Menopause For the BC Survivor

In the two years since I started my blog, the conversations and information about perimenopause have skyrocketed—and it’s been nothing short of amazing. It truly feels like we’re in the midst of a menopause gold rush, and I’m loving every minute of it.

Two years ago, just mentioning the word “menopause” felt like talking in a foreign language. Sure, everyone understood it was natural, but the topic itself was met with awkward silences or polite nods. It was as though the subject wasn’t interesting enough to warrant discussion. Fast forward to today, and the shift is remarkable. Women are sharing their journeys more openly, and doctors and experts are creating platforms to provide information, solutions, and support.

The buzz around HRT, self-advocacy, and reframing how we approach the menopause transition is energizing. It’s a movement that feels long overdue. But amidst all this progress, I’ve started to feel a weight I didn’t anticipate. As I see the growing emphasis on the importance of estrogen for longevity—from cardiovascular health to bone density and even brain function—I can’t help but reflect on what this means for cancer survivors like me.

Let me explain. I was the woman who had the most predictable menstrual cycle since age 12, was an athlete, ate (relatively) well, limited alcohol and breastfed both my kids for a full year. Then, everything changed. At 35, chemo and Tamoxifen started to hijack my hormones. Just three months after my 40th birthday, I entered medical menopause with ovarian suppression and daily Letrozole pills. There was no gradual transition, no easing into the process over a decade like most women. Instead, I went from fully functioning ovaries to a sudden shutdown overnight.

For many cancer survivors, this abrupt transition brings severe perimenopausal like symptoms—hot flashes, night sweats, joint pain, brain fog—all at once. The average age for menopause is 51, but for us, the timeline is accelerated, the symptoms amplified. And while hormone suppression treatments are critical to reducing recurrence, they also come with their own set of trade-offs.

This is where my mind starts to wander down a rabbit hole. How do we balance the need for estrogen deprivation, which is crucial for survival for hormone sensitive breast cancer, with the growing evidence of how important hormones are for long-term health?

Some days, I feel guilty for even asking the question–survivor’s guilt creeps in. Am I trading the fear of recurrence for a faster track to the leading causes of death among women, like heart disease or complications from osteoporosis?

Don’t get me wrong. I’ll never forgo treatment that prolongs my life. It’s a BLESSING to have access to treatments that extend my time, but it also feels strange to navigate a body that’s aging faster than the calendar suggests. 

Knowledge is power, but it also brings a new kind of burden. What new choices, if any, does the menopause revolution offer for survivors like me? I’m hopeful that the same wave of awareness sweeping through the menopause community will also open doors for cancer survivors to navigate these unique challenges.

To my fellow survivors and supporters, I ask: How do we ensure that the menopause movement includes us? What solutions or approaches have worked for you? Let’s continue this conversation because it’s one we can’t afford to leave behind.