pretty good. But you can see that cancer has done something to my mind because it's taken me eight years to finally really talk about it. Kusmer: So how do you think having cancer changed you as a person? Leung: I wish I could say it's made me Mother Theresa. When I'm having a bad day or if I'm fighting with my kids or they're upsetting me, I do think, 'Hey, I'm just really glad I'm still here and I can live through these moments.' I also saw, and I think every cancer patient will tell you this, I saw the humanity. I had so many friends, colleagues, and also, people I barely know who came out of the woodwork to support me, to bring me meals, to babysit my kids. I just saw a side of humanity that made me really hopeful and optimistic. And now when other people have cancer or go through some really tough period, I'm there for them. Kusmer: So your little boys from earlier in your story, that 4-year-old and 6-year-old, they aren't so little anymore. I think they're what, 12 and 14 now? Leung: They're taller than me! Kusmer: So what do you want them to know about cancer now that they're old enough to understand? Leung: For them, their first association with cancer, it won't be about death. It'll be about Mom living. Now, one of my son's friends, their father passed away from cancer last year, so they do know that some people die of cancer, but I think it's important for them and that generation to know that cancer can be treatable, can be beatable, and it's a real testament to the advances of medicine. They can actually say 'cancer' and not be scared. Maybe in their lifetime, cancer will be more like heart disease or diabetes. It's a disease that can be managed. It's chronic for some people. Cancer won't haunt them like it did me. Kusmer: Thank you Shirley, so much for sharing your story. I hope other people will reach out and share their own stories and stick around for the rest of these episodes. Leung: Anna, thanks for being on this journey with me. We hope you'll stick around for more episodes on the C-word. Listen to more 'Say More' episodes at Kara Mihm of the Globe staff contributed to this report. Shirley Leung is a Business columnist. She can be reached at
