{"id":861839,"date":"2026-08-17T23:10:10","date_gmt":"2026-08-17T23:10:10","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/ca\/861839\/"},"modified":"2026-08-17T23:10:10","modified_gmt":"2026-08-17T23:10:10","slug":"breast-cancer-survivor-story-ballerina-abigail-simons-journey","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/ca\/861839\/","title":{"rendered":"Breast Cancer Survivor Story: Ballerina Abigail Simon\u2019s Journey"},"content":{"rendered":"

For most of Abigail Simon\u2019s life<\/a>, trusting her body was part of her job.<\/p>\n

\"Dr.<\/a> <\/p>\n

The professional ballerina had spent decades building a career around movement, performing with American Ballet Theatre and The Joffrey Ballet and touring internationally with Broadway\u2019s An American in Paris. A typical day could mean eight hours of dancing \u2014 breakfast, ballet, lunch, more ballet, then a performance at night.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve been a ballerina for a very long time,\u201d Simon says. \u201cI just turned 40. I had a baby when I was 36 \u2026 and when I was 37, I was diagnosed with cancer \u2026 that was a big change in my life. Ballet is no longer my full-time job.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her breast cancer diagnosis came when her son was just 11 months old. But Simon had been paying attention to her breasts long before that.<\/p>\n

She says doctors had previously attributed their lumpiness to dense breast tissue<\/a>, something she was told was common among dancers. Simon was not comfortable leaving it there. Her mother had survived breast cancer. So had both of her mother\u2019s sisters.<\/p>\n

\u201cI said, \u2018Well, my mom had breast cancer and both her sisters. So, I\u2019d like to really push to make sure that I get mammograms,\u2019\u201d she recalls. \u201cI got the feeling I had to really push for it.\u201d<\/p>\n

After giving birth, Simon noticed that one lump had changed. This time, the clinician who had delivered her son urged her to get it evaluated quickly. She was ultimately diagnosed with early-stage breast cancer that had reached a lymph node.<\/p>\n

It was the beginning of a lesson Simon would relearn throughout treatment: Knowing your body is one thing. Making sure your concerns are taken seriously is another.<\/p>\n

Learning Not to Take a Backseat to Her Care<\/p>\n

Today, the U.S. Preventive Services Task Force recommends<\/a> mammograms every other year beginning at 40 for women at average risk. Simon was 37. But age-based screening guidelines are only one part of assessing breast cancer risk, particularly for women with a significant family history<\/a>. The American Cancer Society (ACS) says some women at high risk should receive both a mammogram and breast MRI every year, typically beginning around age 30, depending on their individual risk factors.<\/p>\n

Family history can also raise questions about genetic counseling and testing. Mutations in BRCA1 and BRCA2 may be the best known, but inherited changes in genes including PALB2, ATM and CHEK2 can also increase breast cancer risk. Having multiple close relatives with breast cancer \u2014 particularly when cancers occurred at younger ages \u2014 is among the factors<\/a> clinicians consider when deciding whether genetic counseling or testing may be appropriate. <\/p>\n

Then there is breast density. <\/p>\n

Dense tissue can make cancer harder to detect on a mammogram and is itself associated with increased breast cancer risk. Since September 2024, mammography facilities nationwide have been required<\/a> to tell patients whether their breasts are dense and encourage them to discuss what that means for their individual risk and screening plan.<\/p>\n

For Simon, those conversations are no longer theoretical.<\/p>\n

\u201cEven from that first time when the doctor dismissed me, and I pushed for the mammogram,\u201d she says, \u201cit was a hard but important lesson early on, like, \u2018Oh, I can\u2019t take a backseat to my care.\u2019 \u2026 I\u2019ve got to be kind but direct. I\u2019ve got to advocate.\u201d<\/p>\n

The Body She Got Back Was Different<\/p>\n

At first, Simon\u2019s goal was straightforward: Get through treatment and get back to dance.<\/p>\n

She underwent a double mastectomy with reconstruction, followed by chemotherapy. What she did not anticipate was how profoundly surgery could change the body she expected would carry her back to the studio.<\/p>\n

Simon developed post-mastectomy pain syndrome, persistent pain that can occur after breast surgery. The National Cancer Institute<\/a> (NCI) lists lasting pain or discomfort, along with arm and shoulder pain and stiffness, among the possible risks of mastectomy.<\/p>\n

\u201cI ended up with post-mastectomy pain syndrome for two years,\u201d Simon says. \u201cThey kept telling me, \u2018You\u2019ll get back to dance as soon as we take out the expanders and you do the reconstruction. You\u2019re going to be fine.\u2019 And I woke up \u2026 and all of a sudden, it was this zoom, zoom, zoom pain everywhere. Just throbbing. I\u2019d just be sitting on the floor crying.\u201d<\/p>\n

She also developed cording<\/a>, or axillary web syndrome, a side effect of breast cancer surgery in which a tight cord of scar tissue forms under the arm and can restrict movement. Research suggests<\/a> stretching and other physical therapy approaches can help restore movement in patients experiencing it, but recovery time can vary from person to person; some patients undergo month of treatment before noticing any improvement.<\/p>\n

For most people, losing some range of motion is disruptive. For a ballerina, movement was Simon\u2019s vocabulary. She eventually found a way to stay connected to ballet by coaching young dancers, but the cording still affects what she can physically demonstrate.<\/p>\n

\u201cIn ballet, we have something called allong\u00e9. Stretching. So my arms used to go back this way, but now I can\u2019t anymore,\u201d she says. \u201cI can literally see a \u2026 web. So, it\u2019s really hard for me to show certain things to my students.\u201d<\/p>\n

Simon wishes rehabilitation had been addressed much earlier.<\/p>\n

\u201cI feel that when you have a surgery, physical therapy should be automatic right away,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n

She fought her way back to performing, but eventually had to confront something harder than getting back onstage: Her new body could no longer reliably sustain the career she had built.<\/p>\n

Grieving the Ballerina She Had Been<\/p>\n

Cancer survival is often framed around what remains: You are here. Treatment worked. Be grateful.<\/p>\n

Simon is grateful.<\/p>\n

She is also grieving.<\/p>\n

\u201cSometimes I can\u2019t understand why I\u2019m sad, and it\u2019s like I woke up, I ate breakfast, I danced, I had lunch, I danced. And then, I performed at night, and it was a big part of my identity, and I\u2019m grieving for that loss,\u201d she says. \u201cAnd when I speak to people who tell me, \u2018Well, that shouldn\u2019t be your identity,\u2019 well, it really is. It\u2019s part of you.\u201d<\/p>\n

That distinction matters. Surviving something does not require pretending it took nothing from you.<\/p>\n

In her conversation with fellow breast cancer survivor and patient advocate Trish Michelle<\/a>, Simon found someone who understood that survivorship does not begin where grief ends.<\/p>\n

\u201cEveryone thinks you get cancer, you go through treatment, you ring the bell, you either live or you die, and if you live, you live happily ever after. The end,\u201d Trish Michelle says. \u201cAnd it\u2019s not like that at all.\u201d<\/p>\n

Cancer-related distress can persist well beyond active treatment, encompassing anxiety, sadness, changes in identity and fear of recurrence. The NCI<\/a> notes that people experience widely varying levels of distress after cancer, and some benefit from professional support.<\/p>\n

Simon sought therapy on her own when she felt the mental health resources available through her care team were not enough.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s OK to feel and to be frustrated and just go through the grief of all of it,\u201d she says. \u201cAnd that\u2019s what I\u2019m working on.\u201d<\/p>\n

Slowly, she also began redirecting the intensity she once poured into performing.<\/p>\n

\u201cI really love coaching, so I\u2019m pouring my heart, what I used to give to dance, into coaching,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n

While her students have not replaced ballet, coaching has given her another way to remain inside the world she loves.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot just a mother,\u201d she says. \u201cI\u2019m a mother of many, many dancers now.\u201d<\/p>\n

The Side Effects That Followed Her Home<\/p>\n

Some of the changes Simon struggled with most had little to do with what people typically picture when they imagine chemotherapy.<\/p>\n

Treatment pushed her into menopause years earlier than she expected, changing not only how her body felt but her sexual relationship with it.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey didn\u2019t say, \u2018Listen, you\u2019re going to lose all sex drive,’\u201d Simon shares. \u201cI\u2019m a very honest person, and I\u2019ll tell you: I can look at any man and not feel a thing now. And that is a very strange place to be at my age. I\u2019m supposed to be having more babies.\u201d<\/p>\n

Certain cancer treatments can lower estrogen, disrupt ovarian function and cause symptoms including hot flashes, vaginal dryness and sexual changes. The NCI encourages women<\/a> to ask proactively about how treatment might affect sexual health because some effects can persist after treatment ends.<\/p>\n

Those conversations also intersected with the future family Simon thought she had protected.<\/p>\n

Before chemotherapy, she underwent fertility preservation and froze nine embryos. She believed the hardest part was safeguarding the possibility of another pregnancy.<\/p>\n

Then, her plan changed.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe can talk about, of course, the embryos \u2026 I happened to get nine. But no one told me that there was a huge chance that I wouldn\u2019t [be able to] carry,\u201d Simon says. \u201cIn my mind, I went through every step thinking, OK, get through this and then you can use the embryos and have another baby.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her medical team later recommended that she pursue surrogacy rather than interrupt ongoing treatment to carry another pregnancy.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, no. I\u2019m sorry, you can\u2019t. You have to find a surrogate,\u201d she recalls. \u201cI wish they had just kind of spelled it out for me in the beginning so that I could mourn and make peace with it. It was like a roller coaster.\u201d<\/p>\n

Fertility and pregnancy decisions after breast cancer are highly individual. Chemotherapy and endocrine therapy can affect ovarian function and fertility, which is why fertility preservation should ideally be discussed before treatment begins. Research<\/a> is also continuing to clarify when some patients may safely pause endocrine treatment to pursue pregnancy. <\/p>\n

For Simon, the pain came not simply from needing a different path to another child. It came from learning about that possibility one piece at a time.<\/p>\n

As Trish Michelle explains \u201cOptions are important to give, and not having options can truly put you in situations where you\u2019re now deeply grieving something that maybe you didn\u2019t have to be.\u201d<\/p>\n

When Cancer Interrupted Motherhood, Too<\/p>\n

When Simon was diagnosed, her son was still a baby.<\/p>\n

After surgery, nerve pain and limited movement made some of the most ordinary parts of early motherhood impossible without help.<\/p>\n

\u201cI [couldn\u2019t] hold my own child. Everybody in my family is taking care of my kid. I have a full-time nanny supervising me at a Mommy and Me class,\u201d she says. \u201cWhat was my purpose again? Couldn\u2019t dance, couldn\u2019t be a mother \u2026 You feel so powerless.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her husband became what Simon calls her \u201crock,\u201d even as cancer strained their relationship in ways neither of them knew how to navigate.<\/p>\n

\u201cI love him, and I have my frustrations, but I have to remember he was going through something as well,\u201d she says. \u201cAnd he was my rock. I\u2019ll never forget that.\u201d<\/p>\n

Cancer clarified other relationships, too. Simon says some friendships fell away, while the people who simply stayed close became impossible to forget.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen you\u2019re sitting in a chair and you\u2019re recovering from a big surgery, the people who really just show up \u2026 it speaks volumes,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n

Her relationship with her son has changed as well. As he has gotten older and Simon has recovered, she says they have begun finding the closeness she feared she had missed.<\/p>\n

Putting Recurrence Fear in Its Place<\/p>\n

Even as Simon rebuilds, one question remains difficult to put down: What if the cancer comes back?<\/p>\n

\u201cHearing these stories about women who have recurrences, and I haven\u2019t made that five-year mark because they say, \u2018Oh, once you\u2019ve made five years, you\u2019ll stop worrying so much,\u2019\u201d Simon tells Trish Michelle. \u201cIs that always a fear? Are you always scared that there\u2019s going to be a recurrence no matter what?\u201d<\/p>\n

Fear of recurrence is one of the most common emotional challenges<\/a> cancer survivors report. There is no single milestone that makes it disappear, and an individual\u2019s risk depends on characteristics of the original cancer and other factors. Staying informed about personal risk, following the care plan developed with an oncology team and discussing new concerns can help survivors regain some sense of control.<\/p>\n

Trish Michelle, now a decade beyond her own diagnosis, understands the hypervigilance.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was all-consuming,\u201d she says. \u201cAnd then, you have to stop. What I say is like, \u2018All right, I\u2019m putting cancer in a drawer right now.\u2019 I need to put it in a drawer because now it\u2019s affecting my enjoyment of the now.\u201d<\/p>\n

The drawer does not mean ignoring her health. It means refusing to let fear of tomorrow consume today.<\/p>\n

Simon is learning a version of that balance for herself: Staying engaged in her care, asking about options and recognizing that advocacy is not the same thing as living in constant alarm.<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause people said at first, \u2018You have to advocate for yourself.\u2019 And I was laughing. I was like, \u2018Of course. I would advocate for myself,\u2019\u201d she says. \u201cBut now, I really see it. What it means to be an advocate.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her life no longer looks the way the ballerina training eight hours a day imagined it would. She has lost things cancer survival rhetoric can be too quick to skip over: physical abilities, pieces of a career, reproductive choices and moments with her baby she cannot get back.<\/p>\n

But Simon has not stopped moving.<\/p>\n

She coaches. She mothers. She loves. She advocates. And occasionally, she dances.<\/p>\n

At the end of their conversation, Trish Michelle gave Simon a bracelet as a reminder of the community that can exist on the other side of cancer\u2019s isolation.<\/p>\n

\u201cI want you to wear this and think of me and think of everything you\u2019ve been through and all that you have yet to do in your life,\u201d Michelle tells her. \u201cI want you to still find your joy and still choose yourself every day.\u201d<\/p>\n

For Simon, standing up for tomorrow started much earlier than she realized.<\/p>\n

It started when she was 37, knew something about her body deserved a closer look and decided that being nice did not mean staying quiet.<\/p>\n

Content was independently created by SHE Media with funding from Novartis Pharmaceuticals.<\/p>\n