No one knew what was wrong with her — until an MRI found incurable disease. She turned her harrowing journey into unique art.

Nardiz Cooke was alarmed when she felt a lump in her right breast in late 2018. Her OB-GYN wasn’t: Cooke was 38 and had no family history of cancer. Cooke’s doctor diagnosed her with fibrosis, a common condition that causes tissue to feel lumpy.  

Cooke was reassured, but almost two years later, new symptoms began. She had splitting headaches. She said she was “vomiting out of the blue.” Her ears rang. She had double vision and sometimes lost her sight. Once, it took 40 minutes for her vision to return. 

But no matter how many doctors Cooke saw, everything came back clear. In October 2021, she went to the emergency room and refused to leave without an answer. 

“After several exams, again, my sight, ears, everything you can imagine, the doctor said, ‘You’re fine.’ I said, ‘Doctor, I’m not fine,'” Cooke recalled. 

The doctor ordered an MRI. It showed she had aggressive cancer. Soon after, she was given an official diagnosis: Stage IV metastatic breast cancer that had spread to her brain. 

“It made sense, something about those words — that was the path that felt right,” Cooke said.

As she learned about her options, Cooke said she didn’t want to focus on worst-case scenarios.

“It felt like, well, Nardiz, here you go. This is your fate. What are you going to do with it?” 

Focusing on a “trophy” 

Cooke let herself be swept along the “pink carpet” of breast cancer treatment. People who are initially diagnosed with Stage IV cancer often have a poorer prognosis than someone who is diagnosed with earlier-stage disease that grows, said Dr. Carmen Calfa, Cooke’s medical oncologist at the University of Miami’s Sylvester Comprehensive Cancer Center. Medical advancements and tailored therapies can extend a patient’s lifespan, Calfa said, but treatment is lifelong.  

Radiation oncologist Dr. Jessica Meshman targeted the tumors in Cooke’s brain with radiation therapy. On her first day of treatment, Cooke was intrigued by the custom-fit thermoplastic mask that would direct radiation beams and protect healthy tissue.

“I saw that thing, that mask, and I said, ‘I cannot wait to be done with these treatments, because I’m going to take my mask home, as a symbol, like it’s my trophy,” Cooke said. 

Cooke received multiple forms of radiation over two years. When she was feeling claustrophobic inside the spaceship-like machine that delivered the treatment or feeling fatigued and achy at home, she thought about what she would do with the mask when it was no longer needed. 

“This amazing symbol of strength” 

Cooke had her final radiation treatment in late 2022. She had two masks. Several months after finishing treatment, she splurged on quartz crystals.

“I had no idea. I had no money, but I just bought all these crystals,” Cooke said. “I found myself just draping (the mask), adorning (it) in quartz.” 

Cooke thought the glittering results looked like something from a movie or a dream. The next time Cooke met with Meshman, she showed the doctor her photos of the mask. Meshman reached out to administrators at the cancer center to see if Cooke’s mask could be displayed there. It was put in the lobby this autumn.

“I just thought it would be so incredible for other patients to see kind of the strength that she has through the piece,” Meshman said. “She took something that can be quite terrifying and made it this amazing symbol of strength.” 

Cooke’s project grew as other patients began anonymously donating their masks. She named the collection “Radiant Sentinels.” Each mask was a fresh canvas. 

“I have learned so much from each mask, because each mask is a different material, and I research the materials, and they take me to stories, to knowledge. It’s very, very interesting,” Cooke said. “And I respect the process very much, because that mask, the person that donated that mask, doesn’t even know. But I respect them and I wish them the best.” 

“Never thought of doing something like this”

Four years after her diagnosis, Cooke, 44, is “doing amazing,” Meshman said. Calfa said Cooke is “blossoming” and that her ongoing hormone therapy treatment is going well. 

Cooke said she follows a four-step regimen: Taking her medication, going to her regular appointments with Calfa and Meshman, working on “Radiant Sentinels,” and enjoying a regular glass of red wine. 

Cooke’s pieces were shown at a Miami gallery on Thursday. Twelve masks — two of Cooke’s and 10 from donors — were showcased. Calfa and Meshman both attended.

One mask shines with thousands of mirrored glass shards, while another is inspired by a tribal dance from Cooke’s hometown in northern Mexico and adorned with naturally shed deer antlers. Another is studded with thousands of tiny religious figures called milagritos. 

Other masks are coated in fish scales and seashells. One resembled a knight’s helmet wrought with leaves. 

Seeing all of the masks gathered and on display was momentous, said Cooke, who comes from a family of artists, but this was her first such effort. 

“I would have never thought of doing something like this with my hands,” Cooke said. “I don’t have to tell anybody how to feel when they see this. It’s their own reflection, their own sight. I am just handing them a candle for them to have their experience with a mask, one-on-one.” 

Cooke said she is continuing to solicit donated masks and will continue to add to the “Radiant Sentinels” collection. Cancer changed what she thought her life would look like, but she said it also gave her a new purpose. 

“I’m 44, and I went into full menopause at 40,” Cooke said. “That was difficult, but I just gave in. That made a lot of the decisions for me. I did not have any kids. I realized, ‘You’re not here to have kids. You’re here to be an auntie, and you’re here to make ‘Radiant Sentinels.'”