My Après Cancer Story
I don’t love the spotlight, but if sharing my story helps even one person face cancer differently (with joy, determination, and grit), then it’s worth shouting from the rooftops.
It all started at the end of 2021. I was packing for a New Year’s trip to Provincetown with my closest friends when I found a lump. Three weeks later, I was diagnosed with triple-negative breast cancer, one of the most aggressive types. Just like that, my life changed.
But I refused to let cancer consume me. I built an army, my “F Cancer Team,” of amazing friends and family who surrounded me with love and support. I worked through my treatments, did Pilates three times a week, walked, drank a gallon of water a day, and took my “lotions and potions” (supplements, etc.) religiously.
From the beginning, I decided it would look different on me.
I wasn’t going to show up to chemo in sweatpants as the pamphlet advised. No way. Each treatment was a red-carpet event. I dressed up in themed outfits and sent selfies to my support crew. It brought laughter, light, and something to look forward to. I honored my hometown, stood in solidarity with Ukraine, and even roller-skated into my final chemo session. My doctor said, “That was awesome, but you have to take off those f***ing skates. You’re a liability!” We laughed. It was medicine.
In the middle of it all, I started planning my “F Cancer Tour,” a once-in-a-lifetime trip to Italy and Switzerland to drive eight supercars through the Alps. I booked it before I even knew I’d beat cancer. It gave me something to dream about.
After eight rounds of chemo, I had surgery. The call came: clear margins. Cancer-free. Then came 16 rounds of radiation. But complications delayed things, and I wasn’t sure I could take my trip. My radiologist said, “Go. You earned it.” So I did. Solo to Milan, to meet up with a group of car-loving guys. I drove Ferraris, Lamborghinis, an Aston Martin, and more. I even spun out a Ferrari on Enzo Ferrari’s own track. Worth. Every. Penny.
When I got back, I started radiation the very next day. And I spent the rest of the year filled with gratitude, thanking my F Cancer Team and living fully. That New Year’s Eve meant everything. I had survived. I was ready to move forward.
Then, in September 2024, I found another lump. My doctor said it was probably a cyst. It wasn’t.
Triple-negative breast cancer was back. Same area. This time, I needed a full-body PET scan. The waiting was brutal, but I caught it early. No spread.
We went into action again. I chose Dana-Farber for treatment. Their team was incredible, and I knew I was in the right place. I started chemo and immunotherapy in November: six rounds, every three weeks. The side effects hit harder this time, but I worked through them again and kept my spirits high. The outfits came back, too, louder and more fabulous than ever.
I found a perfect hotel in Boston, The Verb. The staff became family. They even put my name on the marquee. I broke a few more rules this time around, like bringing my friend’s giant white Samoyed dog, Maxi, into treatment. When we were told no, I pushed back, and we got in. Maxi and I matched outfits. I wore a winter-white tuxedo coat and flowing pants. His tail was painted purple and green. One patient said, “Can I take a picture of your dog? I need to tell my kids I saw a unicorn today.” That moment? Pure magic.
January came, and after the Maxi visit, I was trying to figure out the next outfit.
All my friends were skiing. I never got into skiing (too much of a calamity Jane), but I thought, well, I’ve après-skied plenty. What about Après Cancer? There it was. I bought a vintage ski sweater online, took it to a local embroiderer, and had them stitch the words Après Cancer on the front. I wore it with a fun winter ski outfit to my fourth treatment. The nurses loved it. One who wasn’t even working with me came running over: “I have to see your sweater. Are you the Après Cancer girl?” I laughed. Yes. I am.
Like I always did, I texted my friends and family a photo of my treatment outfit. When I texted the group that included my stepdaughter, Emily, a trademark lawyer in NYC, I joked that I should trademark it. Without telling me, she looked it up, and the phrase Après Cancer had never been trademarked. We got on the phone, and I said, "Let’s do it." I can make something amazing out of this that gives back and helps everyone affected by cancer.
Why I Share
And here we are. I am Cancer F*cking Free again for the second time, and I am not done. This is a movement: proof that life after a cancer diagnosis can be bigger, louder, and more fully yours than you could have imagined from inside a chemo chair. I want every person navigating a diagnosis to know that the outfits, the F Cancer Team, and the refusal to do this quietly are a legitimate survival strategy.
I share this because nobody puts the good stuff in the pamphlets. The Après Cancer part is real. The team is still showing up. The outfits are still loud. And I am still very much here.