Meet Joyce
Whatever happened to the luck of the Irish, anyway? While she considers herself incredibly lucky in other ways, Joyce’s luck must have been lost just for a minute, because in 2008, she was diagnosed with breast cancer.
On a blind date in 1995, she met her husband, and in the years to come, she completed her family with two boys, now 21 and 22. She has family in America and overseas – Joyce is from Ireland originally, and she embarked on a nursing career when she came stateside. She had a small stint in psychiatry for a year before she realized her passion as an ICU nurse and has now been at Norwalk Hospital in the Nutmeg State for over 30 years.
She felt a lump in her left breast in 2007 but put it off because it wasn’t a pressing concern. She carried on with life for about a year and even went off on a trip to her home in Ireland, but when she arrived back in Connecticut, she realized her mistake in trying to ignore what she had felt. She received an ultrasound that gave her cues that said, “this isn’t good.” Her radiologist confirmed this belief, and Joyce was off to see a surgeon.
It was February 14, 2008. On a typical, blistering cold winter day in Connecticut, snow was covering the streets, her children were ecstatic at the sight, snow jackets and boots were being dug out of the closet, and Joyce was agonizing over having to tell her then young children and husband she had breast cancer. She remembers folding laundry when her husband walked in from work, and right then, he knew she was about to bear bad news. She even initially told her boys not to play in the snow but changed her mind so she could lament over the diagnosis. Even after living in denial for about a year as she ignored what she had felt in her breast, she still never expected to hear those three words: Joyce has cancer.
Telling her young boys was going to be tough. It became apparent to Joyce and her husband that there was no “right way” to do it, so she chose to tell them in a restaurant setting. Her oldest son figured it out after their server at the restaurant also had breast cancer and the topic had been mentioned, and he asked his mom, “Do you have breast cancer?” From that point on, Joyce was committed to being honest to her boys – not graphic, but not in hiding from them, either.
Her mastectomy was planned for St. Patrick’s Day in 2008 – a day that her Irish luck might have just carried through. Her cancer was killed, and Joyce was set to be on Tamoxifen for the next decade. She battled the usual: fatigue, comfort eating, weight gain, nausea and more. Yet, two weeks after her mastectomy, Joyce found herself at her local YMCA on a spin bike.
Joyce has a passion for being active. A marathoner, swimmer, avid cyclist and more, it came as shock to no one when she became a spin instructor. She accredits exercise to improving her mindset and wellbeing, especially while receiving cancer treatment. She fell in love with cycling and got certified as an instructor with Spin Odyssey. Spin Odyssey brings awareness to breast cancer and raises money to fight against it with all of its proceeds donated to the American Cancer Society. Joyce’s unique experience as a nurse and breast cancer survivor allowed her to deliver a speech at the Spin Odyssey event – a 6-hour block of time dedicated to spinning -- where she really got to open up about her own reality. Though her main message was that “Cancer sucks!” she had been able to prove that cancer is not a death sentence, and you can still do amazing things.
On top of Spin Odyssey, Joyce has been able to lead cycle training for the Connecticut Challenge ride. In 2014, she was a captain of a team that rode in the Challenge. The Connecticut Challenge helps cancer survivors rebuild and improve their lives through exercise, nutrition, and community-building support programs, according to their website. Opening in 2012, the CT challenge bike event is the primary funding mechanism for programs that are advanced by Mission, where Mission positions these programs as a marker for survivors everywhere.
Joyce came a long way from being diagnosed with cancer, where she thought was going to die to being a champion in raising awareness and showing how powerful you can be, as seen through her biking and exercise endeavors. It’s hard to see your body with scars, lose these bits and pieces of your womanhood, and for some, worry about their chances of starting a family. Breast cancer might make you feel alone, depressed, and thinking that you will not get through this. Joyce notes it’s important to surround yourself with loved ones, and if someone wants to help but doesn’t know how, to tell them, “all they have to do is be there for you.”
And while we know the power breast cancer has to make you feel alone, it can also bring anger issues to the surface. One athlete, a cancer patient, that Joyce had helped coach for the CT challenge told her that she didn’t know what it was like for them, and her biking regimen is too hard. In keeping compassion and peace, Joyce responded, “No, I don’t know what it’s like for you, but when I had cancer, this helped me.” She didn’t take to heart the individual that became angry. Cancer knows no boundaries and can truly bring out ill-tempered behavior. Seeking help, support, and love remain an important theme in breast cancer journeys.
Luckily, Joyce has a wonderful husband and now, two young men, who remind her every day to stay positive and keep going. When her children were young, she reminded herself that children have an uncanny ability to sense something bad happening around them, and Joyce put her brave face on. She also kept it light-hearted by cracking jokes about the expensive reconstruction and telling others she hated the color pink.
She hopes that in the future, there will be more education about cancer, its malignancies, and information about drugs to ward off cancer. There is so much left to explore about cancer, and even with its development and progress, there is surely a long way to go. For now, she urges individuals who become diagnosed to find someone you can talk to, keep a journal to look back on, and do the best you can to stay positive.
After being on Tamoxifen for 10 years, Joyce decided that instead of taking the very last one, she’d bury it in her backyard under a flower instead – a reminder of what once was, and never will be again. A 13-year survivor, Joyce now lives out her happiest days in southwestern Connecticut with her family. Don’t worry – she's still an avid cyclist.