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Maybe you’ve had someone in your life who went through breast cancer. Maybe you’ve seen characters go through breast cancer treatment on TV shows, from Samantha on Sex and the City to Xiomara on Jane the Virgin. Maybe you’ve had it yourself. Breast cancer is the most commonly diagnosed cancer in Australia with around 1 in 7 women being diagnosed with breast cancer in their lifetime.
But there’s so much that a person may not really understand about the disease—despite reading everything available on medical websites and hearing from doctors—about what it’s actually like to navigate life with breast cancer. Actually receiving that diagnosis and undergoing treatment shines a big spotlight on never-considered questions, never-received answers, and never-imagined experiences. Unless you’re a breast cancer survivor yourself, there are nuances of the illness that you simply can’t prepare for.
Whether you’re going through breast cancer firsthand, or you know and love someone who is, the more you know about it, the better you can show up for yourself or another individual who could use support. So WH spoke with a group of women who have faced breast cancer head on about the parts of their journey they didn’t expect—and they told us all about the good, the bad, and the braless.
I decided not to find out whether my breast cancer is genetic. Unfortunately, it’s not just you and your immediate family who are affected by your health history, it affects your entire family’s health insurance too. Since I’ve already been diagnosed with breast cancer, there’s no advantage to me to find out whether or not it’s genetic. At least not until my children turn 18 and are also eligible for genetic testing.
Nothing can prepare you for a breast cancer diagnosis. About ten years ago I had several small lumps in my right breast. I put them down to breastfeeding. One day though I mentioned them to my doctor. The lumps had increased and had become painful, like bruises whenever I palpitated it.
I was referred for an ultrasound and fine needle biopsy. I was relatively unconcerned. I’d organised to meet some friends at the park – along with my children – and asked them to look after my kids while I ran up the road for my appointment. Little did I know that my appointment was going to change my life.
The ultrasound found a network of activity in my right breast, so I was immediately given a referral for a mammogram, then another for a core biopsy. A core biopsy is just what it sounds like – they burrow in and ‘core’ out the lumps, like a punch hole. The procedure is done under local anaesthetic and it’s quite painful.
By this time, my children were still at the park with my friends and I had to call them to tell them that something serious was happening and I had been delayed. By the time I left the clinic I’d had three core biopsies – two in my right breast and one under my arm and three mammograms. That night I was in such pain I couldn’t even eat my dinner.
A couple of days later the results came in: I had Stage 3 invasive ductal carcinoma (IDC). This type of cancer begin in the milk ducts of the breast and spreads to surrounding tissue and lymph nodes. In my case it had spread to the lymph nodes too. This type of cancer affects women aged 55 to 74 – at that time I was young to have it, at 43 years of age.
My cancer treatment team were fantastic, but there was so much information to take in and it all happens so fast: from diagnosis to operation to active treatments. Within three weeks of my diagnosis I had a mastectomy on my right breast and all my lymph nodes under the arm were removed on that side. It was the best treatment for me to prevent the cancer from coming back.
It’s so important to find out as many of your options as possible before you begin your treatment – that’s why Pink Hope and it’s community is so important. I wanted to have a bi-lateral mastectomy (to have both breasts removed), but it wasn’t considered an option for me. It would have cost the government more money to have this operation. Even reconstructive surgery wasn’t offered to me – I had to request it.
And I understand why. Each member of your cancer team has a specific job at a particular stage along your journey: to remove the tumours; to treat you with chemo and radiation; to help you recover from active treatment; and to provide you with ongoing treatments to prevent a recurrence. The end game is to keep the patient alive. I was only told the information I needed at the time, not for my future. I had young children; I had a career; I was sexually active. I wanted to still be able to live my life afterwards.
I had my mastectomy and, at my request, they inserted a preliminary expander to help preserve the pocket of the breast for a reconstruction. However, after three attempts at a reconstruction, they had to take healthy tissue from my back to reconstruct my breast. Radiation treatments had overly damaged the chest area and this was my final option for a breast reconstruction.
Having breast cancer is a traumatic experience. Surviving means you need to mentally minimise the damage that happens to you on an emotional, mental and physical level. I have suffered permanent damage from having had breast cancer treatments. It’s why I’m passionate about speaking about my experience. It’s important that people know they are not alone, that they are informed and know where to find support. The 5 years survival rate of breast cancer is currently 90%, which is very good. There is a life after cancer.
I am still undergoing treatment to prevent recurrence because I have a hormone positive receptor type cancer. I need to stop my body from making/receiving the hormones so that the cancer can’t activate or progress. This means my body is in a ‘chemical menopause’: which brings its own side effects. Whenever I’ve had to stop the hormone medication prior to having surgeries (due to clotting risk) I find that I’m not in as much pain, my brain wakes up, and my energy levels improve so much.: I normally suffer from joint and muscle pain and peripheral nerve pain from chemo damage. Winter makes the pain worse.
Prior to cancer, I was running 10km three times a week, swimming 3km every other day, doing weights, running the City to Surf. It was a surprise to be diagnosed with cancer despite my fitness and my good health.
I had to bury the person I was prior to my diagnosis in order to move on. I’m not that person anymore. I had to make peace with the fact that that person died when they took the tumour out.
My memory, which was once near-perfect, is no longer the same. I’ve had to work within these limitations now. I’ve taken early retirement, as I can no longer work in law. That was another loss for me. A loss of that part of my life. Because work wasn’t just ‘work’ for me: I had a community that I was part of. I wasn’t just someone’s mum. It was a diversified and balanced life.
I’ve had to find a new balance. I’m happy with who I am now. It’s a limited life, but it has unexpected perks. Being positive means survival for me. I’m grateful that I can live a normal life and do normal things. When I lost my breast, I was traumatised for some time because I thought it would be a flat surface with a line scar, but I was actually concave in the chest afterwards. Now though, after reconstruction I can wear a bikini and people won’t notice. But they may notice the scar on my back.
The human state of mind is so enduring and our survival instinct is so strong, especially when we are mothers. I did not want to survive for me, especially during chemo, when it was just so hard and brutal. But I wanted to survive for my children and my partner.
The Pink Hope community helped me so much. When I was first diagnosed I was looking for people who were at the same life phase as myself: those with young children, still working and relatively active. Many people who have the type of cancer I have are much older, I didn’t feel that I belonged in the same support groups. But I needed to speak to those with similar issues: how to help my family get through this with minimal mental and emotional trauma; how to manage work and a young partner; how to prepare my family in case I didn’t pull through. My children were very young then: 5, 7 and 9. And Pink Hope was fantastic – they are an amazing resource. The Pink Hope community is generally younger and in the same life phase as me. They helped me in a very big way, especially regarding my reconstruction options. Everyone is so generous with their time and sharing their stories – I felt their support and much less alone.
My name is Katie. I’m 30 years old and I have Stage 4 Metastatic Breast Cancer. Four years ago I was your typical career-driven, ambitious, 20-something. I had a wonderfully busy life: my work, hobbies and frantic social life filled my time. There was no room in my schedule for cancer.
But life had other plans for me. I was just weeks away from relocating to London when I received a call that my great aunt had Breast cancer. This shocking news actually prompted me to do a quick self-check in the shower, and that’s when I found a rock-hard lump. Besides myself with fear, I saw a doctor the following day who assured me that it was ‘simply calcification’ and that at 27 years old, I was just too young for breast cancer. Despite my young age, I was diagnosed with hormone receptor-positive breast cancer – evidently, I wasn’t too young after all.
Rather than settling into a new life in London with my partner, I was learning a whole new routine, set by my oncology team. I had three surgeries, 22 rounds of chemotherapy, and 26 rounds of radiation.
Following my initial diagnosis and a period of adjustment, I set about conquering cancer. I changed my diet, upped my exercise and took control of all areas of my health. I was driven, determined, and dedicated to beating this demon. I was feeling good, great even, and with the assistance of treatment I thought I had finally given cancer the flick.
In May 2020 on a routine visit to my oncologist, he delivered me the devastating news that not only was cancer back, but it had spread with vengeance. It was treatable, but not curable; it was now in my bones – specifically, my chest, spine, rib, pelvis, and hip. My diagnosis? I have Stage 4 Metastatic Breast Cancer. Hearing the news was like having my heart ripped out of my chest and being struck by lightning at the same time.
Today, I’m feeling healthy and well and feel fortunate enough that I can exercise and hold down a job. Despite the side effects from my regular injections I have to keep me in medical menopause (hello fatigue, bone pain and brain fog!) I’m probably the fittest I’ve ever been. I have an amazing coach and attend boot camp sessions three to four days a week. I find that moving my body regularly helps with the mental and physical side effects of my diagnosis.
My mind ebbs and flows between accepting my uncertain future and stressing about it. I do yoga and meditation – these two tools help me manage my anxiety and keep me from spiralling, wondering about an uncertain future. I try to focus on what I can control – a recent house move was a great diversion! – and I make an effort to create memories, whereas in the past, I may not have been as present.
No one can tell what the future holds – that’s true for everyone, not just me. But I have changed since my diagnosis; I have learnt what truly matters to me, and am not afraid to put myself first. I don’t worry about pleasing other people at my own expense. Every day I aim to thrive, live life to the fullest, and appreciate time spent with my wonderful family, closest friends, and new adventures.
My message for other women is to know your body. Knowledge is power – the more you know your body, the more you will know when something isn’t right. If you find any lumps or bumps, discharge, or abnormalities, no matter how small, visit your doctor straight away. Do not pass GO! Do not collect 200 dollars! Don’t delay! Don’t procrastinate! You are never too young, healthy, fit, or busy for breast cancer.
I’m looking forward to celebrating Pink Hope’s Lipstick Day, and getting dolled up and having a high tea with friends and family. My lipstick is the colour ‘Purpose’, and this is what gets me out of bed each day. Living life with an incurable illness is tough for so many reasons, but moments like picnics with my family, advocating for better women’s health and even taking my dog for a morning walk all help me to find purpose in the everyday.
Pink Hope has provided me with some wonderful friends – I’ve connected with a lot of the women I’ve been lucky enough to meet. Some are a little older, some aren’t at the same life stage as me, but we all have the same diagnosis. We share a lot of those commonalities. I’ve made some friends who are going through the same as me, at the same time. Talking to people who know exactly what you are experiencing is really, really important. That in a way, the mental side of it, you know, talking to other people who are going through the same thing has you is really, really important as well, just so you’re not so alone. And it’s just people who get it?
That person I was three years ago, before my diagnosis, is still here. I’ve always been a person who has busily filled their life to capacity. In the past, I used this to escape. Today, I find way to cram as much joy into my day so that I feel fulfilled.
My name is Katie. I’m 30 years old and I have Stage 4 Metastatic Breast Cancer. Four years ago I was your typical career-driven, ambitious, 20-something. I had a wonderfully busy life: my work, hobbies and frantic social life filled my time. There was no room in my schedule for cancer.
But life had other plans for me. I was just weeks away from relocating to London when I received a call that my great aunt had Breast cancer. This shocking news actually prompted me to do a quick self-check in the shower, and that’s when I found a rock-hard lump. Besides myself with fear, I saw a doctor the following day who assured me that it was ‘simply calcification’ and that at 27 years old, I was just too young for breast cancer. Despite my young age, I was diagnosed with hormone receptor-positive breast cancer – evidently, I wasn’t too young after all.
Rather than settling into a new life in London with my partner, I was learning a whole new routine, set by my oncology team. I had three surgeries, 22 rounds of chemotherapy, and 26 rounds of radiation.
Following my initial diagnosis and a period of adjustment, I set about conquering cancer. I changed my diet, upped my exercise and took control of all areas of my health. I was driven, determined, and dedicated to beating this demon. I was feeling good, great even, and with the assistance of treatment I thought I had finally given cancer the flick.
In May 2020 on a routine visit to my oncologist, he delivered me the devastating news that not only was cancer back, but it had spread with vengeance. It was treatable, but not curable; it was now in my bones – specifically, my chest, spine, rib, pelvis, and hip. My diagnosis? I have Stage 4 Metastatic Breast Cancer. Hearing the news was like having my heart ripped out of my chest and being struck by lightning at the same time.
Today, I’m feeling healthy and well and feel fortunate enough that I can exercise and hold down a job. Despite the side effects from my regular injections I have to keep me in medical menopause (hello fatigue, bone pain and brain fog!) I’m probably the fittest I’ve ever been. I have an amazing coach and attend boot camp sessions three to four days a week. I find that moving my body regularly helps with the mental and physical side effects of my diagnosis.
My mind ebbs and flows between accepting my uncertain future and stressing about it. I do yoga and meditation – these two tools help me manage my anxiety and keep me from spiralling, wondering about an uncertain future. I try to focus on what I can control – a recent house move was a great diversion! – and I make an effort to create memories, whereas in the past, I may not have been as present.
No one can tell what the future holds – that’s true for everyone, not just me. But I have changed since my diagnosis; I have learnt what truly matters to me, and am not afraid to put myself first. I don’t worry about pleasing other people at my own expense. Every day I aim to thrive, live life to the fullest, and appreciate time spent with my wonderful family, closest friends, and new adventures.
My message for other women is to know your body. Knowledge is power – the more you know your body, the more you will know when something isn’t right. If you find any lumps or bumps, discharge, or abnormalities, no matter how small, visit your doctor straight away. Do not pass GO! Do not collect 200 dollars! Don’t delay! Don’t procrastinate! You are never too young, healthy, fit, or busy for breast cancer.
I’m looking forward to celebrating Pink Hope’s Lipstick Day, and getting dolled up and having a high tea with friends and family. My lipstick is the colour ‘Purpose’, and this is what gets me out of bed each day. Living life with an incurable illness is tough for so many reasons, but moments like picnics with my family, advocating for better women’s health and even taking my dog for a morning walk all help me to find purpose in the everyday.
Pink Hope has provided me with some wonderful friends – I’ve connected with a lot of the women I’ve been lucky enough to meet. Some are a little older, some aren’t at the same life stage as me, but we all have the same diagnosis. We share a lot of those commonalities. I’ve made some friends who are going through the same as me, at the same time. Talking to people who know exactly what you are experiencing is really, really important. That in a way, the mental side of it, you know, talking to other people who are going through the same thing has you is really, really important as well, just so you’re not so alone. And it’s just people who get it?
That person I was three years ago, before my diagnosis, is still here. I’ve always been a person who has busily filled their life to capacity. In the past, I used this to escape. Today, I find way to cram as much joy into my day so that I feel fulfilled.
My name is Katie. I’m 30 years old and I have Stage 4 Metastatic Breast Cancer. Four years ago I was your typical career-driven, ambitious, 20-something. I had a wonderfully busy life: my work, hobbies and frantic social life filled my time. There was no room in my schedule for cancer.
But life had other plans for me. I was just weeks away from relocating to London when I received a call that my great aunt had Breast cancer. This shocking news actually prompted me to do a quick self-check in the shower, and that’s when I found a rock-hard lump. Besides myself with fear, I saw a doctor the following day who assured me that it was ‘simply calcification’ and that at 27 years old, I was just too young for breast cancer. Despite my young age, I was diagnosed with hormone receptor-positive breast cancer – evidently, I wasn’t too young after all.
Rather than settling into a new life in London with my partner, I was learning a whole new routine, set by my oncology team. I had three surgeries, 22 rounds of chemotherapy, and 26 rounds of radiation.
Following my initial diagnosis and a period of adjustment, I set about conquering cancer. I changed my diet, upped my exercise and took control of all areas of my health. I was driven, determined, and dedicated to beating this demon. I was feeling good, great even, and with the assistance of treatment I thought I had finally given cancer the flick.
In May 2020 on a routine visit to my oncologist, he delivered me the devastating news that not only was cancer back, but it had spread with vengeance. It was treatable, but not curable; it was now in my bones – specifically, my chest, spine, rib, pelvis, and hip. My diagnosis? I have Stage 4 Metastatic Breast Cancer. Hearing the news was like having my heart ripped out of my chest and being struck by lightning at the same time.
Today, I’m feeling healthy and well and feel fortunate enough that I can exercise and hold down a job. Despite the side effects from my regular injections I have to keep me in medical menopause (hello fatigue, bone pain and brain fog!) I’m probably the fittest I’ve ever been. I have an amazing coach and attend boot camp sessions three to four days a week. I find that moving my body regularly helps with the mental and physical side effects of my diagnosis.
My mind ebbs and flows between accepting my uncertain future and stressing about it. I do yoga and meditation – these two tools help me manage my anxiety and keep me from spiralling, wondering about an uncertain future. I try to focus on what I can control – a recent house move was a great diversion! – and I make an effort to create memories, whereas in the past, I may not have been as present.
No one can tell what the future holds – that’s true for everyone, not just me. But I have changed since my diagnosis; I have learnt what truly matters to me, and am not afraid to put myself first. I don’t worry about pleasing other people at my own expense. Every day I aim to thrive, live life to the fullest, and appreciate time spent with my wonderful family, closest friends, and new adventures.
My message for other women is to know your body. Knowledge is power – the more you know your body, the more you will know when something isn’t right. If you find any lumps or bumps, discharge, or abnormalities, no matter how small, visit your doctor straight away. Do not pass GO! Do not collect 200 dollars! Don’t delay! Don’t procrastinate! You are never too young, healthy, fit, or busy for breast cancer.
I’m looking forward to celebrating Pink Hope’s Lipstick Day, and getting dolled up and having a high tea with friends and family. My lipstick is the colour ‘Purpose’, and this is what gets me out of bed each day. Living life with an incurable illness is tough for so many reasons, but moments like picnics with my family, advocating for better women’s health and even taking my dog for a morning walk all help me to find purpose in the everyday.
Pink Hope has provided me with some wonderful friends – I’ve connected with a lot of the women I’ve been lucky enough to meet. Some are a little older, some aren’t at the same life stage as me, but we all have the same diagnosis. We share a lot of those commonalities. I’ve made some friends who are going through the same as me, at the same time. Talking to people who know exactly what you are experiencing is really, really important. That in a way, the mental side of it, you know, talking to other people who are going through the same thing has you is really, really important as well, just so you’re not so alone. And it’s just people who get it?
That person I was three years ago, before my diagnosis, is still here. I’ve always been a person who has busily filled their life to capacity. In the past, I used this to escape. Today, I find way to cram as much joy into my day so that I feel fulfilled.
My name is Loretta. I was 34 years old when I was diagnosed with incurable metastasised breast cancer. There is no history of breast cancer in my family at all.
I had had a previous brush with cancer. When I was 29 I found a lump in my left breast. After visiting a GP and getting a referral to a breast clinic, I was repeatedly told I was young, they were sure it was nothing, and that I probably just had over-active breast tissue. It was benign. This incident left a mark on me – however, rather than making me more attentive about breast checks, it swayed me in the opposite direction! Like so many other women, I thought I was too young to have breast cancer – a misconception that I have been vocal about since.
I was on holiday in South Africa when my life suddenly turned upside down. I felt a lump high up in my chest – not somewhere you associate with the usual breast cancer symptoms – and very quickly it became intensely painful and grew, seemingly overnight. I made an appointment with my GP for the moment I arrived home.
The following few days after my appointment with my GP were a blur. I was sent for scans, biopsies and a mammogram. I was told the lump was cancerous and given a referral and an appointment – in two days’ time – to a breast surgeon who then referred me to my oncologist. I barely had time to catch my breath and process all the information I was being given.
My treatment team was amazing. They advised me to commence a three-month chemotherapy plan. The cancer I have is highly receptive to medication, so on top of chemo, I also had two different targeted drugs delivered intravenously. I finished chemo in November 2019, but have continued on the targeted drugs as maintenance treatment every three weeks since.
I didn’t feel sick from the chemotherapy, but I did suffer from hair loss, lack of appetite, weight loss. That was the worst of it. I wasn’t fatigued either, something I put down to incorporating exercise and daily movement into my recovery plan.
Exercise was and is an essential part of my treatment. I do lots of yoga & Pilates, walk whenever I can, and stay as active as possible.
When I look back at the time of my diagnosis I can’t believe how crazy it was. Yet, strangely, my diagnosis came at a time when I was best suited to handle it. Everything else in my life was happy and calm – I was working hard; I have a great group of friends and a wonderful family. I felt that as I was in such a good place this challenge became my focus and I didn’t have to worry about anything else.
There’s no denying though that cancer changes your outlook. It makes you reflect on your life and how you’re living it. At the time of my diagnosis, I was a workaholic and my identity was deeply intertwined with my profession. Being forced to step away from work due to my illness opened me up to look at the bigger picture and take the time to look around me.
Saying that, having to step away from my work and my responsibilities was really difficult for me. Suddenly I had time on my hands. It was hard not to turn to Dr Google and over-analyse and research everything. I fought to find the perfect balance between dealing with the information I had and doing a deep-dive into research. I must admit that one day I did Google – I was still learning what metastasised meant. I found myself in a fit of tears and had to call a friend for support.
Thankfully, my younger sister works in breast cancer research. She is now the one in charge of my research and explaining – in simple terms – what my diagnosis and treatment entails. I know that I can send her a text at any time for an explanation or reassurance.
My entire family are, and have been, a tower of strength, as have my group of friends. They threw me an end-of-chemo surprise party to celebrate with me. My oncology team have been a phenomenal support too.
At the start of this year my oncologist decided that my tumour had reduced in size enough and could be safely removed. It was a simple surgery, which involved removing my nipple to access and remove the lump, before reattaching the nipple. The lumpectomy was then followed by radiation.
This time my recovery has been slightly different. After chemo, my energy levels bounced back quickly. This time, radiation made me very tired. It was really difficult to deal with a lack of energy, but thankfully I have bounced back quickly.
My partner has been a source of strength. We got together almost a year after I had finished chemo, but have known each other for years. It has been an intense time: diagnosis, treatment, lumpectomy… not to mention lockdown! It’s been a big challenge for him, but he has stepped up and managed it amazingly.
Right now I am living with cancer. Any other term makes people feel uncomfortable and I don’t want my diagnosis to change the way people treat me. The goal was to reduce my tumour so that it could be removed. Now that’s been done – plus having some pre-cancerous cells removed – the intention is to keep any cancer growth stable.
Today, when I look in the mirror, I don’t just see the faint outline from my lumpectomy. I see is what I’ve been through, what I live with. I have a positive relationship with my body. The hardest part on this journey for me was when I had all the bandages after the operation. There were no drains but a pump attached to the bandages which were used to form an ideal healing environment. I became frustrated with that appendage. I found it harder to deal with how I was looking when the bandages were on then I do now, post -operation and radiation.
When I was first diagnosed, my GP talked to me about reaching out to different support groups. I held back from getting involved though: it made my cancer too ‘real.’ Instead I followed various groups on social media and watched from a distance. At the start of the year, Pink Hope was looking for a graphic designer, so I donated my skills and time. Volunteering my ‘work self’, meant I was able to engage with Pink Hope initially from a place I’ve always been comfortable with.
I’ve met some lovely women through Pink Hope. Being able to talk to someone without going into the nitty-gritty – medical menopause, treatment plans – is a relief.
The shoot for the Pink Hope campaign was fantastic. Being at the shoot with other women who have been on a similar journey felt amazing, the fun and banter and non-focus on what we’ve all been through was a comfort. There was an unspoken understanding in the room amongst us all.
When I first found Pink Hope I immediately felt the warmth and the support of all the women. Everyone has their story, their diagnosis and their struggles. Wherever you are in your journey, you can find someone who has been through what you’re going through; they’ll reassure you and give you some real advice on what to expect. And in turn, I’ve been able to do that to the women who are following me on a similar path.lorett
There’s no way of predicting my life expectancy. Right now, I’m doing really well and they’ve completely gotten the tumour. Eventually though my body will stop responding to my current treatment, and we will need to look other options – and who knows what will be available to me when that happens, thanks to the tireless efforts of medical researchers.
When I try to look into the future, I see it as a bit of an obstacle, so I tend to avoid doing so. I am going to Japan in January which is the furthest I’ve allowed myself to look for now. Looking too far into the future can send me down a rabbit hole of sadness. And that’s not me at all. I’ve been chosen as ‘Fearless’, to represent Pink Hope as a warrior and someone who faces life head on. The colour of the lipstick suits me really well – physically and personally. I’ll be wearing it a lot and encouraging my friends, colleagues and family to wear it too.
I wouldn’t consider myself fearless, but I do use fearlessness as an attitude and a coping mechanism – especially during the past three years. It’s what I’ve used it in the past and will continue using it as I go forward.
Pink Hope is asking all of us to go bold this September in support of Breast Cancer with Bright Pink Lipstick Day which will officially be held on Friday September 16, 2022.
Nikolina is the web-obsessed Digital Editor at Men\'s and Women\'s Health, where she covers news, fitness, health, style, travel and pretty-much everything else. A lover of boxing, she was previously a Digital Editor at GQ and Vogue magazine and has contributed to Vogue Living and The Australian. She specialises in digital marketing, social media and branded and editorial content creation.
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