We often learn from the people we write about.

This week, a woman named Donna called our newsroom. She asked that we not use her last name because she doesn’t want everyone to know she has lost both of her breasts.

Donna is not alone. Over 100,000 women each year undergo mastectomies in our country.

Donna does not regret her choice to have a double mastectomy. It was the right one for her.

And her husband of 36 years told her, “I’m glad that’s what you decided because you’ll be here longer.”

Donna called us because she hoped we’d spread the word about a group she has formed for mastectomy survivors. Anyone who is interested may email sharingthriving@gmail.com

We want to tell Donna’s story not just to let other women know about the support group she has formed in Guilderland but because, in listening to her, we learned some larger life lessons.

In 2019, Donna, in her fifties, was happily married and loved her work — “I love, love, love working with seniors. I am one now, but really that was a very fulfilling career,” said Donna who is now retired and does volunteer work.

She clearly remembers the 2019 phone call she got from her doctor’s office after having her routine annual mammogram. “I was at work. They said, ‘We found something’ and I felt like my stomach literally fell,” Donna recalled.

“And that is so traumatic to begin with. And then the whole procedure — you get the biopsy and then you wait and wait and wait. And your life is consumed with waiting for that result and then you get the news.”

Donna had a lumpectomy followed by radiation. Five years later, the cancer came back, recurring in the same breast. Her surgeon recommended a mastectomy.

“I decided to have a bilateral mastectomy because I couldn’t spend the rest of my life waiting for strike three when it would recur again,” said Donna matter-of-factly. “I did not choose reconstruction.”

Reconstruction is a valid choice, she said, but it wasn’t right for her. “I didn’t want to subject myself to unnecessary surgeries … I wanted to focus on healing, on moving on with my life,” she said.

Donna said that, with a mastectomy, women have three choices: reconstruction, going flat, or using a prosthesis.

“I’m not judgemental. You have to choose what’s right for you,” Donna said. “I chose to use protheses because I’m not — I’ll say it — I’m not confident enough. Some women choose to go flat and that’s fine and I wish I had that confidence, but I don’t. I want to look like I did before … I don’t like being the center of attention. I’m not comfortable going out and facing the world with people able to know I don’t have breasts.”

Donna’s husband has been supportive throughout. They met on a blind date. “It felt like I was meeting an old friend. There was never any awkwardness,” she said.

Their personalities are different but complement one another.

My husband is always telling me, when I question things, ‘That’s just the way things are,’ and I’ll say to him, ‘That’s not good enough for me.’”

Throughout her surgery and its aftermath, “He’s been a rock for me,” said Donna. “He took care of me.”

Donna couldn’t manage the drains that were inserted after her surgery. “Every day, he did the draining, which is sort of gross,” she said.

Donna’s husband had supported her decision from the start. When another woman asked Donna if she had asked her husband before she decided on a mastectomy, she was taken aback. “I wouldn’t have thought of asking him. This is my body and my decision … It’s not something you ask permission for.”

The experience has also caused Donna to re-examine her priorities. “It brings a lot of thankfulness. You appreciate each day all the more,” she said. She also appreciates her husband.

“It has strengthened our relationship. We’ve been through this together. We survived it,” Donna said. “It’s made me realize, anyone in a long-term relationship, you have your times of where things aren’t so good or you wonder, how do they really feel, and it’s made me realize how much I’m loved.”

In the first few months after her surgery, Donna said her “lifesavers” were her writing and her dog. She mostly writes fiction, drawing on her experiences with the senior community. Often, as she writes, her dog, Maisy, sits in her lap.

“I can’t begin to describe the comfort from having that little body sitting with me,” Donna said.

A year out from surgery, Donna said, “What I didn’t realize was that the surgery was actually the easy part.”

Right after surgery, she said, there is a huge sense of relief. “It’s gone. The cancer is gone. But then comes the reality: Yeah, the cancer is gone but I just lost my breast. And that’s when the emotional journey begins and I think that is the hardest part to deal with. At least it has been for me and the women that I’ve spoken with. It’s living with that reality.”

She said of losing a visible body part that, to many, defines womanhood, “It’s not that we define ourselves by our breasts but, still, it’s part of being a woman. Women can really benefit by talking to each other. There are just a whole lot of issues that crop us — feeling less feminine, intimacy issues if you have a partner.”

Four months ago, Donna decided that reaching out to other women who had had mastectomies may help her as well as others who wanted to join a support group. So she contacted Mary Ann Kelley, Guilderland’s coordinator of senior services — “a delightful person” — who put it in her newsletter. Kelley also arranged for a private room for the group to meet at Mill Hollow where the town hosts senior activities.

The three women currently in the group are older because they learned of it through the senior newsletter but Donna hopes other younger women will also join the group.

“Our focus is on exploring survivorship, fostering mutual support, and sharing effective coping strategies while providing practical advice as it’s asked for,” said Donna, adding, “Obviously no one is going to give medical advice.”

She thinks it is important that the monthly meetings are in person rather than virtual. “Seeing someone face to face provides more of a connection …. Being able to sit around a table and look at everyone’s face is comforting …. On Zoom, you can’t reach out and squeeze someone’s shoulder or squeeze their hand,” said Donna.

She also stresses that the meetings are private. “You’re in a room; the door is shut; there is no one that could possibly hear or see what’s going on.”

Donna said of herself, “It’s ridiculous, but there’s almost a bit of a sense of shame attached, a feeling I don’t want people to know that I lost that part of my anatomy.”

In the several meetings the group has had thus far, the women have shared practical advice — like what gels best reduce scarring or how to get comfortable — as well as deeper things.

What goes on behind the closed door at the Mill Hollow room, Donna said, is “the sharing of experiences and realizing that, yes, this person has been through the same thing. You don’t feel as alone or as unique.”

Donna hopes the group will “grow organically” with women attending for as long as they find it helpful.

“It’s not just about getting support; it’s about lending support too. The last thing that I would want is a doom-and-gloom group,” said Donna. “Obviously, we’ll address the practical concerns and the trauma but I hope that we’ve gotten through this; we’re going on with our lives. We’re survivors.”

Donna also said, “Even if, as in my case — I was told the cancer is gone; you don’t need further treatment — always in the back of your mind is that thought: Did a cell stay? Is it going to turn up elsewhere? It’s hard to shake that.”

So far, the group has set up guidelines to “encompass a respect for boundaries,” Donna said. “We are excluding any discussions related to politics, religion, or outside issues — and there’s no judgment … This is strictly to discuss and talk and reach out to one another about that shared experience that we’ve had.”

Donna herself believes in God and thanks God for her survival but stresses, “I realize that not everyone has a higher power or people have different beliefs, so that’s just not going to enter into this at all.”

Donna concluded, “My goal is helping myself certainly because this is a huge help to me, but helping other people too. We’ve all been through this traumatic experience. The group is to share that experience and to give others hope and just to hold a hand if that’s all that’s needed.”

So what have we learned from Donna’s story? What are the lessons that apply to people who haven’t had a mastectomy?

We’ve learned it takes courage to pursue a difficult course to get the peace we seek. A double mastectomy is radical surgery but was right for Donna.

We’ve learned the importance of knowing ourselves. Donna chose using prostheses because she knew herself well enough to understand that she needed to look the way she had before surgery.

We’ve learned not to be judgmental. What is right for one person is not what is right for another. We each have to make our own choices while respecting others’.

We’ve learned the importance of appreciating what we have. It shouldn’t take cancer surgery to value our lives and relationships.

We’ve learned that helping others and helping ourselves can go hand in hand. Donna feels better meeting with other women who share her experience and we bet those other women feel better too.

We’ve learned the importance of lifesavers — for Donna it is the comfort of a dog in her lap as she writes. Each of us can find comfort in something that centers us.

We’ve learned the value of meeting in person. After our societal shift during the pandemic towards relating through screens, we can grasp the value and beauty in personal connection.

We’ve learned the worth of giving and receiving, for both practical and philosophical advice. Hope can emerge from these positive exchanges — and hope is sorely needed.

We’ve learned the worth of setting boundaries. In these polarized times, it can be valuable to set aside our differences long enough to see our shared experiences. Too many of us feel alone too often.

So we thank Donna for sharing her story and hope to lead a richer life because of it.