Alix Shulman lives with her wife Lisa in the southwest suburbs. They were eager for a house with a nice backyard for their dogs and a basement. A huge tornado whipped through nearby decades ago. With a basement, they’d be prepared for the worst.
Little did they know the worst would come from somewhere else. Shulman, 49, was diagnosed with stage 3 IIB triple-negative breast cancer several years ago. She pushed through 16 rounds of chemotherapy and a bilateral mastectomy and is now cancer-free.
Her support system, from medical providers to her loved ones, was key to her care, affirming her queer identity and recognizing her spouse.
“It wasn’t just about me as the patient, and I think that’s really important for the queer community because oftentimes maybe your partner is sitting to the side just listening,” Shulman says.
“My surgeon was fabulous. I would recommend her and my oncologist to anybody in the queer community because I think not only were they kind and considerate, they made us feel very welcome in a nonjudgmental environment.”
This care is critical, especially given that, in 2024, there were an estimated 160,000 new cancer cases and nearly 50,000 LGBTQ+ people died of cancer, according to the American Cancer Society. Research from the National LGBT Cancer Network and Seminars in Oncology Nursing has shown they could be at higher risk for cancer and have barriers to recommended screenings compared to their heterosexual and cisgender peers.
Even in a politically polarized society, “A lot of healthcare systems seem to be remaining committed to fostering [LGBTQ+] knowledge and education because they know that queer people aren’t going anywhere,” says Dr. Justin Schweitzer, medical director of LGBTQ+ health and primary care for Cooper University Health Care.
Shulman met her wife she was 33 years old. They’ve been together for 16 years and married for eight.
“She is very hard-shelled on the outside, but, deep down in her heart, she’s very caring, very loving, supportive and very understanding,” Shulman says.
She needed that support in 2022 when her left breast felt sore. A pink rash appeared, too. It was hot to the touch.
Following these symptoms, she called her doctor to schedule a diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound.
“I had a feeling something was going on because they kept taking more pictures,” she says. “And then the same thing happened with the ultrasound.”
Shulman’s diagnosis arrived on Valentine’s Day. Her general practitioner recommended a queer-affirming oncologist and surgeon, and her treatment began.
“She was like a blessing,” Shulman says of her surgeon. “She brought the fun in, which I know most people are going to think, ‘Well, how can she really do that during a cancer diagnosis?’ And she just walked in and was, like, ‘All right, so you’ve got cancer. What are we doing?’ “
Her first chemotherapy infusion started March 19. The U.S. Food and Drug Administration had just approved immunotherapy Keytruda, which she took for a year along with her chemo. Shingles, folliculitis and COVID-19 also ailed her during this time. It was all worth it she says, once she finished. And she has the certificate to prove it. She has it framed.
“I work from home, and sometimes people will be, like, ‘Oh, is that your college degree?’ And I’m, like, No, that’s me completing chemo,” she says.
This 25-year-old survived breast cancer. Now, she’s dealing with menopause.
But depression followed her treatment. Chemo became a routine part of her life every week. What happened to all that time?
“Patients are often left with what I call the new normal,” Schweitzer says. “So their life may be dramatically different than what it was like before surgery or before cancer treatment.”
Shulman sought out support groups and therapy and took charge of her mental health. Now, she passes along good vibes when she sees someone else going through what she did. Once, she spotted a woman getting a manicure whose hair looked like it was growing back.
“I just said, ‘your hair looks really great. You look beautiful.’ And she said, ‘I knew you knew.’ “
Shulman says: “I think it’s important to support other people because they may be in the same position of depression, of anger, of a ‘why me?’ And I think that’s really important, just to support people out there whether they’re in the queer community or not.”
There are many resources for LGBTQ+ people with cancer who are seeking help, including the American Cancer Society, the Tegan & Sara Foundation and LGBTQ+ health care directories.
Shulman was lucky to be surrounded by many loved ones. Not everyone has that.
“That is the flip side to this story and worthy of discussing,” Schweitzer says of the importance of “having support from loved ones, from chosen family, from the medical community, so that patients can get the care that they’re looking for and need.”
Today, Shulman sees her oncologist every six months. She’s trying out new activities: a queer bowling league, pickleball and pottery classes.
Shulman is especially excited to take part in a “Making Strides” breast cancer walk later this year in Chicago. She plans to carry a sign there. It will say she’s cancer-free and has been for nearly five years.
Read more at USA Today.