FashionEdge is about celebrating emerging designers and incredible boutiques—but it’s only fair you get to know the person behind it.
October has always felt like my month. It’s the month I hold space for both Breast Cancer Awareness and Pregnancy & Infant Loss Remembrance—two journeys that have deeply shaped my life.
I can’t talk about my breast cancer without first sharing my IVF story. I struggled with infertility, but eventually I was blessed with my daughter, Olivia.
When Olivia turned three, we decided we wanted to grow our family. After countless consults and IVF procedures, we were finally expecting another little girl. We were overjoyed—especially Olivia, who couldn’t wait to become a big sister.
My pregnancy was healthy and uneventful—until March 29, 2017. At a routine 30-week appointment, we received the devastating news: there was no heartbeat. That day became the worst day of my life. I went home to gather my things, knowing I would return to the hospital for a C-section—not to welcome a crying newborn, but to deliver a baby who would be born “sleeping.”
Her name was Giorgiana. We held her, sang the same songs we sang to Olivia, and cherished those few hours we were given. Then came the impossible task of explaining to our four-year-old that her baby sister was now an angel in heaven. Instead of planning her arrival, we planned her funeral.
The months that followed were a blur. I had to keep moving, if only for Olivia—to show her that somehow, we would be okay, even when I wasn’t sure myself.
What I didn’t know then was that Giorgiana saved my life. As I prepared for another IVF cycle, my doctor insisted on a mammogram. Reluctantly, I went. Just seven months after losing my daughter, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. It felt like an out-of-body experience. Even though it had already spread to my lymph nodes, I was “lucky”—we had caught it early. A few more months and it could have been much worse.
I underwent a bilateral mastectomy, eight rounds of chemo, and 28 rounds of radiation. To preserve some of my hair, I tried cold capping—an unimaginably freezing cap worn before, during, and after treatment. It worked: I saved about 50–60% of my hair. I documented each step in photos, both for myself and for anyone who might walk this road after me.
Through it all, I met incredible people who shared their stories and helped me through mine. Their courage carried me, and my hope in sharing this now is that my story might do the same for someone else.
xx,
Joann