On April 8th, 2024 I was diagnosed with breast cancer—eight years to the day since my mom’s diagnosis. Before then, the only thing I correlated breast cancer with was my mom’s death. So when I was told that I had DCIS, I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed because that’s all I could think of. Then, I thought of my 13-year-old daughter who would have to watch one of her moms go through something extremely hard, long, and tiring—just like I did with my mom.

I would always joke and say, “If I ever end up with any type of breast cancer, it doesn’t matter what stage, I’m going to do a double mastectomy and have reconstruction. Chop them off, get me new ones!” And that’s exactly what I did a week after my diagnosis. I could’ve done a lumpectomy because I had stage 0, but watching my mom’s cancer metastasize to the brain and then to all her other organs… I just couldn’t. I couldn’t let the loves of my life watch me die from this disease like I did with her. That’s not necessarily what others have to do, though. I had a friend who was diagnosed a few months before me, and she ended up doing one breast instead of both. I’ve ultimately learned that it’s your body, your decision.

A lot of people have been amazing and kind and supportive, but being a public figure, I got a few comments like, “Why are you sad? There are people dying out there.” And that caused some real guilt. Even when I went to the doctor’s office for a routine checkup and ended up being operated on at the table right then and there, there was guilt. Even after having five surgeries from complication after complication after complication, there was guilt. Even when my scar tissue built up and it felt like there were 10 people sitting on my chest and I was in so much physical pain that I felt sorry for myself, there was guilt. That guilt lingers, but the love from my wife, sister, daughter, and care team is even stronger, holding me up every time I want to falter and fall.

 

You’re never really the same after you’re told you have cancer. And even though I’m a survivor, I have a hard time because of the continuous financial struggles and just feeling… depressed. It’s almost like I have postpartum, but for my breasts. You sorta have to grieve the loss of them when you have a double mastectomy—and that’s hard. Although I have new, perkier breasts, I don’t have any nipples yet, which is a very weird experience. But I’ll eventually get 3D nipple tattoos to hopefully make myself feel whole again.

Now, I want to be a voice for the voiceless. There are so many people that are over 40 and have never gotten a mammogram, or don’t do self-exams every month. They might think, “Out of sight, out of mind.” But the sooner you know, the sooner you can save your life. Get early detection, stay on top of your health, be your own advocate, find support. There are amazing nonprofits that can help like Pink Aid, Breast Friends, and Susan G. Komen. You’re not alone, although sometimes it feels like you are. I know I felt alone even though I had the best support system on the planet. I actually ended up partaking in the Pink Lemonade Project where I was assigned a mentor. I remember telling her, “Oh, my cancer is only stage 0.” And she was like, “Rasha, don’t diminish it. You have cancer.” And she was right. She was so right.

A bittersweet thing that I often think about is that I had the same doctors, the same breast cancer surgeon, and the same plastic surgeon that my mom had through her own journey. It almost makes me feel a little bit closer to her because we both went through something similar. But I don’t want my daughter to go through this—ever. She’s going to have to go through early detection like I did, and be on top of her health like I was. I just hope by the time she gets to be my age that there’s a cure for breast cancer. How amazing would that be?

—Rasha Pecoraro, sister, wife, mom, podcaster, & breast cancer survivor