Breast Cancer Diaries: Jennifer
Photography by Dave Cooper
Text by Jennifer Cooper & Jennifer Blades
“I am cautiously optimistic, but I am excited about the future.”
Throughout the month of October, we’re sharing personal stories of women affected by breast cancer. This is part 2 of our series. Click here for part 1.
It’s a warm fall night and I’m outside lighting candles and starting a fire in our little IKEA fire pit. I’ve not entertained much during COVID, which is to say, I haven’t entertained at all. But I’ve invited my neighbor over for a night under the Baltimore-lit sky.
My neighbor Jennifer Blades is an opera singer and voice teacher. In the spring and fall months, her voice flows from her open windows and across the neighborhood, giving us a beautiful, free concert.
She’s also a breast cancer survivor who lost her singing voice after chemo.
I set out wine and water for Jennifer and space our Tolix chairs far enough apart to feel safe. I’m caught up in my head, thinking about what it means to find safety in distance while being starved for the closeness of community when Jennifer peeks her head through the back gate and says hello.
Jennifer is a strikingly beautiful woman. She’s got a brilliant diva energy even though she’s far humbler than what I imagine a diva to be. Dave comes out because he’s starved for interaction too and we talk for a good 30 minutes about the state of the world before he goes back in. Now we can get to talking about the state of this world we’re in right now—this world of two Jennifers sitting on a little patio, wondering what it takes to find our voice.
Take me back to when you realized you were destined to sing.
I have always sung. It is just something I did from the time I was little. I had a doll that was the same size as me who would dance and sing with me when I was about three. But destined…I don’t think I really allowed myself to believe that I should be allowed to try until college. All the teachers in school said I was “too smart” to be a singer and should study something else, so that’s what I did. I entered college as a Psychology Pre-Med major and hated it. In my sophomore year, I finally started taking voice lessons, and decided that I had to change my major. I had to sing. But it has always been a part of me.
I know singing is your art, and how you get your voice into the world. You said after cancer treatments you wouldn’t even sing in the car or listen to music. Can you tell me about that time? How did the silence feel?
I was so defeated, because whenever I tried to sing, even with the radio, I would end up getting hoarse and vocally tired. The silence felt deafening in so many ways. It was a reminder that I could teach people what to do, but I could no longer share my own voice with the world. I really didn’t know who I was anymore, and it was very hard to explain that to people. Some people understood it immediately, but some people thought, well, you can teach and direct, so you should turn to that. I would try to explain that my voice is a part of me, and losing my voice was like losing my identity, my sense of self. It got to the point where I wouldn’t talk about it with certain people.
I also felt like I had to withdraw from the world somewhat. That I had less to say as a person, because I had less of a voice than previously. I spent a lot of time sitting in silence during that time.
“I have some very supportive friends who did not let me stop, who made sure that I was going to find a way.”
Was there ever another time in your life that you remember being silent?
The only other time that I can remember is when I had my tonsils out at age 20, and that was excruciatingly painful. Talking was no fun, so I had to let it heal. It was a very different thing. I knew I was going to recover. With this I had no idea if I would ever find my voice again.
What helped you remember to fight for your voice?
I don’t think I ever really stopped fighting for it, but it took a very long time to find the right people to guide me through vocal rehab. I also have some very supportive friends who did not let me stop, who made sure that I was going to find a way.
I know you’ve said that you worry that you won’t be able to get past cancer. What do you mean by that?
Once you join the cancer club, you don’t really leave it. Diagnosis means that you will always be on the lookout. When I get my six month mammogram and MRI, I am looking for NED as a result—no evidence of disease. I am still in active treatment, so I see the medical oncologist every 6 months. I will be on tamoxifen for two more years and then another post-menopausal medication for another five after that. Diagnosed in 2016. Won’t be out of active treatment until 2027.
I have a hard time remembering that I am not who I was before cancer, and that I need to embrace who I am now more fully. I have had a melanoma, knee surgery, some other injuries, the voice stuff, and I feel like it is all because of cancer. Maybe not, but it’s easy to blame the big C. My life was going along pretty well before it came along.
What have you learned about yourself through this whole thing?
This reinforced that I am strong and resilient during a crisis, but also that I am really good at feeling guilty for things that I cannot control like lost income and inability to work due to illness or not being able to cook dinner.
I think it finally taught me how important self-care can be.
How’s your voice now?
Overall, I would say that it has improved tremendously. I still have to be careful, but I know what I need to do for it now. I am trying to restructure my work so I can have more flexibility to provide income that will allow me to focus on my singing. I have been a Rodan + Fields skincare consultant for several years, and honestly, my business did super well during my cancer treatment, because it was one of the ways that I was able to make money for my family. I put time in. I am going back to that again now. Putting more time into that business to help take stress off using my voice too much.
I am cautiously optimistic, but I am excited about the future.
That makes me so happy! Okay, so how are you using your voice now?
I teach private lessons via Zoom right now due to the pandemic. I am also an adjunct faculty member at Goucher College and teach voice there. My singing is limited due to the pandemic, but my cabaret husband and I are planning a virtual holiday cabaret, and we are also working to populate our first ever Cabaret Workshop. Plus, I am accompanying myself live on Zoom and Facebook live every so often—kind of a brave and daring event since I am really not a pianist. But pandemics do crazy things to people!
What do you want other people to know about breast cancer?
I want people to know that breast cancer is not the end of the world. Contrary to my difficulties. I want them to know that every case is different. I want them to know that they should ask as many questions as they have if they get diagnosed and not be afraid to ask them.
“I want people to know that breast cancer is not the end of the world.”
What do you want other people to know about your story?
First, that my story is one that could possibly affect more singers like me, but sadly there are no studies done on opera singers who get breast cancer, because we are too small a sample size. If this happens to other singers, they should really seek out an ENT or a voice therapist who understands their needs.
Second, I want people to know that after a cancer diagnosis, life as you know it is never the same. And that is really OK. It is difficult to accept, but it is OK.
There are a few things I want to add to our conversation. First, Jennifer had to fight for her diagnosis. Originally, she had been seeing her primary care doctor for a case of eczema on her left nipple that wouldn’t go away. Later, when that same doctor found a small lump in Jennifer’s left breast, she sent her for a mammogram. The center’s films came back inconclusive and they told Jennifer to wait 6 months and then return for a follow up.
Jennifer said, “Nope.” And she worked with her primary care physician in order to be seen by Johns Hopkins breast cancer specialists.
The eczema turned out to be Paget’s disease, a rare form of breast cancer. It is also associated with secondary cancers in the breast, which would further explain the lump Jennifer’s doctor found.
So this is my plea. If you feel you have been given the brush-off by a medical provider, or they tell you the films are inconclusive and tell you to wait, raise hell to get a second opinion.
Being demure never saved a life.
Speaking of speaking up, there’s something I want to use my voice for and it has to do with our ability to heal. To do that, we need support. And that support comes in the form of community, and it also comes in the form of access to affordable health care. Jennifer and I spoke at great length about the treatments she needed and how she now has a lifelong preexisting condition.
We have an election coming up that will impact healthcare. Biden has promised to deliver a public-health insurance option that protects those with pre-existing conditions. Trump has pledged a market-based option in which people with pre-existing conditions may or may not be protected. The executive order he signed is ceremonial, not legal according to experts.
I cannot tell you how to vote. I only want to remind you that beyond the soundbites and screaming matches, we have an opportunity to create our future.
And we deserve the healthiest version of you in it.
Additional editing on this piece was provided by Kathy Cornwell
Additional story development for this series was provided by Cassie Boorn
Here’s a sneak preview of our next story…
Stacy
Stacy Deems finalized her divorce in March.
“You know, it was really strange. I remember sitting in the courtroom and my lawyer looked at me and asked, “I’m going to ask you one more time, Have you gone to the doctor? Are you fully healthy? Are you well?”
“And I told him, Yes, I’ve just seen the gynecologist and had my physical.
“And he said, ‘Because you know, people get diagnoses after divorce. And you’ll want to make sure you have continued health insurance if you need it.’”
Six months later, she found the lump.