I was diagnosed with breast cancer on July 27, 1998, at the age of 47. There were two tumors in my right breast. I had a mastectomy, reconstruction surgery, chemotherapy, and physical therapy for my abdomen and right arm, and shortly after finishing chemo, I began taking Tamoxifen. Those are the dry facts of my experience. The emotional side of the tale is more interesting.

    On that July day I had no idea how this disease would change my life. Breast cancer is in large part responsible for who I am today, a late bloomer. Most of the changes didn’t happen instantly, but they did happen and they surprised everyone I know, especially me. BC—that is, before cancer—I was on the shy side. If someone had approached me then and given me the choice of speaking in front of a group of strangers or enduring a root canal, the root canal would have won hands down. Since cancer I have spoken in front of hundreds of people. Before breast cancer, I had gotten five driver’s learning permits over 30 years, but had never gotten my license. A few months after my last chemo treatment I got my license and my sister gave me a car, and I have been driving and loving it ever since. A chance meeting increased my late bloomer status in June of 2002. I met three very enthusiastic women, Shelly, Susan, and Eleanora. They were members of a breast cancer survivor dragon boat team called Hope Afloat.

    I will digress a bit and explain this sport. Dragon boating has been in existence for approximately 2,000 years. It originated in China and is thought to have started as a celebration to ensure a good harvest. It is associated with many myths and legends. The dragon is the most venerated zodiac deity in China and rules over the rivers, seas, clouds, and rain. The first races were mock dragon battles which included throwing stones at opposing boats, striking paddlers with canes, and human sacrifices. I am much relieved to say that those activities are no longer associated with the sport.

    One of the most enduring legends about dragon boating relates to a famous and much beloved Chinese poet, Qu Yuan, who lived in the Chu kingdom. When the kingdom was invaded by a rival’s army, his sorrow was so great that he leapt into the river and drowned. Seeing this, fishermen raced to save him; failing in the attempt they thrashed their paddles to fight off hungry fish. On the anniversary of Qu Yuan’s death, the fishermen threw rice dumplings in the river to commemorate him and appease the river dragon.

    The modern-day dragon boat resembles a large canoe. It is about 40 feet long with 10 wooden seats where 20 paddlers sit side by side. In the back stands the steersperson, who guides the boat with a long oar, and in the front sits the drummer, who beats the drum in time with the stroke rate. On a race day the boats are adorned with colorful dragon heads on the bow and scaly tails on the stern.

    The seemingly odd pairing of dragon boating and breast cancer survivors is almost entirely due to one man, Dr. Don McKenzie. In the past, the protocol for women who had had breast cancer surgery that involved having lymph nodes removed was to severely restrict the activity of the affected arm in order to prevent lymphedema. They were told not to play tennis, not to garden, not to lift anything heavier than five pounds. Lymphedema is a condition that causes the arm, hand, trunk, or all three to swell because the lymph system, which controls natural drainage, has been compromised. This condition can be painful and uncomfortable, and it is difficult to treat.

    Dr. McKenzie, a professor of sports medicine in Vancouver, British Columbia, felt that the protocol of nonactivity was counterintuitive and that the way to stay healthy was to keep the body moving. He believed that dragon boat training would not promote lymphedema and could possibly bring about improvement for those women already suffering from it. In 1995 he began an experiment with a small group of breast cancer survivors and a dragon boat. Dr. Don was right—the experiment was extremely successful. The incidence of lymphedema did not increase, the paddlers were much healthier than their nonpaddling counterparts, and they experienced the welcomed side effects of a feeling of empowerment and a sense of belonging. These women formed a team called Abreast in a Boat. Now there are many breast cancer survivor dragon boat teams all over the world, and they all owe a great debt to these brave original members of Abreast in a Boat and Dr. McKenzie.

    Back in June 2002, when I first encountered the three Hope Afloat team members and they talked to me about joining, I was reluctant. I had lost touch with the physical side of my life because of the breast cancer. I did not feel strong, my energy level was low, and I certainly no longer considered myself an athlete. Luckily, fortune was smiling on me that day in the form of my wonderful life partner, Carl. He stood by my side and asked Shelly when I should show up and what I needed to bring; he wrote it all down and promised that I would be there. Carl and I had been together for almost 18 years that June and he knew what I needed more than I did.

    With much trepidation I went to the Schuylkill River in Philadelphia on a sunny summer evening. I was a newbie, armed with a paddle, a bright orange life vest, and a butt pad. It was very hard work. After practice I felt uncoordinated, exhausted, sore—and I loved it!

    I had been to practice only a few times when Carl and I traveled to New York City to stand on the shore and cheer Hope Afloat on in the Liberty International Dragon Boat Festival. When we got there the team captain said, “There’s an empty seat on the boat. Do you want to race today?” After an initial moment of panic, I said yes. Wearing white linen pants, sitting in the last seat with a borrowed paddle, I joined my team in a race. When we crossed the finish line first, I wept with joy. Back on shore I could not stop grinning; I called my parents on my cell phone, I danced like a little kid with the giant trophy, and I wore my gold medal for two days. I felt alive in a way that I hadn’t experienced since before my diagnosis.

    A few weeks after that race Shelly asked the team to come up with a song or chant. I had always written poetry, so I wrote up some verses and gave them to Shelly. She read them and said, “Great! You can sing it at the next meeting.” Sing?! I wasn’t musical. But you don’t say no to Shelly, so I made up a tune and sang at the meeting. I was amazed when everyone burst into applause. We made our singing debut a few weeks later at the Linda Creed Breast Cancer Foundation candle lighting ceremony held at the base of the famous “Rocky” steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. It was such a rush. Since that first song, I have written a bushel full of copyrighted songs and performed them at many of the festivals the team participates in. This is a talent and a pleasure I would not have discovered if my life had not included breast cancer.

    Another silver lining of my breast cancer experience is dragon boating. I was lucky enough to join Hope Afloat in its first full season. During my years with the team we have raced in Washington, DC; Princeton, New Jersey; Rome, Italy; Burlington, Vermont; Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania; our home town of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania; Tampa, Florida; Belleville, Ontario; and Windsor, Ontario. One of our most exciting events happened in June of 2005 in Vancouver, British Columbia. Abreast in a Boat held a 10-year anniversary, all-breast-cancer-survivor dragon boat festival. It was an incredible three-day event, with 62 teams from all over the world—1,600 paddlers— attending.

    In festivals with a breast cancer survivor component, a special ceremony is held: the flower ceremony. The survivors sit in dragon boats and hold pink flowers in the air, a speech is made, a poem is read, music is played, there is a moment of silence, and then the paddlers call out the names of loved ones they want to remember and honor. The flowers are tossed into the water. In Vancouver there were 13 boats full of survivors; on one of them Dr. Don McKenzie sat as the drummer. It was extraordinarily moving. The power of love on the water that day was like nothing I have ever felt in my life.

    Hope Afloat did the United States proud at that festival. We earned a silver medal making, us the number-two team in the world and the number-one American breast cancer survivor team. It was a long time before we came down from that high. The team has appeared on various local television news shows and on a Philadelphia fitness radio show twice, has been featured in numerous newspaper and magazine articles, and was chosen as the best Philadelphia sports team by Philadelphia Magazine in its “Best of Philly 2005” issue, beating out all the professional teams in the city.

    Hope Afloat has won many medals and achieved some fame in the dragon boat world, but our main mission is far more important and meaningful than winning. We want to show the world, and especially women who are affected by breast cancer, that they can live a full life after diagnosis and it can be glorious. We paddle hard to encourage others to awaken the dragon within.

    Being on Hope Afloat has changed my life in so many ways. There are the wonderful physical and mental-health advantages of becoming fit and strong. There is the spiritual component of this sport: Being on the water surrounded by lovely trees, playful water birds, and the beautiful sky is very healing for the soul. But by far the greatest benefit I have received by joining this team is the invaluable gift of friendship. The women on this team are amazing, powerful, caring, passionate about dragon boating, a little bit crazy, and totally committed to living their lives with gusto. There is only one requirement for becoming a member: You must have been diagnosed with breast cancer. At this writing our youngest member is 34 and our oldest is 74. The majority of us are over 50, all sizes and shapes. Some women have always been into sports; some have never done anything athletic in their lives. It doesn’t matter who they are or what they do, they are all welcomed.

    When a newbie comes down to the dock for the first time, she is surrounded with support and love and hugged—a lot. The camaraderie is instant and sincere. As one of my teammates says, “Hope Afloat is a soft place to land.” It has been dubbed a “floating support group,” but unlike some support groups we don’t sit around and talk about the disease—we are actively pursuing healthy lives. We care for each other on and off the water, we share the joy of each other’s triumphs, and we give comfort in times of sorrow. There is no single word that encompasses the depth of my gratitude to this group of strong, heroic women. This late bloomer is so proud to be one of the pink blossoms in the beautiful garden called Hope Afloat.