How to Turn a Mastectomy Into a Dance Party
Deborah Cohan, MD, 55, an obstetrician at Zuckerberg San Francisco General Hospital and Trauma Center, San Francisco, California, discovered firsthand the power of dance back in 2013. After finding a lump in her breast during a self-exam, Dr. Cohan feared the worst. Days later, her radiologist confirmed she had invasive ductal carcinoma.
“It was a complete shock,” Dr. Cohan remembered. “I took care of myself. I ate right. I had no obvious risk factors. I did work the night shift, and there’s actually an increased risk for breast cancer among ob.gyn. workers who do night shift work. But still, it took me completely by surprise. My kids were 5 and 8 at the time, and I was terrified that they’d grow up without a mom.”
So, Dr. Cohan turned to the only thing that gave her comfort — dance class. Dancing had been an escape for Dr. Cohan since she took her first ballet class at age 3. So, she skipped work and went to her weekly Soul Motion dance class, where she found herself doing the exact opposite of escaping. She embraced her fears.
“I visualized death as a dance partner,” Dr. Cohan said. “I felt a freedom come over my body. It didn’t make sense to me at the time, but it was almost joyful. Not that I was accepting death or anticipating death, but just that I acknowledged its presence. There’s so much pressure among people with cancer to be positive. [But] that’s something that needs to come from within a person, not from outside. Nobody can dictate how someone should be feeling. And as I danced, I was genuinely feeling joy even as I recognized my own fears and didn’t turn away from them. I was experiencing all the emotions at once. It was such a relief to realize this wasn’t all going to be about sadness.”
The experience was so healing for Dr. Cohan that she decided to see if she could bring those same feelings into her bilateral mastectomy. When meeting with her surgical team, Dr. Cohan made an unorthodox request: Could her pre-op include a dance party?
“I asked the anesthesiologist in the pre-op appointment if I could dance, and he said yes,” she remembered, laughing. “And then I checked with the surgeon, and he said yes. And then I asked the perioperative nurse, and he said yes, ‘but only if you don’t make me dance, too’. So somehow it all came together.”
Dr. Cohan decided on the Beyoncé song “Get Me Bodied,” which she says resonated with her because “it’s all about being in your body and being your full self. I was like, that is exactly how I want to show up in the operating room.” The moment the music kicked in and Dr. Cohan broke into dance, all of her stress melted away.
“Even though I’d been given permission to dance, I never expected anybody else to join in,” Dr. Cohan said. But that’s exactly what they did. A friend took a video, which shows Dr. Cohan in a hospital gown and bouffant cap, dancing alongside her surgical and anesthesia teams, all of whom are dressed in scrubs, at Mount Zion Hospital in San Francisco, California.
“It’s weird to say, especially about a mastectomy,” Dr. Cohan said, “but it was one of the most joyful moments of my life.”
The video’s been viewed 8.4 million times and is so inspirational — we dare you to watch it and not want to jump out of your chair to dance — that soon others were following Dr. Cohan’s lead.
- Sixteen-year-old Amari Hall danced to celebrate her successful heart transplant.
- Ana-Alecia Ayala, a 32-year-old uterine cancer survivor, danced along to “Juju on That Beat” to make chemotherapy more tolerable.
- Doreta Norris, a patient with breast cancer, chose “Gangnam Style” to serenade her into surgery.
Bringing Dance to Other Medical Pros
Ms. Rynders realized the true power of dance years before her sister’s illness, when her mother died of cancer. “I’ve always considered myself to be very resilient as a human, but I couldn’t bounce back after my mom died,” she said. “I was nursing full time in the emergency room, and I was sad all the time. And then one day I realized, you know what brings me joy? It’s always been dance.”
She went back to school to get her Master of Fine Arts in Dance from the University of Colorado at Boulder, which she believes helped her heal. “I was actually able to grieve instead of just pretending I was okay,” she said.
Inspired by these experiences, Ms. Rynders founded The Clinic in 2017, a company that provides dance workshops for healthcare professionals struggling with burnout and secondary traumatic stress.
“I see these nurses running down hospital hallways, covered in blood from patients whose lives are literally hanging on a thread,” she said. “They’re dealing with so much stress and grief and hardship. And then to see them with us, playing and laughing — those deep belly laughs that you haven’t done since you were a kid, the deep laughing that comes from deep in your soul. It can be transformational, for them and for you.”
Ms. Rynders remembers one especially healing workshop in which the participants pretended to be astronauts in deep space, using zero gravity to inform their movements. After the exercise, a veteran hospital nurse took Ms. Rynders aside to thank her, mentioning that she was still dealing with grief for her late son, who had died from suicide years earlier.
“She had a lot of guilt around it,” Ms. Rynders remembered. “And she said to me, ‘When I went to space, I felt closer to him.’ It was just this silly little game, but it gave her this lightness that she hadn’t felt in years. She was able to be free and laugh and play and feel close to her son again.”
Good Medicine
Dr. Cohan, who today is cancer free, said her experience made her completely rethink her relationship with patients. She has danced with more than a few of them, though she’s careful never to force it on them. “I never want to project my idea of joy onto others,” she said. “But more than anything, it’s changed my thinking on what it means to take ownership as a patient.”
The one thing Dr. Cohan never wanted as a patient, and the thing she never wants for her own patients, is the loss of agency. “When I danced, I didn’t feel like I was just handing over my body and begrudgingly accepting what was about to happen to me,” she said. “I was taking ownership around my decision, and I felt connected, really connected, to my surgical team.”
As a patient, Dr. Cohan experienced what she calls the “regimented” atmosphere of medicine. “You’re told where to go, what to do, and you have no control over any of it,” recalled Dr. Cohan, who’s now semiretired and runs retreats for women with breast cancer. “But by bringing in dance, it felt really radical that my healthcare team was doing my thing, not the other way around.”