Sharon Berschwinger is a cancer survivor, wife, and mother, who lives in Guilderland, NY. She is an elementary reading specialist and literacy coach. Self described as a life-long learner, the biggest lessons she ever received were during her cancer journey. Doing outreach is something that brings her immense joy as she continues to transition from survivor to thriver. She can be reached at [email protected]

Believe.

This word became important to me during my breast cancer treatment, perhaps because it was the holiday season and I am always a sucker for Santa Claus. It emerged as a driving force of the shift that my entire being had to make in order to survive the most excruciating time of my life. I wrote the word on my wrist with a sharpie everyday as a way to force myself to buy into my treatment plan, medical team, and hope for my future. In conjunction, I began lifting weights in my basement during chemo. I was under the assumption that if my body was strong- then my mind would follow. It turns out that I was right.

Annie, are you okay?

I grew up in an original core four family that taught me middle class values with an emphasis on education. Through my coming of age years, I was always self-conscious about how I looked, but extremely confi dent with my intellect. I began to view the world through visual and rhythmical representations. Music became a source of joy and inspiration. I worked feverishly to memorize every song lyric by rewinding cassette tapes obsessively. Music would eventually provide a lifeline for me when I was sinking.

Thank you for being a friend.

I got my ability to connect with others from my dad. He was an uneducated man who could take anyone to school. He made friends with everyone from the railroad workers at the lumberyard to the CEO who trusted him with the keys. Unfortunately, my dad was diagnosed with Stage 4 Colon Cancer one month after me, right before the pandemic. As we spent more and more time together surrounding treatment, I drew upon our similarities and the way that our community was drawn to supporting us. I would learn that these connections were essential for my survival.

Have someone with you when I call.

I will never forget these words spoken by the doctor after my three hour biopsy. I suspected the news would be bad. My mammogram and ultrasound three months earlier had been “clear”. The ‘hematoma’ and large bruise I was left with afterward had never dissolved - because it was a 6 cm tumor. My diagnosis was Hormone+ HER2- Invasive Ductal Carcinoma in my left breast with positive lymph nodes in my axilla, clavicle, and chest wall. I essentially had a lime in my coconut and no one noticed. Not even me.

Put me in, coach.

My husband, Chris, treated my cancer like a football opponent. We had to get the scouting report and size up the enemy. Then, we would execute our plan and win. He was so sure of
himself that I felt ready to be the all star player he was coaxing out of me. Our boys were 9 and 13 at the time and encouraged to do their best in their own life,
which they did. They were crushing school and sports with me as their number one fan. I always say football is my religion, so maybe putting on my eyeblack was like sending up a prayer to heaven. With Coach Bersch by my side, I put my game face on and got to work.

My treatment by the numbers:

44: Age at diagnosis
3: Staged high due to tumor size and lymph nodes
5: Months of chemotherapy, ACT Regimen
2: Surgeries: Lumpectomy and Mammoplasty
35: Rounds of radiation.

Active Treatment

After getting my port placed, I was petrifi ed to begin chemotherapy. I think I actually cried my whole fi rst chemo class. Like many other cancer patients, I knew nothing about the topic but soon became well versed in everything from clear margins to genetic testing. The thing that I grappled with the most was fear in the form of insomnia and headaches. Nothing prepares you for the moment when everything changes. There is no playbook to follow. Slowly, over time, I began to learn many lessons to help myself emerge from my situation a better version of myself. It was the only way that I saw to move forward.

Hair today, gone tomorrow.

The shy little girl within me struggled greatly with the loss of her locks. What if I wasn’t good enough? Pretty enough? I had tried my whole life to hit a physical standard that didn’t seem to match who I was. Well, one December afternoon, my coach decided that we were going to control the narrative. My hair had begun falling out in the shower and in my hands. He shaved my head as our kids watched. Of course, there was music involved. Cue Bing Crosby! The fi rst time I glanced up with my bald head, Chris looked back at me and had so much love in his eyes that I almost melted. A funny thing also happened. My head was the smallest and cutest head that I ever did see! My eyes shone bright and beautiful! For the fi rst time in my life, I felt like I could really see myself. I now had hope that I would get through this portion of cancer treatment. I began a series of many mantras I told myself to spin things in a positive way. This was only temporary.

Fear- meet my toolbox.

In addition to creating phrases to cling to, I developed multiple strategies in order to keep my head out of the “I am going to die” spiral. This approach was a choice that I made daily in order to morph from fear to survivor mode. I got there by joining online support groups, researching, and utilizing both my heart and mind for a multifaceted approach. Going on a cancer journey totally sucks. However, I believe that if we look at it through a positive mindset it becomes bearable. I spoke with my medical team about nutrition and healthy habits in addition to blood work and scan results. I saw a nutritionist, behaviorist, and therapist. I tapped into that young girl who memorized lyrics and the steps to solve the rubiks cube. If I was going down, I was going down fighting.

Know your People.

I know some of us naturally retreat when we are struggling. Everyone is different. But I am here to tell you that my people showed up for me and got me through my darkest days. I immediately reached out to survivors that I knew to get fi rst hand experience and doctor recommendations. My best friend and my mom helped me pick out a wig. My sister-in-law planned a glam day and photo shoot for our Christmas cards. Many friends and family spent time with me and planned ‘playdates’ to keep my mind off of things. My big brother texted me motivational songs each day to help me stay centered and positive. I will never forget these acts of kindness and how they helped me to keep a positive outlook. I also believe everyone needs a ride-or-die. This is someone you can call in the middle of the night when you can’t breathe and they will always pick up the phone. (Thank you,
Jenna.) I had that support and wasn’t afraid to use it.

Community Support.

I was quite taken aback at everything that was done for me during my cancer journey. Car parade. Meal train. Flowers. Time spent with friends. Coffee dates. Gifts. Chemo bags. All the things. Our sports communities took up generous collections for us. It was much appreciated and alleviated so much stress. It also taught me how important it is to show up for others. I started to notice a trend. I can’t explain why the couple I babysat for when I was in high school sent me fl owers from out of state or why one of my former bosses sent me for a massage before a surgery. There was something about the way I was living my life that made all of this possible. In actuality, people weren’t friends with me because of my hair. :) I had unknowingly connected with others my entire life and they all showed up for me. I had no less than 250 nice things done for me. Something much deeper was emerging in my psyche to build confi dence post cancer. This was to be a seismic shift that would blow the roof off of who I was before - and I liked this new girl better.

Don’t Borrow Trouble.

I learned this one the hard way. In the beginning of a cancer diagnosis, it is truly the hardest part. No one should ever have to go through this living nightmare. You don’t know the extent of the disease or expected outcomes. Waiting for bone scans and PET scans is debilitating. When I found out that my cancer was treatable, I learned the lesson to not borrow trouble. It is not your trouble to bear! Don’t waste your time. It may not be a real problem, but more of a fi gment of your imagination. Do not let your thoughts go wild. Bring yourself back to a mantra and stop those wheels from spinning. It is a complete waste of time. I now oversimplify my worries in this way: I may die one day from cancer, but it is not today. So I am going to have the best day possible!

Pink Sisterhood.

When I first stepped foot into a local cancer center, it immediately felt right. To Life! in Delmar, NY, was where I got my wigs and became acquainted with my new “Pink Sisters”. It started with a Facebook group and then a VIP experience at the Saratoga Racetrack, a gala, being honored at an RPI Basketball game, and mentoring others going through cancer. On the surface, I was making friends and sharing experiences. But deeper down I was feeling accepted, building a community, and fi nding my voice. As an informal mentor, I quickly learned that helping others was a way to help myself. I don’t go around talking about cancer all the time, but it is part of who I am now and needs to be cherished and processed. My pink sisters give me a place to share my story and feel validated and seen. I have met so many amazing survivors. We all have very different stories with the same plea that we don’t want this disease to take us. And when one of us goes, a piece of all of us dies.

Know Thyself.

When the stress, anxiety, and fear takes over it can be debilitating. Another strategy to combat the mental battlefi eld of cancer is to know what makes you happy. Is there something that brings you joy? A person who makes you smile? A place that brings you comfort? I suggest making a list on the notepad of your phone or on a post-it on your fridge. When the scary thoughts creep in, literally pick up the list and do something on it. For me, it is seeing an old friend for a latte, camping with my husband, snuggling with my dogs, or visiting the library for a new book. It doesn’t have to be a beach vacation, but I do try to see the ocean each summer! Know your happy place and put yourself there when you need to pick up the pieces. We are in charge of our mood and we deserve to be happy!

Mindset is Everything.

Life is too short to see everything through sh&$-stained glasses. I also think this is a choice. Cancer gave me this rosy perspective, for sure, but I was sort of like this before. There are a lot of great blogs and videos out in the world about how to shift thinking and retrain the brain. Do it! Don’t be miserable! Your hair fell out? It will grow back. You are out of work? You have paid time off. Your car broke down? You have the means to fix it. It’s raining all the time? Go smell the fl owers. You have to clean the kitchen? You are alive! You get my drift and this one is on you. Seize the day!

Take 2 and call me in the morning.

Could the side effects of anti-cancer drugs be worse than the disease itself? Probably not, but a solid debate could be had. I was put into chemical menopause at the age of 44 from chemotherapy. Nothing I am going through is different from all of my mid-life friends struggling but it was ten fold and magnifi cently magnifi ed. Hot fl ashes. Hair thinning. Night sweats. Dryness. Weight gain. Infl ammation. Diarrhea. Bone loss. Whatever it is, I have had it. It doesn’t defi ne me, though. If you want to listen to me complain, I would appreciate it. Just a little sympathy goes a long way! Honestly, the best way to combat all of it is to take care of your body: eat right, exercise, weight train, limit alcohol and sugar, and drink more water. Ugh. I do my best and I am not perfect but I am a much healthier version of myself than I was prior. I have also tried not to have guilt when I indulge. I try to balance being happy with being healthy and it’s not easy. Happiness could be the best medicine available!

Cancer 2. Sharon 0.

At the age of 47, just 19 months after I fi nished active treatment, my radiation oncologist called with the most shocking news. My routine mammogram detected a very small mass on my left side close to my chest wall and the biopsy confi rmed that my cancer had come back. I could tell my entire care team had been talking behind the scenes because they all referenced each other and were on the same page. The standard of care was a double mastectomy. The complicated part was that I had just had so much radiation that my tissue wasn’t viable for reconstruction. I was soon going to be what I now understand to be a fl at sister or fl attie. This time, I was ready to face cancer head on with my tools. I am a completely different person now. Sharon 2.0. The surgery that I got was well researched and my surgeon well vetted. I chose an Aesthetic Flat Closure (AFC). I learned that not only are many women not offered a fl at closure, but are denied their wishes “in case” they change their mind and want implants. These women are left mutilated and emotionally scarred. I am so happy with simplifying my survival. No multiple surgeries. No limits to using my body. This time around, I was able to work, and tapped into my strategies in order to navigate the unimaginable. I describe getting a body part amputated as though you know you are about to get into a car crash and there is nothing you can do to stop it. The good news is that while the anticipation was unbearable, immediately afterward it was about healing and moving on.

Flattie in the Wild.

Man it is hard not having breasts. Like really hard. There are issues with identity, confi dence, and intimacy. Again, using my tools, my therapist has helped me to accept my new body and develop the mindset to match. Although my breasts are gone, my chest is still an intimate part of my body. The memories of my breasts are special and intricate and are still there. It’s almost like when you lose a loved one but feel close to them as if they are always with you, if that makes sense. Although it sucks, the positives are that I feel smaller and skinnier and less ashamed of my body. There is a lot to process and I’m sure it will be a lifelong battle. Nothing will be as hard as the concept of fi rst looking at my body post surgery. I invented the peek-a-boo method. Just a little glance here and there through a shirt sleeve or changing a bandage. After a couple of weeks I had seen enough that I knew I had a successful surgery and was ready to heal my mind, body and soul.

The evolution of Wonder Woman.

I believe that I have a bright future. I am extremely happy and fulfi lled. My body is different. My mind is different. My outlook is different. I live for the simple things. I yearn for the big things. I thrive watching both of my boys play college football. I have developed leadership skills at work. My husband is my best friend. We aren’t perfect but we have created a very happy life. I enjoy spending time with my family. My dad is in remission. I put on my music and put away my dishes. I teach kids and I dance around. I crave ice cream and skip my walks. I read my books and forget to drink water. I lift heavy weights and have a bad back. I like how I look and I also hate it. I am strong but also scared. I love my French Bulldog but wish he would live forever. I try to garden but don’t pull the weeds. I am smart and yet forgetful. I am creative but very boring at times. Life can be a crazy dichotomous path. But I believe I am on the right one.

#berschstrong

Posted in: Emotional/Mental Health, In Treatment, Just Diagnosed, Mastectomy, Post Treatment, Recurrence, Staging, Survivorship, Treatment, Younger Women