Sept. 2025
Helaine Ortmann

Do you remember Roseanne Roseannadanna from “Saturday Night Live”; one of Gilda Radner’s most endearing characters? Roseanne would wrap up Weekend Update by saying, “It’s always something”; the catchphrase Gilda chose to title her 1989 memoir. 

It’s how I felt this past October, Breast Cancer Awareness Month, when my routine mammogram at the CIBC Breast Assessment Centre identified a tumour in my right breast. One ultrasound and core needle biopsy later I was confirmed to have invasive ductal carcinoma. Caught early and small in size, but oh yes, it was something. 

After my husband, I shared the diagnosis with my friend Nancy, herself an 18-year breast cancer survivor. You would need to know Nancy to appreciate her reaction. Over lunch at an east-end Hamilton eatery, she leaned across the table, thrust her hand forward, and, with her most radiant smile said, “Welcome to the Club.” After practising my best yogic breath, I parried, “Now in what world does a friend congratulate another, on her brand new breast cancer diagnosis?” But this was Nancy. 

During the first weeks of my journey (a euphemism I’ve always regarded with a grain of salt especially where base camp is the hospital), she demonstrated in word and deed just what my “membership benefits” entitled me to: unconditional and unflappable support and attention (hers); unlimited worry, anxiety and panic (mine). 

A month and half later, armed with information I more fully understood, it was time to share my news with our two sons and their partners. Once they finished their deep inhales and a host of thoughtful questions, they declared their support: “You’ve got this, mom. We’ll get through it.” Their confidence in my strength and resilience  and that they were there for me  reassured me enormously.  

Friends and family showed up too, all along the way; as did the many members of my health care team.

The day before my lumpectomy in December, in a preop visit with the anesthesiologist, I poured out my concerns: ”How do you administer the anesthetic? How do you know how to give me enough? How will I feel when I wake up? Do you realize this is my first surgery and general anesthetic?” Patiently responding to my need for painstaking detail, he summed it up, saying, “Helaine, you’re the right person for this. You are healthy and strong. All you need to do now is show up.” His words were a balm to me.  

The next morning, in Juravinski Hospital’s same-day surgery unit, another anesthesiologist met with my husband and me to answer any other questions I might not have asked. (Highly improbable.) After he introduced himself, he led with: “Your hair looks great.” Wait, what? 

Full disclosure: I take great pride in my naturally curly hair; a legacy from my father. Despite the 6:00am check-in time, I made sure I would present well, even with only a fast shower, shampoo and hint of hair product. After all, for the next seven hours, I’d be navigating a sentinel node biopsy in Nuclear Medicine, a lumpectomy in the OR, and a successful recovery. The last thing I needed was “bedhead” at discharge. But I digress. 

From breast cancer surgeon, radiation oncologist to medical oncologist, they and their nurses received all of me: my fears and my questions; neatly notated in a pink binder that I bought to brand my cancer type and give me the illusion of control. At each visit, as if I were their only patient (a full waiting room notwithstanding), they listened with interest and compassion, then bolstered my decision-making with the benefit of their expert opinions. 

This was also true of my radiation treatment in late February: a surreal 10-day experience in a high-tech clinical environment made palatable by radiation therapy staff with warm smiles, heated blankets and daily encouragement. 

Oh, and mitten drinnen, there was genetic testing for the BRCA gene because I’m an Ashkenazi Jew on my mother’s side with a family history of breast cancer. What a relief to read “negative” on MyChart and receive the phone call from Juravinski’s genetic counsellor to confirm and explain the result. 

In October, when I first got my diagnosis, I did not wonder “why me?” Breast cancer is the most common cancer in Canadian women; responsible for about 25% of all new cancer cases in women. 

In March, when I returned to Juravinski Hospital and Cancer Centre as a volunteer, I felt something different. A deeper, more special bond with the patients I was greeting and escorting to visits and appointments. I had been where they were going.