I Was Starting to Feel Human Again. Then I Got Breast Cancer.

I was finally beginning to feel as though my body, mind, energy, and libido were coming back online. Then I found a lump in my breast—and my first response was not courage or a “fuck cancer” battle cry. It was anger: You have got to be fucking kidding me.

Late one night, I was watching television by myself. I did the big stretch. You know, the one you do when you know it is time to stop scrolling, turn off the television, and go to bed.

I don’t know why I did it. For some unknown, unconscious reason, I reached down during that stretch and cupped my breasts.

There it was.

Undeniable.

A lump.

My first thought was not profound, brave, or inspirational.

It was “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

I had just started feeling better!

That is what I am actually angry about.

I had just started to feel better—not magically fixed, but better. After three years of brain fog, exhaustion, depression, bloodwork, testing, supplements, appointments, and functional medicine doctors, I could finally feel something shifting.

Some of my libido and sexual desire were returning. I had just told my husband and my boyfriend that it felt as though my body was finally coming back online.

I was starting to feel human again.

And now—cancer.

Are you fucking kidding me?

Before I even knew what kind of breast cancer I had or what my treatment would involve, my brain raced straight to the worst possible version of the future: chemotherapy, surgery, radiation, endless appointments, and at least a year or more of my life swallowed up by surgeries, treatment and recovery.

I wondered whether everything I had done during the previous three years had been for nothing. Had I spent thousands of dollars trying to reclaim my energy, clarity, mood, sexuality, and vitality only to lose all of it again? Would treatment take away the small pieces of myself I had fought so hard to recover? Would I have to start from scratch?

Those were not medical conclusions. They were the thoughts of a frightened, angry woman who had found a lump and did not yet have answers. I felt terrified and deflated.

Cancer did not arrive alone

I was so angry that this was happening just as other parts of my life were finally moving in the right direction.

It wasn’t only my libido. The brain fog was improving. The exhaustion was improving. The depression was improving. I was beginning to recognize myself again.

Then cancer walked in carrying an entire collection of emotions and new worries. Everything I’d worked for was in jeopardy.

I could see a year of my life in the lifestyle drifting away before I even knew whether that would actually happen. Would I feel comfortable naked in front of other people if my breasts were lumpy, odd-shaped, uneven, or scarred? Would I feel ok in my body? Would I still want sex? Would I feel disconnected from my body again? Would I still want to be active in the lifestyle—or would that part of me disappear?

And what would all of this mean for my husband? My boyfriend? Our quad? My other lifestyle relationships? Even the podcast!

Then came the practical fears. We had just started fixing up the house. How could we move forward when I did not know what cancer would cost? How would I fit treatment around work and the clients who depended on me? How would I continue taking responsibility for my mother in memory care?

Cancer was not entering an empty calendar. It was dropping into a life that was already overloaded and full.

Anger became anxiety

For me, anger came first. Then the stress and anxiety moved in right behind it.

What if my libido never came back?

What if I never felt comfortable in my body again?

What if I never wanted to participate in the lifestyle again?

What would happen to the relationships and experiences that matter to me?

The questions seemed endless, and the answers were nowhere to be found.

I searched for breast cancer support groups specifically for women in ethical non-monogamy and other alternative relationship dynamics. I looked for spaces for me, with people like me. Places where I wouldn’t have to explain myself, translate my life, edit my relationships, or pretend there was only one partner affected by what was happening.

I did not find what I needed.

My cancer journey began with anger, fear, frustration, and a growing realization: women like me may need a different kind of support.

The first good news

Then came the waiting.

For me, cancer has been an exhausting game of hurry up … and wait. Schedule the appointment immediately. Wait for the appointment. Get the test. Wait for the result. Meet the next doctor. Wait again.

Eventually, my doctors gave me genuinely good news. The cancer was small, my prognosis was excellent, chemotherapy did not need to be part of my treatment plan, and I was eligible for a lumpectomy rather than a mastectomy.

The news that I would not need chemotherapy brought enormous relief. So did learning that breast-conserving surgery was an option for me.

But relief did not magically erase the anger, uncertainty, or disruption. Good news inside a cancer diagnosis is still news inside a cancer diagnosis.

One more thing to manage

Next came the scheduling and logistical nightmare: phone calls, paperwork, doctor appointments, tests, surgery, follow-ups, treatments, and waiting rooms. So, so many waiting rooms.

Somehow, all of that still had to coexist with clients who depended on me, a mother in memory care for whom I am responsible, a house renovation that stopped when I found the lump, and the beginning of a major project to reshape and relaunch the Accidental Swingers podcast and YouTube channel.

It is a lot. I am exhausted.

I do not have a triumphant “fuck cancer” speech. Maybe I never will.

What I have is a more tired and complicated truth:

I was just starting to feel human again. I was beginning to feel my body and my sexuality come back online. Then I found a lump, and suddenly I had one more fucking thing to handle.

That is where this story starts.

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Coming in Part 2

What Breast Cancer Made Me Fear About Libido, Scars, Sex, and the Lifestyle

I’ll examine the questions that immediately felt urgent to me but rarely appeared in ordinary cancer conversations: What could treatment mean for my libido? How would I feel about scars on my breasts? What happens when illness affects a husband, a boyfriend, and other relationships? And where do women in ethical non-monogamy, polyamory, kink, swinging, and other alternative relationship dynamics go when they need support without judgment or explanation?

Subscribe to our newsletter to receive Part 2. If you have faced cancer while navigating an alternative relationship dynamic, I’ve created an anonymous google form that is available to share the questions, fears, or experiences that conventional support spaces may have missed. I will share some of those questions, experiences, and more in the next blog.

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A note from Myrina

This blog describes my personal experience and emotional response to breast cancer. It is not medical advice. Another person’s diagnosis, treatment plan, prognosis, and sexual-health experience may be very different. Questions about treatment, libido, sexual function, scars, body image, or emotional distress should be discussed with an oncology team, your primary care physician or another qualified health professional.

For medically reviewed information, see the American Cancer Society’s guide to cancer, sex, and intimacy and the National Cancer Institute’s guidance on emotions and cancer.