On Monday night, I held my first conversation group at the American Cancer Society’s Hope Lodge in New York City. Cancer patients and their caregivers stay there for free while the patients receive treatment in New York. My twice-a-month conversation groups are a safe space where any of the patients and caregivers can come to talk about anything that’s on their minds. I bring homemade baked goods, coloring supplies, and a willingness to listen. On Monday, a lovely group of volunteers from the skincare company La Roche-Posay also provided dinner for everyone so our 1-hour group turned into a 3-hour group.
As a cancer survivor, I’ve been searching for a way to give back and help other people on their healing journey. I love talking with people, hearing their stories, and helping them work through challenges (if help is what they need). I was very lucky to survive cancer and regain my health. This is my way of supporting others as they rise.
I want to tell you a story about darkness and light. When I was diagnosed with cancer, and when almost died from cancer treatment (twice), it was often difficult to see beyond the darkness. I was standing in the crucible. At one point a lethal, unknown allergy to a chemo drug shattered my lungs and I was suffocating. We were deep in the pandemic in New York City before vaccines. The attending physician wanted to intubate me in the ICU, surrounded by COVID patients. At that time, being intubated was almost certainly a death sentence.
The ICU nurse insisted we try two more types of bedside respirators. “You have 10 minutes,” yelled the attending physician. “If her oxygen number doesn’t go up, I’m taking her to the ICU.” I had 10 minutes to save my life.
The nurse smiled at me. She tried the first machine. We waited. It didn’t work.
The nurse’s smile shrank. We tried the second machine. We waited. I looked at the ceiling. I called my ancestors. They were there. Not to intervene, only to catch me if it was my time to crossover. In that moment, all I wanted was my dog and the people I love. Love was all that mattered. Love was the secret to living, and it took possible death to teach me that.
I looked at the attending’s face. Her eyes grew wider. Her mouth fell open. I looked at the nurse; her smile had returned.
“Holy sh*t,” said the attending.
My numbers were climbing. The attending left the room.
“I’ll be back to check on you throughout the night and we’ll be monitoring you from the desk just outside the door,” the nurse said as she placed the call button in my hand. “If you need anything, press this button.”
I nodded. The nurse left the room. My ancestors smiled and walked back over a hill.
“Not today, Death,” I thought. “Not today.”
When we’re deep in the darkness, we can only see our way forward if we raise our light and take one step at a time. Maybe that’s where you are right now. Things look dark. You can’t find a lamp. It turns out the light isn’t out there; it’s in you and the people around you. We are lights to each other. We can’t see the whole path, and that’s okay. Step by step, we’ll get there, together.
In the days ahead, I want you to hang on to that image of raising our light and being on the path together the way I hang on to what happened to me in 2020 in that hospital room when I was 10 minutes from death. Call your ancestors, friends, therapist, neighbors, religious leaders, and anyone in your community who is a light. We have a lot of challenges ahead to work on together and meeting them is going to take all of us being at our best. Take care of yourself now so we can take are of each other tomorrow. You got this, and I’ve got you. More tomorrow…
Me today — 4 years post-surgery — outside of Perlmutter Cancer Center in New York City
Sunday marked 4 years since the bilateral mastectomy that removed cancer from my body and saved my life. I dropped off my absentee ballot for the election on October 26th, 2020 during early voting and in the depths of the pandemic before vaccines. The next day I went to NYU Langone Medical Center. The surgery was long and difficult. The recovery was painful. The many months of treatment and two additional surgeries, life-threatening setbacks, and healing were even worse. I didn’t know about any of that when I arrived at the hospital that day. All I knew then was I wanted to live, and I might not. My only goal was to wake up from that surgery and see the sunrise. And I did. Step 1, done.
After I woke up from anesthesia, I watched Harry Potter on my iPad, trying to invoke some kind of magic of my own. My angel nurse, Esther, ran all over the hospital to find me a sandwich since meal service had ended. To this day, that ordinary turkey sandwich was the best damn thing I’ve ever eaten. Then she showed me how to care for the 4 drains coming out of my body, a necessary evil after an extensive surgery.
When Dr. Schnabel, my surgeon, came to visit me, I thanked her for saving my life. Neither of us could see each other’s smiles because we were both double-masked. I remember her eyes looking deep into mine. “I’m just part of the team. Everyone in this hospital has one goal — to get you up and over the mountain. It won’t always feel like this. Someday you’re going to be very grateful you chose to take the hard road today.”
My friend, Marita, picked me up at the hospital and gave me the gentlest of hugs. I had a giant bag of meds. “How do you feel?” she asked me once I was settled into her car. I said, “I don’t know.”
Marita drove me home and handed me off to my sister, who dropped her whole life in Florida to take care of me (and my dog). My next goal was to be able to walk around my neighborhood by Halloween with my dog dressed as a pumpkin and my sister to see all the decorations and find some joy in my favorite season. Step 2, done.
My next goals — stay alive, restore my health, and thrive. Steps 3, 4, and 5, done, done, and a daily process.
I went for my annual check-up with my surgeon this morning. All clear! It happened to fall on the anniversary of that conversation we had about the choice to take the hard road. As I walked to the subway to head home in the sunshine, I thought about how right she was — she’s always right. I don’t feel the way I felt 4 years ago. Today, I’m hopeful and thankful for all of it, even cancer. We got up and over that mountain. There are so many people who made this trek possible. I was never alone in it. There were angels, guides, and teachers everywhere. There still are. The journey continues, and I’m very grateful for that.
Below: images from four years ago pre- and post-surgery.
This week, I had a short-lived health scare. A recent test came back with abnormal results. I was asymptomatic, as I was when diagnosed with cancer 4 years ago, so this threw me for a loop. It turned out to be a new side effect from my long-term meds that prevent cancer recurrence.
My doctor prescribed medication for a month to clear the inflammation and dietary changes to manage it since I have to stay on the meds causing this. It’s annoying. It’s also a relief that it was caught early and is reversible. I learned a lot with this recent scare. I’m leaning into these insights:
Slow down I’m terrible at sitting still. Between the election in less than 2 weeks, climate change, and a myriad of other challenges in the world, there is a push to go go go. Do more, and faster. While this is true, it is also true that we have to rest. Take a walk. Eat well. Care for ourselves and others. Health is the greatest wealth. We are no good to anyone if we aren’t also good to ourselves. It’s not either or. It’s and.
Mortality No matter how well we take care of ourselves, none of us will live forever. Time is our most precious resource, and we would do well to spend it on who, what, and where matters most to us.
Write Around this time of year, I set my near-term priorities and creative focus. While writing is always a big part of my life, in 2025, it’ll be the central work I’ll do because storytelling is the work I love most & the greatest need I see in the world. I have quite a few writing projects in various states. It’s time to get them all polished up and out into the world. More on this soon.
Betting on me Betting on myself is the best bet. I’ve never regretted it, even when things went horribly wrong. This is how I’ve learned and grown the most in my career and life. This is another reason I’m focusing on my writing in 2025.
Community Caring for ourselves and betting ourselves is not work we do alone. It takes a village. My community and my medical team is central to my health, well-being, and creative work. I’m never alone in it. Neither are you.
Thank you for being on this journey of discovery with me. Let’s enjoy the ride. We’re all just walking each other home.
Today is the 4-year anniversary of my breast cancer diagnosis. Everything is pink as far as the eye can see. It’s breast cancer awareness month, and the awareness is everywhere. If it exists in solid form, it can be made pink. This month helps raise awareness around the importance of screening, early detection, research, causes, and symptom identification.
As a breast cancer survivor, all this awareness can be triggering. It can bring back difficult memories, re-ignite fears, and cause those dreaded what-if questions that are often just a breath away. As a survivor myself, I use every day to advocate for cancer survivors and those who know a survivor. Here is a list of how survivors can care for themselves during this sensitive month, and how you can provide support for the survivors in your life.
For survivors: 1.) It’s okay to acknowledge fears. Acknowledging them is the first step toward moving through them. It’s also important to remind yourself that these are future fears. they have not happened. They are not your present.
2.) Be kind to yourself. Spend time with others. Go for a walk. Eat nutritious food. Do something you love. Find joy. In moments of difficulty, don’t judge yourself. Give yourself grace.
3.) When those what-ifs creep in, remind yourself how far you’ve come and all you’ve overcome. Getting through cancer and treatment is a long, often-lonely journey. When you look back at your road, be proud of all you’ve faced and how you’ve grown.
4.) Remind yourself of the gifts. Cancer is terrible. There’s no way around that. It also gives incredible gifts. I grew closer to people during and after cancer. I have even more gratitude. My heart holds even more love. I don’t have bad days anymore. Every day is a good day because I get to have it. It wasn’t so long ago that I almost didn’t get a tomorrow. At several points in my journey, I was on the brink of dying. That I’m here at all is a miracle my doctors still don’t fully understand. As my surgeon says, “We don’t question the good.” Just live. Really live.
5.) Share your story. There are people who are where you were. Be a symbol of who they can be on the other side of cancer. This helps you and them.
For those who know a survivor: 1.) Check in on them. Ask them how they’re doing. Be a safe person for them to open up to. Being there for them is an incredible gift.
2.) Donate to breast cancer organizations in the name of the survivor. No amount is too small and it means a lot to survivors that other people are being helped in their name. Research saved my life and I’m part of multiple research studies that are helping others. It’s empowering.
3.) Do something special for them. Have a coffee date or a meal with them, plan a fun day out, give them a call, or send a card or text to tell them you’re thinking of them. All these small gestures really make a difference. Time is our most precious resource so if you want someone to know they matter to you, give them some of your time.
Image created by Christa Avampato using Canva Magic Media
When you think about ways to improve the health of human babies, you may not immediately think of helping bats stay healthy. You should. The journal Science published a shocking paper this month linking a rise in human infant mortality to a declining bat population.
Plagued by an outbreak of the deadly white-nose syndrome, a fungal disease that kills bats, North American bat populations are dropping. This means there are fewer bats to eat insects that infest crops. That’s caused farmers to use more chemical insecticide. This insecticide leaches into crops, land, and water. This toxin has increased infant mortality. It’s also lowered crop yields, decreasing farmers’ crop revenue and the availability of fresh fruits and vegetables.
This is just the latest study to show how the health of ecosystems is directly linked to human health and the economy. As much as I’d love for municipalities and companies to care about the planet because we depend on nature for our survival, as climate communicators and nature advocates we often have to make the economic business case to drive change. Studies like the one in Science linking bats and infant mortality provide a solid example of how to quantify the cost and value of biodiversity and ecosystem health.
I often hear the media vilify animals like bats without recognizing the vital role they play in our lives and in nature. If we can’t get people to care about bats because they are sentient beings and a part of nature, maybe now we can get people to care about them because they affect babies, the food supply, and our economy. If that’s the argument that works, it’s the argument I’ll make, backed up with research-based science and facts.
0.5% of human brain weight today is from microplastics, according to the latest scientific research. It’s also collecting in human lungs, placentas, reproductive organs, livers, kidneys, knee and elbow joints, blood vessels and bone marrow. It contributes to cardiovascular disease, infertility, memory loss, and learning impairment.
These are frightening statistics, and there we can do something about it TODAY to protect ourselves and our families. Many of the answers are in our kitchens. An article in the New York Times interviewed 3 medical doctors and a research scientist about how to reduce our exposure.
1.) Eliminate plastic bottled water (and I’d add eliminate paper to-go cups because they have a plastic lining, especially for hot coffee). Instead, use metal, silicone, or glass to store your water.
2.) Have effective water filtration at home. Brita’s elite filter is a good choice.
3.) Don’t cook with utensils such as plastic spatulas or plastic mixing spoons. Use silicone, wood, or metal.
4.) Don’t store any food or drinks in plastic (especially if they are acidic or warm). Even if they come in plastic from the grocery store, take them out of the plastic when you get home and store in glass, metal, or silicone. Never leave food or drink in plastic exposed to heat (such as in a car).
5.) Don’t reuse packaged food containers you may have like those from butter, yogurt, etc. to store food. Put those right into the recycling bin.
6.) Don’t microwave plastic, no matter what the packaging says is okay.
7.) Hand wash plastic rather than running it through the dishwasher, and use cold water to wash it, no matter what the packaging says is okay.
8.) Replace your plastic cutting boards with wood or bamboo cutting boards.
9.) I would also add don’t eat with plastic utensils, plastic bowls or plates, or paper plates that have a plastic coating on them.
10.) Filter your air at home and vacuum regularly to remove microplastics that enter our home from the air and that we track in from outside.
It’s unfortunate that completely eliminating exposure to microplastics in our modern world is nearly impossible until we have safe, alternative materials to fossil fuel-based plastic. What we can do is limit our exposure as much as possible with these tips.
Photo by National Cancer Institute on Unsplash. “KRAS Protein Structure. RAS genes are mutated in approximately one-third of all human cancers.”
Did you know cancer incidence and cancer mortality rates are higher in Europe than the U.S.? I was shocked to learn this since I often hear the exact opposite. The World Health Organization’s International Agency for Research on Cancer compiled a study of 2022 data and the disparities cross the world are stark. Considering men and women, and all types of cancer, Europe had 4,471,422 cases in 2022 (22.4% of global cancer cases) and the U.S. had 1,832,550 cases (9.8%). When looking at mortality from cancer, the picture is even more disparate: Europe 1,972,982 (20.4%) and the U.S. 600,970 (6.2%). This ranking holds even when standardized for age.
As a cancer survivor and advocate, I spend a lot of time poring through statistics. Lately I’ve been reading a lot of about cancer disparity between countries. I was prompted to investigate this after a cancer survivor in Canada told me one of the medications I took to prevent recurrence (Verzenio) is only available in Canada to those who have much more advanced cases than I had.
Why are there global disparities between Europe and the U.S.? 3 main reasons:
1.) U.S. Medicare covers cancer screening and treatments more generously Once Americans hit age 65, they receive Medicare benefits. Since cancer afflicts more people over 65, they have access to benefits like cancer screening and treatments such as immunotherapy and clinical trials through Medicare. These Medicare benefits in the U.S. are more generous than those in Europe. This means cancer is caught earlier and there are many more options for treatments in the U.S. Both of these factors help detect and treat cancer more effectively.
Is Medicare perfect? No. It can and must be improved. In the case of cancer, it’s actually doing well when compared to care and coverage in Europe.
The U.S. market and government structure prompts cancer research and treatment development Cancer research and treatment development requires significant financial investment because only 13.8% of medications make it through the first phase of clinical trials. To get the scale they need to conduct and fund cancer research, European countries need to collaborate.
However, each country maintains its own regulatory policies, procedures, and data collection and analysis processes for cancer treatment. To collaborate they need to agree on these policies, procedures, and processes, and they must agree to share data, which has proven difficult. This causes delays and the scrapping of research projects.
The U.S. regulatory system grinds slowly as well. Still, it needs only to contend with itself, not with another country’s issues.
A global vision for cancer detection and treatment As a cancer survivor, it’s been challenging and emotional for me to consider all of this global data. I’m privileged that I live in New York City, I had insurance through the Affordable Care Act when I went through my cancer diagnosis and active treatment, and have access to the best cancer care in the world. Had I lived anywhere else, my cancer likely would have gone undetected until a later stage. I may not have had access to the many treatments I’ve had (and will continue to have for another 7 years).
There is a lot of hope and promise in the Biden Cancer Moonshot, started by Dr. Jill Biden and President Joe Biden. While the initial focus is domestic, there are already global efforts underway to expand access to screening and treatments to every corner of the world.
We may never be able to completely prevent cancer from happening. We can vastly diminish its power, transforming it from the “Big C” into something that happens that we can manage and cure. That will take a global effort, and I know I want to be a part of that journey.
A number of years ago, I upgraded my diet to be plant-based. I still eat meat and animal products occasionally, but the bulk of my food comes from plants. I knew this change would be good for my health though I can’t say I was excited about it because I really didn’t know what to do with vegetables other than roast them. Enter the New York Times Cooking app, loaded with thousands of ways to turn vegetables into a feast. Some of my favorite vegetable-centric recipes are by James Beard Award winner Hetty Lui McKinnon whose inventive style and focus on easy preparation makes me feel like a gourmet cook even though I most certainly am not. Australian by birth and Chinese by heritage, she now lives in Brooklyn (as do I).
I recently read Hetty’s beautiful memoir cookbook, Tenderheart: a cookbook about vegetables and unbreakable family bonds. A love letter to both vegetables and her family’s role in stoking the fires of that love for her, Hetty gives us a glimpse into her past, present, and future, and celebrates her family history on every page. Organized by vegetable, the recipes include a snippet about why she loves each one, vegetable swaps and ingredient substitutions that can be made without compromising the flavor. I read cookbooks like they’re novels or biographies, so Hetty’s book is perfect for me. Give me a simple, healthy recipe and then tell me the story behind it.
From cabbage carbonara(-ish) to chocolate eggplant brownies to the not your traditional Sunday roast to her Mum’s velvet potatoes, Hetty now has me dreaming about vegetables. Her recipes have also caused me to seek out vegetables I don’t normally buy because I never knew what to do with them. While vegetables can take a bit more coaxing than other foods, they can be made to be every bit as satisfying and craveable as any other food.
Post-dissertation, I’m happy to be back in my kitchen more now than I’ve been able to be over the past two years. If you want to fall in love with vegetables, please join me in my sun filled apartment. With help from Hetty’s recipes (I’ve now ordered all of her cookbooks!), I’ll be happy to play matchmaker.
This year I learned June is National Cancer Survivors Month. I ended active treatment (for me, that was the end of primary surgeries, intravenous chemotherapy, and radiation) at the end of May 2021 so it perfectly coincides with my official cancer-free anniversary. 3 years on and I’m feeling terrific!
Being a survivor is daily work. Diet, exercise, medication, meditation, mindfulness, sleep, and stress-reduction are incredibly important parts of my routine helping me stay cancer-free. It can sometimes be a lonely road. Unless someone has walked this path themselves, it’s difficult to understand how it feels. My body does not look nor feel the way my pre-cancer body did. It never will. I’ve had to make peace with a new normal, scars and all. I miss my pre-cancer body and I’m grateful for the one I have. We can simultaneously carry mourning and gratitude. I carry them every day.
What I never lose sight of, not for a single moment, is that I’m extraordinarily lucky to be here at all. Even luckier still to be living a life I love and to be healthy. 2024 thus far has been challenging for me — personally, academically, and professionally. The world is a difficult place. My corner of the world is difficult, too, albeit for very different reasons. And still, I’m finding and cultivating beauty, wonder, joy, and love every day, in my work and in my life.
Christa Avampato 