Sout’s story is one of strength and independence. As a first-generation immigrant from Laos who moved to Canada when she was 19 years old, she chose to face her diagnosis alone, sparing her distant family from the weight of her struggles. In this solo journey, Look Good Feel Better emerged as an undeniable ally.
“The essence of who I am is a helper. I’ve always been there for others, offering a hand in difficult times. When I got diagnosed with cancer, Look Good Feel Better became a support network I could rely on—a source of strength and normalcy amid uncertainty.”
For Sout, maintaining a positive appearance became a way to shield loved ones from worry. She didn’t want to appear sick so that people wouldn’t feel sorry for her and be concerned.
The decision to shave her head, steeped in cultural significance, became a moment of liberation for Sout. It connected her with family across borders and anchored her to her roots. Attending a LGFB workshop also became an empowering moment in her journey.
“Connecting with the participants and the volunteers during the workshop was wonderful. Everyone was so kind, which was truly heart-warming – especially when you’re by yourself like I’ve mostly been throughout this experience.”
In the face of isolation, Sout found humanity and warmth in the camaraderie of Look Good Feel Better. It’s a tribute to the program’s ability to provide support beyond practical tips and tools. It illustrates the profound and transformative impact of Look Good Feel Better and our community of generous donors and volunteers who make our programs possible.
When I think back to having cancer and going through treatment, a lot of it is a blur. It was almost like a four-month-long out-of-body experience. I was 15 and in grade 10 when I was diagnosed. I was in the culinary arts program at my school in Toronto, which I had wanted to do forever. And so much was already going on in my life. It was a tough year. My dog had recently died, which was really hard for my family, and my grandmother had also had a cancer scare. And, things were hard at school. I’d met someone who turned out to not be a very nice friend, so I stopped hanging out with him and then I found out a few months later that he’d been writing mean stuff about me online. And then he started threatening me and following me around school. He was friends with a lot of my friends and it was hard to get away from him. And I had also just parted ways with my entire friend group, because they were just not nice friends. One of them even told me she had hated me from the moment she met me. That was hard. I’d dealt with a lot that year, and so getting cancer just kind of felt like an extra bonus. It was the cherry on top of some terrible sundae.
Suddenly I was spending pretty much every single day, hours and hours of the day, in doctors’ offices trying to figure everything out. I started failing most of my classes at school because cancer was suddenly taking up most of my time.
I got through it, though. My school supported me with my class work when they heard what was going on. I was able to make some great new friends who were kind and supportive. And I got through my treatment.
Chemo was hard but it wasn’t as bad as movies would make it seem. In some ways it’s true that chemo can be very intense, but it wasn’t as scary as I thought it was going to be. My surgery went really well. Heading into it, my parents were super nervous, but I was just like, “OK cool, I’ll see you guys later!”
My hair did fall out, which was not fun. I had really long curly hair, and I was sad to lose it. And I had a lot of skin problems – sore skin, chemo blisters that turned dark purple on my feet, a lot of sensitivity in my hands, and red marks on my shoulders. Doing a Look Good Feel Better workshop helped me feel a lot better. I loved not just playing with makeup – I love getting to express myself in that way – but also getting to meet other people who had cancer. They told me about their experiences, which was really helpful for me. It made me feel less alone.
That’s all behind me now, and I get to focus on being a teenager and doing what I love. I still enjoy being creative in the kitchen. Baking is my favourite. I’m really good at making chocolate cake – I think I’ve perfected it. I also like to crochet, embroider, sew, and do crafts. I’m glad that this is my life again, and that cancer is in my past.
Going for walks and spending in time in nature and by the ocean was one of the things I turned to consistently. There’s a reason that doctors recommend being outside for 20 minutes a day – it has so many therapeutic benefits. And studies show that exercise helps with chemo side effects. Yoga and meditation were invaluable to me too, as was cultivating a positive mindset. I set my mind that I was healing and developing into a more beautiful person than I was before as a result of everything I’ve been through. I did guided meditations for healing, imagining that the cancer was going away and sending that energy out to the universe.
Because I live in rural Nova Scotia, I had to travel for my breast cancer treatment, including moving to Halifax for six weeks for 20 radiation sessions – leaving my two teenaged kids home with my mother and step-father. It has been a long road to recovery, and it hasn’t been easy. But I’ve found ways to soften the journey and to process what I’ve gone through. I’m doing a lot of processing lately. I’ve checked all the boxes: surgery, chemo, radiation, hormone therapy, and immunotherapy (well, I’m still going through that last one). Now that I don’t have a million appointments to get to all the time, I have more time and space to realize all that I’ve been through and where I’m going next, and to come to a sense of peace with it all.
And that is how writing became another part of my therapeutic process. I got to know myself a lot better by facing cancer head-on and through writing and journalling. In the past, I’ve dealt with things by trying not to think about them – through denial, I guess. But with cancer, it was different. At first, I just wrote about what I was going through, but then I realized I could help other women going through a similar experience. For me, connecting with other people who had cancer was super helpful, and now I’m able to support others in that same way. I can appreciate what they’re going through. I’ve walked in their shoes.
I recently wrote a book called Sunshine in My Eyes: A Healing Journey. It’s about how I got through my cancer journey and it’s full of steps that others can take on their journeys. It has chapters for every stage of cancer treatment and for topics like parenting, going back to work, treatment after-math, and the road to recovery. The book also has a journal section for people to add their own reflections, self-affirmations, intentions, and more.
I want to show others that it’s possible to find joy during cancer treatment. I’ve had joy, I’ve had experiences of laughter and happiness and contentment and enjoying the day, even in what would otherwise be a really cruddy time in my life. Having cancer wasn’t just the most horrible time of my life – there was happiness in there, too. And I want to leave people with hope – to lift them up and encourage them. When I was going through treatment, so many people said to me, “You’ve got this.” I wish they would have followed that up with how I’ve got this. For example, “You’ve got this because you can take care of yourself,” or, “You’ve got this because I’m going to be there for you – you can call me or text me any time you need someone to talk to.” Now it’s my turn to offer support, and that’s what I aim to do with my new book.
Holly and I met in elementary school, when we were seven years old. We were pretty much best friends right from the start. After school, we’d go biking together and have all sorts of fun. I grew up with her family as my second family and was at their cottage all the time – hiking, biking, and snowmobiling. They moved away when we were 12, but Holly and I always stayed in touch. When she moved back to the GTA not long after, it was an easy reconnect. We enjoyed the joy of adolescence together – going to concerts, laughing, and just taking our pure friendship for granted, which is the best feeling. Holly’s energy, spunk, and lust for life were remarkable.
She left us far too early – 25 years ago, when we were about 27 years old. Even though she has been gone for so long, I still feel our lifelong friendship so closely in my heart.
Holly’s last four years were tough as she struggled with cancer. It didn’t stop her from getting married, though. She married her love, and her reception was on a boat cruise around Centre Island. The centerpieces were little fishbowls with goldfish – it was absolutely adorable. We were each other’s maids of honour.
During her wedding, I was pregnant with my son Matthew– and everyone was hoping that I wouldn’t have the baby onboard, because I was ready to pop. He was born just two weeks later. I always attribute his musical skill – which no one else in our family has – a little bit to Holly, who was a beautiful flute player.
I clearly remember Holly’s energy after she attended a Look Good Feel Better (LGFB) workshop with her sister, way back when. It was so uplifting for her. All these years later, I went through my own cancer journey and also attended the LGFB workshops. I felt a strong sense of reconnection with Holly – more than I expected to, to be honest. It blew me away how when it was my turn, the workshop lifted my spirits just as it had for Holly. LGFB brought forward this optimism, joy, happiness, and distraction from the struggles I was going through. It connects people who wouldn’t otherwise know each other. It’s a wonderful thing.
I’m so grateful for all the support I’ve had from my husband – and my amazing sons, Tanner and Matthew and feeling like Holly was with me at the workshop., Having them nurture and care for me has been the most heart-warming experience of my life. Tanner has accompanied me for almost every treatment, he makes sure I’m eating my smoothies, he takes me for walks – he literally takes care of me inside and out. And Matthew didn’t want me to be alone – he came over and took care of me. When I had to shave my hair, Matthew shaved his, too – and his hair was about 12 inches long. We held hands and shaved our heads together. That’s the kind of support I have from my kids. It’s immeasurable, really.
We’re certainly getting through this as a family. My husband, Chris, won’t let me start my day without him making me my fresh chia seed pudding with fresh berries. It’s such a sweet, innocent support that it’s almost hard to describe. It’s just pure love, I think.
It has helped me a lot to know that I’m not alone. The LGFB women, my family, Holly – they’ve all been by my side in one way or another.
One in eight women will receive a breast cancer diagnosis within their lifetime. We don’t control whether we’re going to be number eight or not. We don’t control the diagnosis. But we do control how we deal with it.
I realized early on that I didn’t have a lot of control over the whole medical aspect of it, but that I could control how I was going to deal with it. Was I going to cry in a corner, or was I going to say, “Let’s frigging get this done and move on.” I knew what was right me – I was always about just getting it done. I approached my breast cancer diagnosis like a job that I had to complete. I didn’t want to feel like a victim. I was going to be a survivor, and that was that.
I’ve always been a black-and-white type of person. I’m very factual and pragmatic. Give me the statistics, the numbers, the probabilities – I need to be informed so I got busy getting informed. I wanted to understand the tests I was undergoing, the different types of breast cancer, my treatment options, genomic testing, and on and on. Again, I approached it like a project that needed to be done. I had a squatter in my body and I needed to get rid of it. So even losing my hair, losing my nails, losing my breasts – I didn’t find it that challenging, personally. For me, it was getting the job done.
And listen, breast cancer is very common. My number came up, plain and simple. Knowing the numbers, the one-in-eight statistic, I realized that I wasn’t the first, I wasn’t going to be the last, and I wasn’t alone. This is something that many people go through. And the science, research, and advancements in treatments are incredible. I never looked at it as a death sentence – just as something that needed to be taken care of.
I approach my whole life this way – with a black-and-white, factual perspective. Some people are emotional beings and others are logical beings, and I simply tend to be more logical. I always say, control what’s in your control and know what isn’t in your control. There’s no point trying to control something that’s out of our control. We’ll just drive ourselves crazy.
I’ve had a long corporate career in the travel industry, and now that I’m finished treatment, I’m back at work. I needed to find “me” again, and “me” is not a patient. I was able to prove to myself more than anyone else that the old Bonnie was still there and could still lead a team. In my career, I’ve always been a team leader – I really enjoy developing a team and coaching them. The idea of “controlling what’s in your control” is something that I learned at work. As a leader, I can ask people to do something and generally they will – most people want to do a good job. But things fall through the cracks, people have bad days – and I can coach them, but I can’t demand or control, because it’s not my actions we’re talking about, it’s somebody else’s. That goes for everything. I could ask my daughter to put away her clothes, but I can’t make her. And so however they respond, whatever they do – I have a choice in how I react to that, but I don’t have control over it.
There are things in life I can control – how I reacted to my diagnosis, how I took care of myself, how I showed up every day, my attitude. How I looked and felt leaving the house – I could look frumpy and feel frumpy, or I could put on some eyeliner and have more confidence attacking the day. I could focus on staying in the moment and tackling my treatment plan one step at a time.
From the moment I got my diagnosis, I told my daughters that this is happening for a reason – and that something will have to come from it. If I can help one person through their journey, then maybe that’s my reason. It may not be a black-and-white answer. It may be something that comes in stages. I’m a very logical person so I look for that black and white, but I’m also open to all of that grey area in between.
My kids were just two and one when I was diagnosed with breast cancer in January 2022. It was challenging to explain to them what was happening with mommy and why I was so sick.
Within just a few months, I had a mastectomy, which led to an emergency surgery the day after due to complications and ended up requiring a four-day hospital stay. I then underwent chemotherapy after discovering that the cancer had spread to my lymph nodes. It was a whirlwind time.
No one talks about what it’s like post-treatment. We know about the surgery, chemo, physical changes, nausea, and so on, but no one talks about how to move past that once the treatment is finished. On the last day of my chemo, July 11, 2022, a psychosocial therapist called me while I was undergoing treatment. That was the first time I cried. I let it all out. I finally started processing everything that had just happened.
The post-chemo phase has really taken a toll on my mental health. I experienced severe brain fog and memory issues. I had two back-to-back car accidents, including one with my kids in the car. That’s when I decided to take a break, stop driving, and see a therapist for a few months. I eventually started getting over the fear of driving, but I still don’t drive at night—I haven’t gotten that fear yet. It’s been a year since my accidents, and I still have a lot of trouble getting on the highway without panicking.
Although I’m cancer-free, I’m still dealing with it. I’m undergoing hormonal therapy and taking other medications, which we’ve had to switch up a few times because my body was reacting badly to them. Now, we’re considering the possibility of another surgery to remove my ovaries. And I still don’t feel at home in my own body.
My kids are a bit older now, and they understand a little more. I’ve tried to keep things light, positive, and fun with them. Before cancer, I’d always had long hair—so before having to shave it, I started cutting it gradually and had fun with different hairstyles. When I finally buzzed it, my kids loved it. My son would laugh and say, “Mommy, why did you do that to your hair? Mommy, can I touch your head?” The Look Good Feel Better (LGFB) workshop helped me a lot in navigating my appearance changes, especially with my kids.
Today, I’ve become more spiritual because of my experience. After my emergency surgery, I felt like I was given another chance at life. I’m much calmer now. I move through life at a slower pace and don’t stress as much. I’m also more patient with my kids. My son is at an age where he always asks, “Why?” about everything, and I always take the time to explain things to him.
Before, I was so consumed with work, and when I wasn’t working, I was busy with household chores. Now, I just want to spend time with my kids, answer all their questions, and play with them. Work will always be there, and household chores will never end. But I got a second chance to come home to my kids, and now I feel like I must be there for them more.
I was also inspired to completely shift careers. I became certified as a permanent makeup artist and now offer a variety of services through my new business. Part of my mission is to provide free support for cancer survivors, and the LGFB workshop is what inspired me to do that.
I’ve had two surgeries now – a partial mastectomy and a lymph node dissection. I look different than I did before, but I don’t care. I still wear bathing suits and little strapless tops. If somebody sees a scar, well, whatever.
I’ve always tried hard to keep myself in shape and looking good. I have four boys, and quite often people would say, “Wow, you’ve had four kids? You’re lucky, you look great!” And I’d think, “This isn’t luck – I exercise and I eat well.” It was always important to me to try and look my best. With cancer, all of a sudden, no matter what I was doing, I’d be looking my best in the moment I was at, but it wasn’t quite where I wanted to be. I found that really tough. I still do.
I’ve become comfortable with my post-cancer appearance, though. Don’t get me wrong, the changes were hard. The most challenging was losing my hair, without a doubt. I still miss my long hair. And when it was coming out, it took me back to being a little girl, watching my mom lose her hair as she went through treatment for a brain tumour. I’d look in the mirror and think to myself, “I’m becoming my mom.” She’s not with us anymore, so that was scary.
“Scary” is the main word that comes to mind when I think of my cancer journey. Right from the very beginning, I felt fear. Two summers ago, on a beautiful sunny evening, I was sitting outside while my partner was inside making us dinner. I like to tuck my hand under my arm and rest it there, and when I did, I felt a lump. I called my doctor and from there, things moved quickly. I had a biopsy and that was scary. Over the next 10 months, I can’t even tell you how many tests and biopsies and X-rays and CT scans and MRIs I had. It was a blur. I felt like I needed a personal assistant to manage all those appointments.
My team was fantastic, though, so even though it was all very scary, I had faith in them.
Attending Look Good Feel Better’s workshops helped ease the fear, too. When I was feeling scared, the workshops allowed me to come together with other women so we could go through it together. They gave me a sense of community and helped me to feel less alone. Even if we weren’t at the same point in our treatments, I got an appreciation of where they were and what they’d been through and where I was headed.
The women conducting the workshops were kind and empathetic and supportive. And the information I learned was so valuable. I needed the reminder to take care of myself. And I realized that the littlest things – like putting concealer to the area under my eyes after a bad night’s sleep – could make me feel so much better. I also loved the workshop learning about wigs and hair alternatives. I’m grateful I was able to get a wig, but it didn’t feel right wearing it to the hospital for treatments. I was with a lot of other people going through the same thing, and to wear the wig didn’t feel unified. I hadn’t known about all the other options, like hats and scarves and things.
I’m on the other side of treatment now. I’m doing all the things I love again – going to indie alternative shows at different music venues in Toronto with my partner, kayaking and cycling, going to yoga classes, spending time with my adult kids, and working at a brokerage. I focus on staying mindful and positive. For every bad thing in life, there’s got to be a flip side – a positive. And for me, the positives are that I had an amazing team of physicians, that I live in this wonderful country, that I have access to health care, and that I have a great community – my fantastic partner and amazing kids and incredible network of friends. I fill my heart with the positives.
When I first found the lump, I wasn’t even worried – it was high up, above my breast, about halfway between my neck and my nipple. It was during COVID, but my doctor quickly got me a referral for a mammogram and an ultrasound. He thought it was probably nothing, as I’ve had benign cysts in my breasts since my early 20s, but he sent me anyway. Well, as soon as I saw the mammogram technician’s face, I could tell that the news wasn’t good.
I got the official results from my doctor about three weeks later. I was devastated. He arranged for the surgeon to see me. I had a biopsy and then a surgery in quick succession. Testing from the surgery showed that the cancer was actually quite aggressive, which the doctors hadn’t initially thought, and so I had to go on a course of chemotherapy and then radiation.
When I was going through the initial diagnosis and early days of treatment, I at first didn’t understand how I was going to cope, let alone live a normal life. But with time, I began to accept my new reality. I leaned on my friends and family members, especially those who had been through the same thing – they were a huge help. My friends showed up with thoughts, gifts, and meals. It was very touching and made me realize how loved I was. They were there for me through it all and consistently lifted up my spirits.
I always have short hair, but I didn’t want to go bald. That was hard. Watching my hair fall out in the shower, going all over the place, was a reminder that yeah, this is real. I have cancer. Having to wear a wig bothered me at first as well, especially because my daughter was getting married soon and I just wanted to look like myself. I was far more concerned with being healthy than I was with my appearance, but having my appearance change so drastically undoubtedly had an effect on me. I lost my hair, I lost my eyebrows, and I looked pale. I’d look in the mirror and feel that I looked so different, which only made me feel worse. I wanted to perk myself up a bit and also to learn how I could look better for my daughter’s wedding, so I signed up for the Look Good Feel Better workshop.
The workshop was great. There was one woman there with a very bubbly personality who put on this fantastic-looking short pixie wig when we were talking about wigs, and it really inspired me. The moderators were so good, so compassionate. They shared about their own experiences and created a sense of connection. I came away with some great tips – wigs, eyeliner, how to wear blush. It’s true, what they say – when you look good, you feel good.
My daughter got married last summer, and I looked great at the wedding. I had hair. And most importantly, I felt great, too.
I guess it never feels like “the right time” to get cancer, but I can’t help feeling like the timing just hasn’t been on my side. I was diagnosed during the pandemic, my husband’s father passed away while I was going through treatment, and my son Christopher was just four years old. It hasn’t been easy.
It all started back in December 2020, right around Christmas Eve. I found a lump and rushed to my family doctor, who sent me for a mammogram and X-ray. Everything is fine, I was told. The following spring, I found another lump, but my doctor still said not to worry. All the same, something wasn’t sitting right with me. When the lump grew that summer, I went back again and was told I needed a biopsy. Everything escalated quickly after that.
In September 2021, I found out that I had breast cancer that had spread to my lymph nodes and that it was aggressive. All my life, I’d been healthy – I ate well, exercised, and had never really had any health issues. So the diagnosis was hard to accept.
Suddenly, I was immersed in tests and appointments – and then thrust into the world of treatment, starting with a mastectomy and lymphadenectomy, then chemotherapy and radiation. It was tough. My husband, Chad, would drive me to the hospital for my chemo appointments but he couldn’t come in with me, due to the COVID protocols. And we couldn’t see family or get as much as support as we would’ve liked, also because of the pandemic. I’m an introvert but it was very hard. I felt so isolated. And although I struggled with nausea, bone pain, and exhaustion, I didn’t have the luxury of lying in bed all day. I had a young child who needed me.
Talking to a four-year-old about cancer is no easy task. I’ve always been careful about what I say and the words I choose. It has definitely affected Christopher – he’s clingy and doesn’t want to leave my side. But overall, he’s very resilient and has been a trooper. I’m very fortunate for that.
During chemo, Chad shaved my head for me. I thought it would be traumatic – I loved my long brown hair – but it ended up being a beautiful moment. Christopher held my hand the whole time and said, “You’re doing great, mama. You look beautiful.”
Before COVID, and before cancer, I’d had this grandiose vision of travelling the world with my husband and son. Cancer turned everything on its head – forget travelling, making dinner wasn’t even happening. At night, I would go to put Christopher down and fall asleep before he would. It was a rough ride, but we got through it.
Look Good Feel Better’s workshops were a great source of support. I wanted advice from professionals on everything from skincare to wearing a headscarf, and my social worker directed me to the workshops. I attended all of them and they addressed every question I had – and some that I hadn’t even thought of yet. I wanted to accept how I looked – after a mastectomy, after the hair loss – but that doesn’t mean that I wanted to look bad. I still wanted to look like myself and to feel good. The workshops helped immensely, and it also helped being surrounded by all these women at different stages of their cancer journey. It was the first time I felt that I wasn’t alone.
Cancer robbed me of a lot of things – from having to take a leave from work and quit volunteering to not being able to take my son to the playground. One of the biggest things it robbed me of was my confidence and self-esteem. Having someone guide me and hold my hand, and help me realize that I’m not alone, really helped to bring back my confidence. It was uplifting.
These days, I’m feeling good. I’m proud of my body and how far it has gotten me – through difficult surgeries, through chemo, through radiation. And seeing that I’m not alone has given me strength.
When I first found out that I had fatty liver disease, cirrhosis, and a tumour in my liver, I couldn’t believe it. I felt fine – no negative effects at all! But my doctors prescribed surgery and chemotherapy, and put me on a transplant list. I wondered: “Why me?” The last drink I’d had was years before, at a wedding. And when I pictured myself getting old and dying, the word “transplant” had never entered my mind. But there I was, at age 62, on the transplant list.
There are different stages of grief and one of them is acceptance. When I finally got the call that a liver was ready for me last December, I wasn’t afraid. I felt that whatever was going to happen would happen. I’d written letters to all my kids, just in case.
I got the call on December 20th, right before Christmas. I went to the hospital that very day, and they finished the surgery on the 21st. I was in the hospital for 16 days, so I came home in early January – I came out of the hospital and everything was over, Christmas, New Year’s – I completely missed the holidays. Everyone says, “You got the best gift, a new liver.” And don’t get me wrong, I’m very grateful for it. But they don’t know all the in-between stuff. And it was so unexpected and sudden. I’d been on the transplant list for 13 months.
Now, I’m feeling good. I take about 30 pills a day but I’m feeling really good – great, even. I’m off work until the summer and I’m focused on my recovery. I have three children and five grandchildren, and another one on the way. I’m looking forward to spending time with the baby. And I’m looking forward to my hair growing in more. Right now, it’s growing in slowly and unevenly. It just sort of stands up – I feel like a porcupine.
When I was going through my treatment, I lost a lot of hair – it was falling out all over the place and had gotten really patchy. So I got it shaved off. I had a hard time looking at myself in the mirror after that. It felt so jarring to see my bald head. The hospital had a little resource centre with wigs and caps, and that’s how I learned about Look Good Feel Better (LGFB).
The LGFB workshop and getting that kit in the mail changed my whole outlook of how I think about myself. I started caring about my appearance more. I began wearing earrings and makeup to accentuate the positives, like my blue eyes. I learned so many great techniques – how to put on eye shadow and where to start the eyeliner so it doesn’t bring my eye down and how to apply blush properly.
I talked to my psychiatrist about this and he pointed out that while doctors treat the illness, it’s important to look at the person as a whole – how they feel about themselves and how they look at themselves. I agree. LGFB is an important resource because it helps people like me to feel normal again. I was treated as a patient for so long – going for so many procedures and getting lots of bad news. It made me feel forgotten, like I was an illness and not a person. LGFB made me feel like myself again, and like I was getting my life back. When I looked better, I felt better, and most importantly, I started feeling like myself again, or a new version of myself. It really did make a difference. I’m not just my cancer – I’m so much more.