“Men Don’t Get Breast Cancer” … Until They Do
In December 2025, I noticed a tiny bloodstain on one of my white undershirts. It was right where my nipple was, and it happened over the course of a couple of days. I didn’t think much of it.
My wife, Donna, did.
She told me to go and get it checked, and I laughed.
I said, “Don’t be silly. Men don’t get breast cancer.”
Like so many men, I believed breast cancer was something that only affected women. I dismissed the warning signs because it never crossed my mind that I could have breast cancer.
It was going to take several weeks to get an appointment with my general practitioner, so Donna encouraged me to mention the bleeding during a scheduled visit with my rheumatologist. Looking back, that decision may have saved my life.
I was sent for an ultrasound, where the technician found a tiny abnormality behind my nipple. She told me there was a very small dot at the nine o’clock position behind my nipple. She explained it could be several things, including a small blood clot, but I would have to wait until after the New Year for the final results.
Even with all the testing, I remained optimistic. Then, two weeks later, everything changed.
When I was told I had breast cancer, it felt like a ton of bricks had fallen on me. Then I looked over at Donna and saw the expression on her face. That made it hurt even more.
Just weeks after my diagnosis, Donna and I were scheduled to take a long-planned family vacation to the United States with our children and three grandchildren. After giving it a lot of thought, I made the difficult decision to postpone my surgery for nearly two months so we could take the trip, even though my doctors recommended having surgery right away.
Two days after we returned home, I underwent a mastectomy. Unfortunately, things didn’t go as planned.
I suffered internal bleeding, my blood pressure dropped dangerously low, and I collapsed. I was rushed back into emergency surgery, where doctors drained nearly 800 milliliters of blood from my chest.
Instead of spending just one night in the hospital, I remained there for four days before finally going home with a surgical drain that I had to manage every day for nearly three weeks.
Six weeks later, I received another devastating piece of news. My doctors told me the cancer had progressed rapidly during the delay between my diagnosis and surgery. I was ultimately diagnosed with stage 3 aggressive HR+ breast cancer.
Fortunately, the cancer had not spread to my lymph nodes, so I didn’t need chemotherapy or radiation. Instead, I began taking tamoxifen, which I’ll remain on for at least the next five years.
Genetic testing also revealed that I carry a BRCA2 mutation, which increases my risk for several cancers, including breast, prostate, and pancreatic cancer.
That’s especially concerning because I lost my brother to pancreatic cancer when he was just 55 years old.
Now I’ll undergo regular surveillance for prostate and pancreatic cancer, along with continued follow-up for breast cancer. My diagnosis also means that each of my four children has a 50 percent chance of inheriting the BRCA2 mutation.
Looking back, I realize the biggest mistake I made was burying my head in the sand because I had never known a man with breast cancer.
Now I know. It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. If you’re not sure about something, get it checked. It isn’t hard to do, and it could save your life.
Most of all, I’m grateful to my wife. If it weren’t for Donna, I probably never would have worried about that tiny bloodstain.
My doctors told me my cancer was aggressive. If I had ignored it for another six months, who knows what might have happened.
Sometimes, listening to someone who loves you can make all the difference.
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