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The Hardest Choice Cancer Forced Me to Make

Photo credit: Courtesy of Jennifer Finkelstein
Photo credit: Courtesy of Jennifer Finkelstein

From Country Living

My fiancé and I were lying in bed one night in the spring of 2005 talking about our upcoming wedding when he felt a lump in my left breast. He's a doctor-he could tell something was wrong-and he immediately started pushing on my armpit. A few days later, on April 3, less than two months before our wedding, I learned that I had stage 2b breast cancer, and that it had spread to my lymph nodes.

I always wanted to meet my prince and get engaged-and now, this. I was the bride-to-be with breast cancer. I thought about postponing the wedding, but my doctors were pushing me to start chemo in a few weeks time, and I didn't want to walk down the aisle with no hair or in a wig. I did go through with the mastectomy, three weeks before the May 28th ceremony, and I felt like cancer had already taken a piece of me-my breast, my sense of security in my body. I wasn't going to let cancer take my wedding.

Photo credit: Courtesy of Jennifer Finkelstein
Photo credit: Courtesy of Jennifer Finkelstein

And so, we got married as planned. The day was joyful but confusing-my mother was running around telling people not to talk about my cancer, but I was getting the "pity look" from everyone. People wanted to know how I was feeling, and all I'd say was, "Go dance!" I didn't want to talk about it.

But whether to postpone the wedding or not wasn't the hardest choice I had to make-that came when my doctor asked if thought about freezing my eggs before starting chemotherapy. We were shocked when he told us that after my treatment, which would also include tamoxifen, there would be a 90 percent chance that I wouldn't be able to get pregnant naturally.

I was only 32 and I hadn't seriously begun thinking about having children; I just assumed I would, that I had plenty of time. But I didn't have time, and along with the cancer, that was another blow. I felt like, Here's another thing that's going to be taken away from me-my right to choose. It was devastating.

I felt like, "Here's another thing that's going to be taken away from me-my right to choose."

My husband and I went to see the head of reproductive endocrinology at Weill Cornell in New York City, and he told us about a bizarre-sounding study that involved removing my ovaries and implanting them in my forearm for a few months while I got chemo. My husband and I just looked at each other. It sounded so out there, especially on top of everything else, that I just kind of tuned him out. I didn't need to listen; I knew I didn't want to participate.

He also reiterated the egg freezing option. I had estrogen-positive cancer (which means that the hormone estrogen can fuel the growth of the cancer cells), and the egg-freezing procedure would involve injecting myself with estrogen. My husband and I were worried that the injections would trigger more tumor growth. If I'd chosen to do the egg freezing, then discovered that my cancer had spread to my lymph nodes, I would have been really scared. And even though doctors say the injections won't make cancer grow, that they're unrelated, we decided to err on the side of caution and not do it.

I regret that now, but when I think back on that time, I was essentially being asked to make a decision under duress-specifically, to make a decision about new life at a time when I was worried about losing my life.

When I asked my doctor if I could talk to other women my age with cancer, she said, "Not really-it's rare to be diagnosed at your age." Worse, the few young women I did end up meeting-in my oncologist's waiting room or through other people-ended up dying, including a woman who became my best friend.

I felt so alone.

Photo credit: Sarah Merians + Courtesy of Jennifer Finkelstein
Photo credit: Sarah Merians + Courtesy of Jennifer Finkelstein

So, rather than starting a family, in 2012 I decided to launch 5 Under 40, a nonprofit that helps young breast cancer survivors like me by providing all the tips and tools that doctors may not mention-where to buy a wig and how to get insurance to pay for it; whether to go back to work; what kind of surgery to have, and all the millions of decisions you suddenly need to make. Within three business days, we'll meet with anyone who reaches out; we'll set up peer matches, hold symposiums, and organize meditation sessions. My goal is to make sure that no other young woman has to go through this alone, and I think I was able to get it off the ground because part of me believed that there was an excellent chance I wouldn't be on the earth for very long.

11 years later, I'm still here; I've just turned 44. When I look around at the young women we serve, I'm so glad they have each other, that they are part of a community I never had.

Still, I wish I had a child (though I do have a dog named Lexi Finkelstein-I got her when my mom suggested I find something to take care of). Adoption is definitely something I think about; my husband is 55 now and he's willing. But I really want to see 5 under 40 keep growing-I'm constantly meeting with survivors, having events, recruiting providers. I'm kind of a mother to these women now-the younger ones even call me Miss Jenny. And the women we serve are my kids.

Photo credit: Courtesy of Jennifer Finkelstein
Photo credit: Courtesy of Jennifer Finkelstein

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