ONE WOMAN’S STORY: Dana Shocker

“If you told me a year ago that I would be the one writing about my breast cancer journey, I wouldn’t have believed you. ‘Soon you’ll be on the other side of this,’ they would all say. They weren’t exactly right; it never really ends, but I’m still here and that’s definitely something to write about. My name is Dana Shocker, and I’m a breast cancer survivor. One year ago, I was diagnosed with Stage 1B Invasive Ductal Carcinoma ER+ PR- HER2, and Grade 2 DCIS at only 30 years old.”

“A year prior to my diagnosis, I found a new lump in my breast. Being extremely cystic my entire life, I knew right away that this one was different. The lump was hard and located directly in the middle of my chest. I called my doctor right away. I was examined and told that I had nothing to worry about. I was told this was just a cyst and, because of my age and the absence of breast cancer in my family history, there was little to no chance of this being something bad. So, I listened.

A few months later, the lump was growing. I called my doctor again. She didn’t treat my concern with any urgency and reassured me I was fine. A few months later, I was getting into the shower and noticed that my breast had changed shape and my nipple was discolored. I called my doctor again and said I had a NEW lump so they would see me quickly. My mother came with me this time. My doctor was condescending and laughed at the fact that I was still worried about the same issue. I begged for an ultrasound, and she agreed to give me one for ‘peace of mind.’

I received the call on January 5th 2022, at around 10 in the morning, sitting on the edge of my bed. After the ultrasound, mammogram and biopsy, the radiologist called with my results. ‘This isn’t what we were hoping for’ she said, ‘pathology came back as Invasive Ductal Carcinoma.’ Silence on my end. The radiologist continued to talk, but I couldn’t comprehend any of the words. I just kept repeating the word over and over in my head. Cancer. ‘How do I tell my fiancé who just lost his father to cancer six months ago? How do I tell my parents their daughter is sick? Am I going to die?’

First stop, find a breast surgeon. Next stop, more testing, MRI’s, biopsies, genetic testing. After that, my first oncology appointment. Then, on to fertility preservation. Fertility preservation was something that never even crossed my mind before and was probably the biggest shock throughout all of this. I never heard about this issue with other women who were diagnosed because they were typically older. They had their children or at least made their own decision not to. My decision was being made for me, and fast.

I knew in that moment I NEEDED to find my community. I needed to find other women my age who could help me navigate through this. Who could guide me, prep me, comfort me, console me. I started posting my story via social media and, just like that, out of nowhere, floods of messages in my inbox. All young women from all over the globe. My community

After one round of Oocyte Cryopreservation, I was ready to get this cancer out of me. February 23rd 2022, I went in for a bilateral mastectomy. Those were a rough few weeks. I knew it was going to be hard, but I really had no idea what I was in for. I’m so grateful for my fiancé and parents for taking care of me…some women must do this alone. Two weeks after surgery, I found out that I would need chemotherapy. Four rounds of TC Chemo (Docetaxel/Taxotere, and Cyclophosphamide). To say I was nervous is an understatement, but I knew that this was giving me the best chance at a long life ahead, and that was all that mattered. Thankfully, I was given the option at doing another cycle of oocyte cryopreservation which I jumped on right away. The more eggs frozen the better! Unfortunately, we were forced to cancel our wedding scheduled for July 15th due to my weakened immune system. Another punch in the gut

April 13th 2022 was my first round of chemo, and then every twenty-one days after that. We had many hiccups during treatment. My tissue expanders became infected only ten days after my first infusion, and I was hospitalized for six days with sepsis. I had emergency surgery to remove the expanders which left me with only skin where my breasts once were. I was devastated and wasn’t sure how I would get through the next seven months before they could place them back in. But I did. I persevered. I woke up every day and tried to look at the positives – I’m alive.

Finishing chemo was an accomplishment like no other. I felt strong and thankful, and had a deeper appreciation for life. The way I viewed things changed; the way I saw myself changed. Instead of being angry at the way my body felt or looked, I was thankful to that body for carrying me through the hardest year of my life. I learned to be easy with myself when I didn’t have the energy or willpower to get off the couch – or at least I’m trying to be easy with myself.

A little over a month after chemotherapy was finished, I started Tamoxifen which I will take for the next ten years. It was a weird feeling starting that medication. Knowing that it causes some not-so-wonderful side effects, and other not-so-wonderful potential issues. But it will help to keep the cancer from coming back and keep me here longer, so I’ll take it!

What no one prepared me for was the many obstacles that come with survivorship. To be honest, it’s been a lot harder emotionally now than it was during active treatment. The side effects from chemotherapy are still very much present, plus the additional dread of ‘what do I do now’ constantly looming over my head.

I changed as a person in many ways since my diagnosis. Many of which have led me to question my career and what I want to do with the rest of my life. I knew immediately that the cancer community would be one that I would always be a part of, but maybe now I could take part in a different way – to be an advocate instead of a patient, and to be a helping hand instead of the one in need.

Every day is a challenge and some are harder than the others. Especially the days where I mourn the loss of my breasts, my fertility, my wedding. Or the days where I’m worried about a possible reoccurrence. But then the days appear where I look at how far I’ve come, and how what I have now is what I used to once pray for: Health. Opportunity. Ability. There were days during treatment where I would just dream about going for a long walk, or not having drains hanging from my body. It’s all relative.

My advice to the newly diagnosed would be this: you’re stronger than you think. You are NOT alone. Ask questions, FIND your community, and use all of the resources available to you, whether it’s emotional, financial, mental, spiritual, or physical support you need. Reach out to your patient navigators, your insurance representatives, and your community. Although it’s a whirlwind of emotions and never-ending phone calls, doctor appointments, surgeries, decisions, etc., you will one day be the one writing your One Woman Story and helping someone just like yourself.”