Rosé-Colored Glasses
I have always been a girly-girl with a preference for feminine fashion. I loved creating fun, flirty looks for ordinary days. I loved heels for everyday wear (yes, even while working in the vineyard), and I loved wearing sexy outfits that showed off my boobs. My breasts were gorgeous, almost perfect – the kind that had a natural, yet full, teardrop shape with perky nipples. Until cancer happened. Twice.
My first diagnosis of breast cancer was 11 years ago. I adored my breasts so much that I was willing to “play chicken” by taking the risk to keep them. I had accepted my doctor’s advice to have a lumpectomy instead of a mastectomy because deep down that is what I wanted to hear. I did not want my life or my body to change. I was finally where I wanted to be – making wine for my newly opened winery and still rocking sensual looks. How could I let my dream go this soon?
I was still not ready when the tumor margins were not clear after my surgery. My oncologist recommended 30 rounds of radiation, plus six rounds of boost radiation. It sounded effortless. I would lay in a molded form each morning from June to August, get zapped by intangible energy for a few minutes and go back to work (and summer bikinis) for the rest of the day. Unaware of the seriousness, I created a fun self-challenge: I would wear a different pair of stilettos for each radiation treatment. I chose the most beautiful heels from my collection and pranced into Memorial Cancer Center every morning to show them off, taking pictures and posting them on social media. I called it “Rock-On Radiation.” I was still focused on how I looked and I was treating radiation like a game (not interested in the magnitude of what it does to all cells) because I did not want my body to change. I was wearing rosé-colored glasses proudly, and I stepped into this first “real” fight with breast cancer without doing research or having cancer advocates, patients, or survivors to help guide me.
What I didn’t expect to happen was that other people would be just as excited by my game as I was. The technicians and the other women waiting for treatment each morning with me, would check to make sure I didn’t repeat my heel choice. I looked forward to seeing these same people for 20 minutes each day; they became my clique and my first support system. They realized the severity of what was happening to me during each radiation treatment before I did.
As it turns out, radiation was not the right choice at that time and accepting this treatment would negatively affect my life from then on. I felt foolish (and vain) when my cancer returned in 2016, right before grape harvest. My double mastectomy surgery on December 9, 2016 was fraught with complications from my radiated skin and lymph node removal. I was genuinely surprised when they sent me home the next day with paperwork to call after the holidays and schedule the next course. Of course I left feeling shocked about finding even more cancer, but my larger feelings were more about my appearance. I felt ugly, alone and angry. I didn’t want visitors. I didn’t want to dress up.
On Christmas Eve, I went into my local ER, presenting with a fever and an infected left breast. I was sent back to Siteman Cancer Center, where the problem began with my original plastic surgeon who was afraid the post-op infection would negatively affect his patient statistics. It was obvious he didn’t want to have me as a patient. He treated me with aloofness when I went in for my visits. And when it came time for implant reconstruction, he slapped them in and stitched me up, with little regard to how they looked.
I didn’t feel like myself. It may sound superficial, but I missed wearing the clothes that made me feel like the woman I was before I had cancer. My breasts were left uneven, at different heights and sizes, with deep gouges and dents in both. My long-term drains left a permanent crease crossing over my nipple on the left breast. This would become deeper and more pronounced (even through clothes) when I flexed while doing simple tasks like pouring wine for a customer or pruning grapevines. I began stuffing my brawith ridiculous things to cover up the botched breasts. I still feel the cringe remembering when a sock in my bra began to fall out while I was pulling a bottle of wine from the cooler for a customer. I tried holding my arm against my breast so that it would fall out. I froze. Everything stopped. All I could think about was how embarrassing it would be for someone to notice.
I lost my mojo. I lost my confidence. I should have been thankful that I was still alive, but I was so focused on my breasts. It wasn’t just a question of vanity; part of my sense of identity was my fashion and my stilettos (my nickname is Stilettos In The Vineyard for a reason). My first plastic surgeon didn’t care. He informed me that the reconstruction issues were irreversible and that he couldn’t resolve them. I didn’t know that I could find another surgeon and asked to have more aesthetically pleasing breasts (for me). This led me into considering how to fix my botched breasts.
A year later, a customer at my winery told me about a plastic surgeon in my community. I went to her and was thrilled to learn that Dr. Nicole Sommer at SIU plastic surgery had a fellowship in breast reconstruction and honestly thought she could help me look more like myself again. She advised me that it would take several surgeries, using the Ryan Flap procedure, scar removal and fat grafting. She (and her residents) are miracle workers. My breasts aren’t perfect, but they look fabulous in clothes, and I finally can buy reconstruction bras with confidence. Which led me to the next part of my life with cancer journey — learning how to thrive.
In 2019, my doctors sponsored me to walk in New York Fashion Week for bra and loungewear company, AnaOno, which shed a light on the options of reconstruction and on our very talented surgeons. A whole new world opened for me. I was forced to embrace my new body because I was walking on a runway in New York City in a mastectomy bra and panties. I suddenly saw myself through other’s eyes — they saw a strong beautiful woman, where I saw a weak ugly one. Dana Donofree, the AnaOno designer, saw the real me. She made a very sexy reconstruction bra and named it after me (The Susan). It was incredibly beautiful and lacy, but my favorite thing is the way the lace, by the armpit, covers the area where my lymph nodes were removed, so it doesn’t show the flabby skin. Yes, I still care about how I look, just less. 🌿
Susan Danenberger
Winemaker/owner, Danenberger Family
Vineyards. Diagnosed at 48 and 50. IDC, Stage I, ER+, PR+, and then Stage IV.
Susan is the winemaker, owner and grape goddess at Danenberger Family Vineyards in Central Illinois and an Amazon bestselling author of Embracing the Impact of Cancer: Inspirational Stories of Hope. As a two-time breast cancer fighter, Susan has learned the tough lesson that living with metastatic breast cancer is a lot different from surviving after cancer.
“Rosé-Colored Glasses” was published in Wildfire Journal’s 2025 “Body” issue. Read the full issue; available in the shop and subscribers’ library.