The journey began unexpectedly in 1997 when I noticed a persistent lump near my right nipple. At the time, the diagnosis of male breast cancer felt like stepping into uncharted territory. My concern was amplified by a heavy family history; having lost my mother to ovarian cancer in 1964, I was acutely aware of the stakes and the potential genetic threads that connect these diagnoses.
I thought it was just a simple story, but years later they found it had metastasized. I hoped to get some money from the government since it was likely from my exposure on Guam in 1949. There were two atomic tests in March of that year in the vicinity. My mother had taken me there so she could be with my father. When Trump became president, his administration killed the program that would’ve given me and others exposed on Guam compensation.
What started as a routine visit to my primary physician quickly escalated. I was referred to a surgeon to address what we initially hoped was a simple cyst. However, the procedure proved more complex than anticipated. The “cyst” was revealed to be a small but malignant tumor, marking the definitive start of my battle with breast cancer.
Since that pivotal moment nearly three decades ago, my diagnosis has evolved into metastatic breast cancer. This has required a steadfast commitment to ongoing treatment and an adaptive approach to care.
I’m doing the best I can with the help of my doctors and support from people like Peggy and Bret. Living with this condition since the late nineties has granted me a unique perspective on resilience, the evolution of oncological treatments, and the vital importance of early detection and advocacy—especially for men, who are often overlooked in the conversation surrounding breast health.
