GLENROCK – When Cathy Holman’s older sister was diagnosed with breast cancer at 38, it marked the beginning of a journey Holman never anticipated. Four years later, when her mother received the same diagnosis at 64, Holman knew she had to make a decision.
Sitting in her doctor’s office, nursing her fifth child, the young mother asked a question that would change her life: “Can I just chop them off?”
At 33 years old, with five children under the age of eight and a family history stacking the odds against her, Holman chose to undergo a preventative mastectomy. Nearly a decade later, she’s sharing her story to help other women facing similar choices.
“I want to live,” Holman told her cancer risk and reduction specialist, Dr. Dev Paul, during that first appointment. “That was my answer. Like, that’s all it was. I want to be there for this little baby.”
Understanding the risk
Neither Holman’s mother nor her sister tested positive for genetic markers like BRCA1 or BRCA2. Instead, their family history indicated what doctors call a high hereditary risk.
“The average person with no family history is walking around with a 12% risk,” Holman explained. “And then each relative, you get more and more.”
For Holman, a preventative mastectomy would reduce her cancer risk to 2%.
“Insurance, most insurance will cover it if you can prove you have a risk of 20% or higher,” she said. “Because it is cheaper for them to pay for a preventative mastectomy than to pay for that surgery and chemo and radiation and whatever else.”
The decision
The weight of genetic uncertainty had become unbearable. For years, Holman lived with the fear she might not see her 40th birthday.
“I honestly never thought I was going to make it to 40,” she said. “I didn’t realize how heavy it was until I woke up from my first part of the surgeries. And I felt lighter than I’d ever felt. And I felt like, you know what, I’m going to make it to 40.”
Her voice breaks when people call her brave.
“My mom and sister are the brave ones,” she said. “I took the easy way out so I didn’t have to be. If I knew I was going to fight cancer, I want to throw the first punch.”
The reality
What Holman didn’t anticipate was the physical and emotional journey ahead. Her reconstruction required three surgeries over nearly a year, followed by revision surgery nine years later.
“I didn’t realize it was going to be almost a year of surgery,” she said. “I didn’t really understand what that meant. I didn’t know what it was like to amputate part of your body and then have to get used to a whole new shape.”
In her blog, Prairie Wife in Heels, Holman compares the experience to going through puberty again.
“Hormones, thousands of emotions, a new body you must get used to and lots of people telling you what to do and how to feel,” she wrote in a reflection five years after her surgery.
The recovery was exhausting, though not as painful as she expected. What proved most challenging was following doctor’s orders when she didn’t feel injured.
“You don’t realize how hard your body is working to heal from the inside out,” she said. “If I can emphasize one thing, I think that’s why I didn’t have complications. It’s because I let my body heal from the inside out.”
She learned practical lessons she now shares with other women: wound drains can go in hoodie pockets, expensive post-mastectomy products marketed to patients are often unnecessary and rest is essential even when you feel fine.
The emotional journey
The first year brought unexpected challenges. Holman had to learn how to dress her new body, navigate changed sensations and rebuild her confidence.
“I liken it to going through puberty again,” she said. “Like, I had to get comfortable with the level of modesty I did or didn’t want. I had to learn to dress in a way that made me feel good about myself. I had to learn how to move differently.”
She lost all feeling in her chest, a common outcome she now considers when choosing clothes for her work on stage in front of hundreds of people.
“I will not feel if something starts to slip,” she explained.
The journey also taught her about her own resilience. Having to rebuild strength from scratch after each surgery – being too weak to wipe down a kitchen table, taking two years before she could close a window – forced her to redefine what she was capable of achieving.
“To do that, start over again, get your strengths back and then three months later do it all over again, you get to the point where you’re like, what’s the point?” she said. “For me, what I did is I just would set a goal for myself.”
When she finished her initial surgeries, she ran her first half marathon. Before her revision surgery last November, she completed her first full marathon.
“The mental fortitude I had just gained from having to go over and over again and get chopped up and start over made me into a distance runner,” she said. “I could be in my head. I could hurt. I could push through pain. I could see the end result was worth what you were going through at that time.”
Two years after her initial surgery, Holman wrote about the moment she realized she’d turned a corner.
“I just went an entire day without thinking about my body,” she wrote. “I did a push-up and it felt totally normal. Without a thought, I closed that sticky window in my house. Days go by with no stabbing pain or random dull aches that last for hours.”
Turning pain into purpose
One of the most remarkable aspects of Holman’s journey has been her decision to document it publicly. Her blog features detailed week-by-week recovery posts, candid photographs many would consider too personal to share and honest discussions about everything from intimacy concerns to the frustration of running into walls with her new chest.
“Basically everything I shared on my blog is what I wish someone else had done for me,” she said. “I couldn’t find it. Everyone who had a mastectomy was in their 60s. There was no one talking about what it was like in your 30s.”
The transparency came at a cost. Holman has faced judgment and unsolicited opinions about her choice.
“Once you go public, quote-unquote, whether it’s telling your friends or what I did, where you tell the whole world about it, people have their opinions,” she said. “You know, they’re going to tell you, well, you should just not eat sugar and you’d be fine. Why are you doing that?”
But the impact on other women has made the vulnerability worthwhile. Her plastic surgeons in Denver regularly direct patients to her website. Women across the country have her phone number as a safe person to call with questions.
Five years after her surgery, Holman sat at her kitchen counter feeling discouraged, questioning whether her blog and social media presence made any difference. She prayed for a sign.
The next day, a woman messaged her on Instagram: “I just wanted to let you know how much your preventative mastectomy blog posts have helped me. I’m having mine tomorrow! I have read through your post at least five times, the last time being a few days ago at 4 a.m. when I woke up so worried about my decision. Reading through your posts has given me SO much courage and peace.”
“Friends, readers, it took all of my self-control not to start crying in the middle of my radio show when I read these words,” Holman wrote. “That. Right. There. That is why I am doing this.”
The response from readers has been overwhelming. Women message her before surgery seeking reassurance. Others reach out months or years later to share their own journeys. Comments on her blog posts tell stories of women who found courage in her words.
“It’s been an honor,” she said. “I truly believe if we can make good come from sharing our stories, it was all worth it.”
Recent challenges
Last year, Holman underwent revision surgery to address discomfort from her original implants. Every implant, whether for reconstruction or cosmetic purposes, typically needs replacement every 10 to 15 years.
“Most people just ignore that and they don’t go in until there’s a problem,” she said. “But that’s actually the recommendation.”
Advances in technology allowed doctors to reposition her implants from under the muscle to over the muscle, using larger sheets of donated cadaver tissue for support.
“My quality of life is so much better,” she said.
The revision surgery reminded her of lessons learned years before. Even five years after her initial surgeries, working out her chest and arm muscles still caused deep pain along the surgical sites for days afterward.
“Even five years later, it hurts like hell for days after I work those muscles differently,” she wrote on her blog. “And it’s not my biceps and shoulders hurting. It’s pulling and pain along where my stitches are all the way deep into my armpits.”
In her blog post addressing frequently asked questions, Holman is candid about the ongoing physical realities. Two years after surgery, she still experienced stabbing nerve pain, though less frequently. The tight sensation around her ribs eventually eased. She learned to sleep on her stomach again with the help of strategically placed pillows.
“It never stops hurting,” she wrote honestly in her five-year reflection. But she also noted the pain becomes manageable, something you stop thinking about most days.
Life after surgery
Today, at 43, Holman has transformed her experience into a resource for others while living the full life she fought for.
“I don’t wait,” she said. “If I want to do something, I’m going to do it. I don’t know how much time I have. I’ve faced my mortality.”
She’s hiked in Austria, spent three weeks alone in England for her 40th birthday and created countless memories with her children.
“Everyone I care about knows how I feel about them,” she said. “So if something were to happen, everyone I care about knows. They know where they stand with me.”
The surgery has faded into the background of her busy life. Some people she’s met in recent years don’t even know she had a mastectomy.
“I’m doing exactly what I set out to do, living my life,” she said. “It’s not, it’s part of my story, but it’s not all encompassing.”
For women going through similar experiences, she offers reassurance born from lived experience.
“This is just right now. It’s not forever,” she said. “The pain is just right now. The thinking about it every day is just right now. The feeling awkward and uncomfortable, it’s just right now. You’re doing nine months or a year of discomfort for the rest of your life. That’s a pretty good trade-off.”
Advice for others
For women considering a preventative mastectomy, Holman’s advice is straightforward: Do your research, find a doctor you trust and remember that ultimately, it’s your decision.
“Other people’s opinions are great, but it’s not their body,” she said. “Do what’s right for you and your family. You have to make the best decision you can make at that time with the information you’ve been given. And you have to rest easy with that.”
She wants people to understand this isn’t cosmetic surgery, despite what some might think.
“It’s not a boob job,” she said firmly. “It’s way more intensive. It’s infinitely harder.”
For those supporting someone through the experience, she emphasizes the importance of thoughtful words and practical help.
“Give them room to grieve because there’s a grieving process with making that decision,” she said. “Your job is to support and love. Never underestimate the importance of dropping off a meal and hiring a housekeeper for someone.”
She also encourages women not to minimize their own struggles.
“It’s OK to be emotional and get weary of soul,” she wrote in response to frequently asked questions. “All these surgeries and recoveries can be daunting and seem never-ending. Take some time to wallow when you need to.”
Throughout her blog posts, Holman uses the hashtag #StrongEnough, a reminder she gave herself and now offers to others.
“You faced the possibility of death by Cancer,” she wrote two years after her surgery. “Instead of waiting for the unknown, you looked Cancer in the eye and threw the first punch, and this is something to be so damn thankful for.”
Moving forward
Now, as Holman faces another difficult decision about preventative measures regarding ovarian cancer following her mother’s recent death from the disease, she clings to the same principle guiding her years ago.
“All you can do is make the best decision for you at that time,” she said. “And I don’t think we can hold ourselves to a higher standard than that.”
Her openness about her ongoing decisions – whether to undergo an oophorectomy and risk early menopause at 43 – continues to provide a roadmap for women navigating similar choices.
“There’s so many heavy decisions that come with this,” she said. “And I just, I want to encourage people to do what’s right for them.”
When asked what motivated her transparency, Holman pointed to her faith.
“I am a person of strong faith. We’re Catholic,” she said. “And the way I have gotten back off the ground many times is confidence that God gave it to me for a reason. I have this platform and I will use it for His good. And the way I know how to do that is by sharing my stories to help other people.”
She’s also taken on a leadership role as a board member of the Wyoming Breast Cancer Initiative, working to ensure Wyoming women have access to resources and support.
“They don’t have to go through this decision alone,” she said.
The organization provides free screening, gas cards for travel to appointments, counseling services and patient support – filling a gap left when Susan G. Komen for the Cure pulled out of Wyoming years ago.
“It’s Wyoming money raised in Wyoming helping Wyoming families,” Holman explained.
Looking back on nearly a decade since her first surgery, Holman expresses overwhelming gratitude.
“I am grateful for those who stepped up and helped,” she said. “Something like that really brings close who’s there for you, who your family is that maybe isn’t blood family.”
And she remains grateful for the decision itself.
“I’m still alive. I made it to 43. So far, so good,” she said. “I don’t honestly know that would have been my story if I hadn’t have done it.”
Cathy Holman is a board member of the Wyoming Breast Cancer Initiative, which provides resources including free screening, gas cards, counseling services and patient support. More information is available at wyomingbreastcancer.org. Her personal blog, featuring detailed accounts of her mastectomy. journey, can be found at prairiewifeinheels.com.
