“It’s probably cancer.” The directness of the radiologist’s words knocked the wind out of me. My mind raced. It was June 2023. Two weeks prior, I had been at the ob-gyn for the obligatory six-week postpartum checkup. At this appointment, I reiterated my apprehension regarding a small, hard lump in my left breast. I first noticed this lump and inquired about it in January when I was a few months pregnant with my third baby. My concerns were dismissed the first time; after all, a woman’s breasts change considerably during pregnancy, and I had a normal mammogram in April 2022. Still, I was fortunate. Even though that tiny lump seemed like a normal pregnancy-related change, and thinking about the possibilities left me with a feeling of uneasiness, I wanted to be certain.

As a young girl, I witnessed my mother’s battle with breast cancer. She was resolute in her recovery. She would have her double mastectomy with reconstruction, complete her chemotherapy and leave cancer behind her. She did just that and has been living cancer-free since 1994. Because of my family history, I have always been cautiously persistent on making an appointment to have imaging completed for any concerning lumps and bumps. The results were always the same: Just “dense, fibrous breast tissue; nothing to worry about.” Or “unremarkable,” as the medical record often states. Still, I remained vigilant. Better safe than sorry.

On June 19, 2023, at age 37, I was diagnosed with Stage 1 invasive ductal carcinoma. The entire thing felt surreal, like a bad dream. I went from office to office for doctor appointments. With the help of my husband, who coincidentally is a plastic reconstructive surgeon, I ultimately decided to undergo a double mastectomy and DIEP flap reconstruction. Though my talented care team took exceptional care of me, it was a challenging summer, to say the least. I anxiously awaited lymph node biopsies, endured a 10-hour surgery, slowly learned to accept my new body, and overcame the physical post-surgery restrictions, which included not being able to pick up my newborn baby for eight weeks. I began a five-year course of ovarian suppression shots and aromatase inhibitors, essentially medically induced menopause with added side effects. I found it incredibly ironic to go from a geriatric pregnancy (as they so kindly call it) to being one of the younger women checking into the Messino Cancer center for my oncology appointments.

I most certainly could not have gotten through such an intense recovery without the unwavering support from my husband, our mothers, our devoted friends and our Biltmore Park community. Our doorbell rang constantly with friends dropping off meals, and the other offers of help were endless. I never felt alone throughout my diagnosis and recovery, and I realize I was incredibly fortunate to have the support I did.

After such a life-altering event, you are faced with a choice. What next? How am I going to move forward from this and how will this define me? I decided that if I could help just one person by sharing my story, I would. My hope is that you will advocate for yourself when something doesn’t feel right. I know that my persistence may have saved my life.

Inspired by my mom, I have been involved in breast cancer fundraising for years, but I now share a deeper connection to this fundamental cause. I am excited to transform this challenging experience into something meaningful. I started a new nonprofit, Pints for Pink, to celebrate others who have faced this news and support those who are still fighting this devastating diagnosis. 

        

Elena Tenzel is a Biltmore Park resident who lives on Olmsted Drive with her husband, Dr. Paul Tenzel, and children, Jacqueline, 7, Theodore, 5, and Brooklyn, 1. Stephanie Corcoran, owner of The Little Gym in Gerber Village, sponsors Making A Difference.