Hi, my name is Jack Gelman, and I am a man… who had breast cancer…Twice.
Now, I know what you’re thinking: “Wait, men have breasts?” I didn’t believe it either. When I first heard the diagnosis, I was convinced the doctor had read the wrong chart. I looked around the room like I was on a prank show—just waiting for someone to jump out and say, “Gotcha!” How can a father of two have breast cancer? How can a naval pilot who flew combat missions in Vietnam have breast cancer? But no, the joke was very real. And it came with a prescription.
In 2013, I had a full mastectomy on my right side. I walked in thinking I’d leave with some antibiotics and a pat on the back. Instead, I left with half a chest and a prescription for Tamoxifen. Let me tell you something: it’s weird enough being a man with breast cancer. But it’s a whole new level of awkward when you’re the only guy at the breast cancer support group hearing ladies ask questions about hot flashes and mood swings. And Tamoxifen? That little pill turned me into a walking hormonal roller coaster for five straight years. I cried at dog food commercials. I started noticing which dresses had pockets. It was a time.
There’s a kind of quiet embarrassment that comes with this diagnosis—one that sneaks in between the medical charts and waiting rooms. There’s no guidebook for men in pink gowns at breast imaging centers. I was the guy sitting there trying not to make eye contact with the sea of women, feeling like I had crashed the wrong party. But here’s the truth: cancer doesn’t care about gender. It doesn’t care if you’re tough or stoic or clueless about what a mammogram actually is. It just shows up uninvited—and it stays as long as it wants.
Yes, men can get breast cancer. Although it is much less common in men than women, it is still a possibility. Men have breast tissue, though typically less developed, and therefore can develop breast cancer. It’s important for men to be aware of the signs and symptoms and to seek medical advice if they notice any changes in their chest area. to their chest.
Just when I thought I had beaten the odds and moved on, cancer tapped me on the shoulder again—in 2024—this time on the left side. At that point, I thought, “Well, if symmetry is the goal, mission accomplished.”
So, I went through another full mastectomy. And while some people say they left their heart in San Francisco—I can now say I left both my pecs in two separate operating rooms. But through every needle, every surgery, every shaky moment when the future felt like it was written in disappearing ink, there was one person who never once flinched: my wife, Stephanie Gelman. Stephanie wasn’t just my caregiver. She was my strength when mine ran out. She handled every prescription, every appointment, every “are we sure this is really happening?” moment with a grace and grit I’ll never be able to repay. Stephanie didn’t sign up for this battle—but she fought it anyway, clipboard in one hand and soup in the other. And somehow, she made it all feel like we were going to be okay—even when I wasn’t sure we would.
Stephanie, along with my surgeons, my oncologist, and my nurses, is the reason I’m standing here—literally, emotionally, and probably chemically. I tell my story not for sympathy, but for awareness— and maybe to make just one man out there think twice if something feels off.
I didn’t choose to be a man with breast cancer. But I am choosing to talk about it. I didn’t choose to sit in a pink gown, in a room where I felt like I didn’t belong. But I stayed, asked questions, and faced the fear head-on while learning to lean on my support system.
I didn’t choose the scars, the surgeries, or the second diagnosis. But I did choose to live through it, laugh through it, and walk out stronger—scarred, yes—but standing with my wife, Stephane, by my side. And that’s worth saying in any room.
Hi, my name is Jack Gelman, and I’m a man who had breast cancer… twice.