Her wig came off the second we got outside. Her fight isn’t over.
The wig came off the second we hit the sidewalk.
We'd just finished dinner with our friend group a few weeks ago — the same crew that's shared tiki bar nights, Friday Italian dinners, shore weekends and mountain trips for almost 17 years. Jackie wore it through the whole meal. The second we stepped outside, she pulled it off without a thought. That's just who she is.
This October hits different
I've spent decades on the radio promoting Breast Cancer Awareness Month — walks, runs, fundraisers. I've promoted these events for years over the air, and I've attended more than a few myself, had fun doing it.
October comes and goes every year, and that campaign has worked — we all know what this month is. But for a long time, like a lot of you, I was aware without being affected. I didn't yet know a family member or friend who was actually living it.
That changed in the past few years. Five women who are friends of mine, my wife Linda, or both of us, have been diagnosed with breast cancer. And I'd bet you have some friends fighting this too.
I want to tell you about one of them: my friend Jackie Clancy.
Friendships are funny things
Linda and I met Jackie and her husband John back in 2009, at a friend's backyard tiki bar. We hit it off immediately. We consider Jackie and John two of our best friends.
Friendships are funny things. They start off being about good times — and ours were really great times. Countless nights at that tiki bar. Friday nights at our favorite Italian restaurant. Time with our larger friend group at the shore, on a boat, up in the mountains. So many laughs. Time spent with friends like that is a true escape from the rest of the world.
Then things get a little deeper. You get invited to the family stuff — holiday gatherings, weddings. Then deeper still, where it's not just the good times anymore. It's sharing everything — the good, the bad and the ugly. The friendship gets stronger.
Life moves forward. We get older. And in Jackie's case, someone gets cancer.
She knew something was off
Jackie's a former police officer, and she's one of the strongest, bravest, most positive and most honest people I know. By honest, I mean she's never been afraid to speak up and say what's on her mind. This year, that meant speaking up to at least two medical professionals who wanted to follow protocol instead.
She's considered high-risk for breast cancer because of her family history, including her sister's diagnosis back in 2022. She'd been diligent ever since — regular MRIs, regular mammograms.
In April, a routine mammogram found two spots. She went back in May for a follow-up and an ultrasound. Both spots were still there. The technician told her it didn't look suspicious, and that she'd likely come back in six months to check again.
That didn't sit right with her. Not with her sister's diagnosis only four years behind them.
The six months she refused to wait
Jackie pushed. She told the technician she wasn't comfortable waiting, and asked that her concerns — and her family history — get passed along to the radiologist.
He came in, heard her out, and offered a biopsy. If the spots turned out to be benign, they'd simply get flagged for monitoring going forward. Jackie said yes.
Even going in, nobody expected much. Her breast surgeon told her beforehand she didn't believe there was anything to worry about. The radiologist said the same — the spots hadn't even shown up on her MRI the previous October.
The call that changed everything
Jackie spent the next day refreshing her patient portal, waiting on results. Nothing came. Late that afternoon, her phone rang.
It was cancer. Triple-negative — an aggressive type that makes up only about 20% of breast cancer cases, per the American Cancer Society. Even her own surgeon was caught off guard, and told Jackie she was glad she'd pushed for the biopsy.
Her oncologist later put it plainly: if Jackie had waited the six months she was originally told to wait, the tumors could have doubled in size.
Where she's at now
Jackie had surgery and a chemo port placed in July. Chemotherapy started in August, with her final round scheduled for October 6. A month of daily radiation follows.
She was diagnosed at Stage 1B, and her prognosis is good. She calls herself one of the lucky ones. And when I look at her — pulling that wig off the second she's back with her friends, laughing like nothing's different — I believe her.
Why I wanted to tell you this
That's the thing about a friendship like ours. It started with tiki bars and good times, and 17 years later it's sitting with her through this, and somehow still laughing on the sidewalk outside a restaurant. The good times didn't go away. They just made room for the hard stuff, too.
Jackie, to me, should be an example for the rest of us to be our own health advocates. Who else knows our bodies and our family history better than we do?
I wanted to share her story so she can inspire you to be your own advocate too. If something doesn't feel right, ask again. Push for another opinion. Don't settle for "let's wait and see" if your gut says otherwise.
It could save your life. Speaking up already saved hers.
Opinions expressed in the post above are those of New Jersey 101.5 show host Eric Johnson only.
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