In this family of five sisters, the year 2025 will be marked by an unexpected and deeply shared experience. In the space of just a few months, three of them — Claudette, Ginette and Danielle — were diagnosed with breast cancer. Three different life paths, three different ages, but the same challenge that further strengthened their already solid bond.

Claudette, the eldest of the family, is 71 years old. In June 2025, her doctor informs her that the cancer that first appeared in 1993 has returned. This time, the tumour is rare and located in the nipple. Unfortunately, Claudette is no stranger to the disease: this diagnosis marks her fifth bout with cancer. Over the years, she has already battled three breast cancers, undergone a hysterectomy and been treated for a bladder tumour. She will face this new challenge with the experience and determination of someone who has already weathered several storms.

A month later, in July 2025, it is 66-year-old Ginette’s turn to receive the same news. For her, too, it is a recurrence. Her first breast cancer dates back to 1998. This time, she chooses a radical approach: even though only one breast is affected, she asks for both to be removed to avoid any future risk. She undergoes a total mastectomy in the autumn.

The youngest of the three sisters, 62-year-old Danielle, was actually the first to receive her diagnosis, in January 2025. On 7 March, she underwent a mastectomy of her right breast with reconstruction. Danielle is the youngest in the clan. “There are five girls in the family,” she explains. “And luckily, the other two are doing well.” Despite the difficulty of the situation, the three sisters find comfort in being able to go through this period together.

Amidst medical appointments and treatments, a simple initiative offered them a moment of respite and sharing. Danielle, who was already taking yoga classes at La Maison Main…Tenir L’espoir, heard about Look Good Feel Better. Intrigued, she decided to sign up and told her sisters about it. They liked the idea and chose to participate together.

For Claudette, this wasn’t her first experience of this kind. She had already attended a similar workshop in 1993 in Montreal. However, the workshop in Trois-Rivières was particularly touching for her, as she participated with her sisters. Ginette also attended a LGFB workshop on her own when she was first diagnosed in 1998.

As soon as they arrived, the three sisters rediscovered something precious: the joy of being together. “We don’t see each other often, so it was good for us,” says Danielle. The atmosphere quickly became friendly and filled with laughter.

The volunteers took the time to patiently and attentively guide each participant through simple personal care techniques: learning how to apply foundation, use concealer or redraw eyebrows. For some participants, these were new techniques to discover. For others, like Ginette, it was an opportunity to revisit advice she had received nearly thirty years earlier.

Claudette, for her part, is particularly concerned about her eyebrows, which she has lost. She feels unskilled at redrawing them and makes the group laugh when she jokes that she was afraid of looking like a clown. In a room with about eight women, each story is different, but they all share the same need for listening and support.

Danielle particularly appreciates the aspect of sharing and solidarity. Even if she does not necessarily use all the techniques she has learned, she values the advice she receives and the exchanges with the other participants. The conversations naturally broaden to include discussions about treatments, concerns, and everyday life.

For Danielle, these workshops play an essential role. “They give us hope and encourage us to take care of ourselves,” she explains. “Even when you’re going through illness, you can still take time for yourself.”

Beyond beauty tips, the three sisters have found a space where they feel understood. A place where they can talk freely, ask questions and meet other people who are going through the same thing. Danielle has also attended other workshops offered by LGFB and enjoys receiving their newsletter. She also wants to encourage her sisters to explore the various online workshops.

Today, they have agreed to share their story with one simple goal in mind: that their experience may be of use to others.

Three sisters, three journeys, one emotional year. But also three women who chose to go through this together—with courage, solidarity… and sometimes even a little humour, in front of a mirror, trying to draw the “perfect” eyebrow.

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I’ll never forget my first interaction with Look Good Feel Better (LGFB). It was about 20 years ago, when I was first diagnosed with breast cancer. Going to the LGFB workshop was my best day at the cancer centre. Most of my time there wasn’t cheerful or enjoyable, but my experience with LGFB was just lovely. The people were so kind and helpful, and it was great fun. I look back on it fondly. 

I got diagnosed with cancer again last year. This time it was what doctors called a “complex case”: three distinct cancers – endometrial, ovarian, and fallopian – in three different places. 

One of the first things I did was to connect with LGFB again and sign up for a workshop. Getting to attend the workshop again, after all these years, was a shiny, happy moment in my cancer journey. Who knew that chemotherapy could include highlights? It was the same supportive experience with people who were genuinely interested in helping me feel my best. I loved how they now provide a helpful booklet with makeup tips, so I didn’t have to take notes during the workshop. 

The workshop isn’t really about makeup or skincare for me, though. It’s about the opportunity to chat with other people going through the same experience. And to have a good time – for example, everyone had a good giggle with some of the ladies modelling their wigs and making wonderful faces in the mirror. Sometimes, we just need a day where we’re thinking about nothing other than having fun. There’s no other agenda. It was so helpful in terms of my spirit – just enhancing my mood and joy. It’s more beneficial than therapy or a self-help group for me. LGFB cultivates such a supportive, uplifting environment. It was a very restorative afternoon – such a gift, truly. Whoever came up with this idea deserves immense credit. 

Cancer and its treatment affect us all so differently. They can tell you what to expect during chemotherapy, but you never really know what’s coming your way until it’s there. It’s the same way with how cancer treatment’s side effects impact our appearance and self-esteem – it’s so individual. We may respond with acknowledgement or disbelief or rejection or anger. There’s a plethora of possible responses. 

In a way, I think it comes down to your willingness to accept your own reality. My personal attitude is one of total acceptance. “It is what it is” – that’s my mantra. I look at whatever’s happening in my life – cancer treatment, or a broken shoelace, or a scenario in one of my past careers in education and social work – and I assess what’s going on and how to deal with it. How best can I move forward? What’s my next step? What’s the most useful and functional response to a situation? Is there a possibility to enhance the situation, to make it better? 

That approach has served me well in life, and it’s serving me well now. I change the things I can change, and accept the things I can’t. I like to be realistic about what’s possible. 

These days, I’m looking forward to what’s next. I’ve finished my treatment and I’m enjoying being retired. I love to make art – I also teach watercolour classes – and to spend time with my grandchildren. I’m looking forward to getting back to travelling, and specifically to going on a cruise. I just want to be on a ship somewhere warm. I love cruising, it’s my favourite thing. No cooking, no cleaning, just art classes, ocean air, and leisurely afternoon naps. And if I can’t be on a ship just yet, I’ll take an afternoon like the one LGFB gave me any day – one with kindness, laughter, and light.

I was a new translator for Look Good Feel Better when I was offered the chance to attend a workshop to see for myself how a session was run.

I had already translated a number of testimonials from people who’d experienced a workshop, and what always stood out was the warm welcome from the volunteers, their expertise and their respect for the participants. Some mentioned how, once the workshop had begun, apprehensions disappeared and were replaced by joy—a feeling not always present during cancer. Others said that being surrounded by people going through the same experience as them gave them much-needed moral support, without realising it. For others still, the workshop was energising, as it broke the social isolation caused by the almost daily medical appointments, the omnipresent fear during the ordeal, the gruelling treatments, and the exhaustion that overtook them as time went by.

The testimonials echoed the scale of the challenges a person needs to overcome during cancer. However, when I attended a workshop, I was able to see another side of the story: the volunteers, like fairies, were busy preparing the room with care and rigour. Sure moves, no doubt performed a thousand times before, were carried out with enthusiasm and team spirit; we weren’t welcoming the Queen of England, but it just seemed the same! It was beautiful, it was real. Most of them had already done a full day’s work for their employer, but these specialists in make-up, skin care or hair prostheses had chosen to commit themselves to their community out of generosity and solidarity. The women who were about to come forward were in great need of the expertise of these volunteer specialists, and they understood this.

I took a seat at a table and, as soon as the first participants arrived, I saw the magic happen. The volunteers knew how to read the participants: the welcome was both friendly and respectful, never intrusive; everyone had their own space, depending on whether they were more reserved or more open.

These women who had come that evening to learn how to look ‘normal’ again, even though nothing in their lives was normal at the time, these women who had chosen to leave their homes in spite of great fatigue, unpredictable nausea or a morale that wasn’t always up to scratch, found themselves gathered in this room for (essentially) the same reasons: the desire to take back control of their lives, against all odds. They were going to discover make-up tips and tricks to redraw their lost eyebrows, to restore their complexion, to take care of their dull skin and their nails damaged by chemotherapy and radiotherapy. And perhaps they would be tempted to try on a wig to camouflage a now bald head, or a scarf that they’ll learn to wear in a variety of clever ways.

From that evening in February, I remember the spirit of sisterhood that springs naturally from a Look Good Feel Better workshop: women helping other women they don’t know, whom they may never see again. In time, some of them may forget the names of the others, these angels who were there for them for an evening; but the warmth of their exchanges will remain with them forever. As the American novelist and poet Maya Angelou put it so well: ‘People will forget what you said, they will forget what you did, but they will never forget how you made them feel’. For a few hours, the volunteers and participants will have been cosmic sisters, sisters of the heart. For a few hours, they will have shared a complicity and a friendship that normally takes years to develop between two people, through living side by side and sharing life experiences. That’s the power of a Look Good Feel Better workshop.

When I was offered the job of translating content for Look Good Feel Better, I hesitated at first. I felt uneasy. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to, or even if I could, write about such a difficult subject—women affected by a serious illness that often leads to harsh treatment. I’d had breast cancer a year earlier and, a few years later, would be overcoming a second one that would require even tougher treatments. I finally agreed, but gave myself the right to withdraw if the experience proved too harsh. Then I realised that this mission to look good and feel better was a regular (and happy) reminder that human nature is fundamentally good. In fact, during the second cancer, I only kept Look Good Feel Better as a client. I insisted on continuing this work, because the stories and testimonials had a calming effect on me. Look Good Feel Better reminded me every day that I wasn’t alone. And everything is so much sweeter when you don’t feel alone, isn’t it?
 

It was on Christmas morning — while in the shower, thinking of my children and the celebrations and everything that needed to be done — that I first felt the lump. I wanted to believe it was nothing, just like the doctors had told me before, when I’d had clogged milk ducts while breastfeeding — but deep down, I knew something was different this time. 

When I left Bangladesh and came to Canada five years ago with just my husband and two small children, I never dreamed that I’d soon be facing stage 3 breast cancer in a new land, thousands of kilometres away from my family. I felt so very alone. And I had a hard time accepting my diagnosis. I’ve always lived a healthy, disciplined lifestyle. In my family, everyone looked to me as the example of good health — I was the one who knew what foods to eat and how to live the right way. I did everything right, and yet still, I was the one who got cancer. It didn’t seem fair.

I struggled to accept what was happening to me, but one thing was clear: I had no choice but to face whatever was coming. I have kids, I have a family — I wanted to live.

My treatment involved eight rounds of chemotherapy, a lumpectomy, and 19 rounds of radiation. I hid my pain, sickness, and sadness from my husband and son and daughter as much as possible. I didn’t want my husband to lose strength — he had so much on his shoulders, taking care of me and the kids. I had no one to turn to, no one to talk to. I was desperately stressed out and frustrated. And I felt so helpless — I’m a very independent person who suddenly wasn’t able to do much on my own.

Fortunately, I realized that this wasn’t a permanent situation. I knew I would be alright after my treatment, and so I accepted the pain and the reality of what I was facing. I endured the vomiting, nausea, and painful burns from radiation. And little by little, things started to look up. I found support. I found strength. And through the big dark cloud that is cancer, I found small rays of hope.

Every cloud has a silver lining, or as we say in Bangladesh, “shesh bhalo jar, shob bhalo tar” – “all’s well that ends well,” basically. Despite the hardships, cancer brought me unexpected gifts. When my hair grew back after my treatment, for the first time ever it was curly — something I had always wanted. Post-chemo, my skin is so much better. And I got to model again, thanks to Look Good Feel Better (LGFB). In my home country, I had a modelling career, but that all stopped when I came to Canada. Participating in the LGFB photo shoot brought back so many good memories. The feeling of being in the spotlight again was incredible.

Cancer has also made me a better person. I’m much stronger mentally now and I have a deeper sense of gratitude for life. I’m prepared to be a good advisor for anyone else going through a cancer journey. And I really want to contribute, to give back. I want to share my story and my positivity, and to support other cancer patients — especially back in my home country, where cancer treatment resources are limited. In Canada, I got the best cancer treatment possible. But Bangladesh is a developing country, and those who have cancer there are suffering immensely. One day, I hope to return to share what I’ve learned and support those who need it most.
 

It was in the middle of a day doing something I love — golfing — that I finally had to admit to myself that something was wrong. I couldn’t even swing the club — the pain in my back had become unbearable. I went to get it checked out, and soon what I had already known deep down was confirmed: my breast cancer had returned, spreading to my bones. 

Now, at 54, I’m facing a stage 4 diagnosis. I’ll be on treatment for the rest of my life. But here’s the thing — I’m not one to dwell on doom and gloom. As a Christian, I believe I’ll eventually go to heaven and have an eternal life. In the meantime, I’m determined to live life with grace, strength, and, most importantly, gratitude.

My cancer journey began in September 2020, during the height of the pandemic. I had noticed a lump in my breast and, after some tests, received the diagnosis that no one wants to hear: stage 2 breast cancer. I soon found out that I actually had cancer on both sides, which my doctor said wasn’t common. I always said, “It is what it is.” I worked for an insurance company, so I knew my odds for this type of thing. And two of my maternal relatives had breast cancer, so it wasn’t really a shock.

The treatments were tough— surgery, double-dose chemotherapy, and radiation. I was off work for a year and a half and was grateful to my workplace for their support, including offering everything I needed to make my time off as comfortable as possible. I was also so grateful to live in a place like Toronto, where so many supports are available.

I joined several Look Good Feel Better (LGFB) workshops, which were online during COVID, and they were so helpful. They helped me feel more like myself again, especially after losing my hair. I learned how to wear wigs and scarves, and how to take care of my skin. 

After months of treatment, I was relieved when my treatment ended in May 2021. Life started to feel a little more normal again, but my cancer had been aggressive and deep down I knew there was always a possibility it could return.

When it did, I decided to go back to the Philippines, where I’m originally from, to visit my parents before I started treatment. Their health wasn’t good and they weren’t able to travel. It was so good to see them and to connect. While I was in Asia, I also went to Japan and ate a lot of sushi. And when I came back, I was ready to dive into a new round of treatments.

During my recurrence, I also signed up with LGFB for a second time, but this time for the skincare & cosmetics workshop. I really enjoyed getting to attend the workshop at Sunnybrook Hospital — it felt so much more personal. And I was impressed that they gave me custom skincare and makeup recommendations based on my East Asian skin type. Everybody’s skin is so different, so this really stood out.

Looking good became much more important to me this second time around as well. When I first had cancer, it was during COVID, and no one could go out. But now the world is open again, and I want to be out and about. And for me, if I don’t look well, I don’t want to go out. When I look well, I feel well, and then I’m more likely to go out and socialize, which in turn helps me feel emotionally better. It’s like a cycle — a positive, uplifting cycle.

I choose to focus on the positive. As I move forward in life, my faith reminds me that life here is temporary. Whatever the future holds, I know I’m not alone.
 

I’d already survived a life-changing event when I was just 16 years old. It was the first day of summer. I was fresh out of grade 10 and excited to be doing my very first parachute jump. But the parachute didn’t open, and I plummeted 3,000 feet to the ground. The impact left me with a spinal cord injury, and I’ve used a wheelchair ever since.

I was able to move on with my life I went back to school and got a university education. I got married and had a daughter, who’s in her 30s now. I had a fulfilling career as a French immersion teacher. I also got very involved in wheelchair sports, from curling to hand cycling. My life was moving forward in a positive, productive way.

I thought that surely my spinal cord injury was the biggest challenge that life would throw my way. Cancer had never been on my radar. I was feeling great. When I discovered the lump, I didn’t panic. I’d been getting regular mammograms with nothing showing up. But when the nurse called and said, “There’s a 97.5% chance it’s malignant,” everything changed. It felt like the world had shifted beneath me once again, just like that day in 1981 when my parachute failed.

My breast cancer diagnosis was shocking. It was an aggressive cancer with all these names I’d never heard before: ER-positive, PR-positive, and HER2-negative. I had no idea there were so many forms of breast cancer. And it felt extremely unfair. I had already been dealing with a spinal cord injury for most of my life – wasn’t that enough? Hadn’t I experienced enough traumatic moments? I was also initially very concerned that I was not going to survive, as I’d watched my mother die of cancer. I was devastated.

My spinal cord injury changed my life, but cancer was even worse. It wasn’t just physically brutal – it caused an immense emotional toll, invading all aspects of my life and leaving me constantly on edge, with the steady fear of recurrence looming over me. And navigating the complexities of cancer care treatment was especially challenging because of my spinal cord injury. For example, the chemo table was too high for me to get up onto on my own. I had to lobby the hospital for better accessibility.

In the past year, I’ve gone through a lumpectomy, what felt like endless chemotherapy, radiation, and ongoing hormone therapy. I’ve gone from having long blond hair to short grey hair with chemo curls. I still don’t recognize myself when I look in the mirror. It’s like I’m a different person now, in many ways.

Amid the whirlwind of treatments and fear, finding support became essential. Having an organization like Look Good Feel Better (LFGB) was so helpful. Peer support is one of the big methodologies used to help people with spinal cord injuries. You can have a doctor explain about the injury and physiotherapy and occupational therapy, but peer support – meeting someone else living with the same condition – is often far more valuable. It was the same with having cancer. When I got my cancer diagnosis, I didn’t have any friends or colleagues who were going through it. I didn’t feel like there was much of a community or people I could speak with. No one in my family had had this diagnosis or any type of cancer treatment. I found that sense of peer support from LGFB’s workshops – peers getting together, and volunteers who are well-versed in cancer treatment. For me, the more I can meet others going through similar circumstances, the easier it is to go through the experience. I’m not alone. I’m part of a shockingly large community of women dealing with the same thing. This is an additional piece to the recovery process.

Other things that have helped in my recovery and my holistic approach to treatment are taking care of my appearance, staying active in my communities, and travelling. I’m aware of my mortality in a new way now. I no longer put things off. Cancer has taught me to live each day with intention and gratitude, embracing each moment to the fullest.