Nikkanen remembers child model work as being long and dull, something in which the appearance of happiness meant as much or more than the real thing.
As a child she worked through colds and fevers, smiling all the while. She managed to placate teachers, who didn't at the time approve very much of her skipping school to make a shoot.
“We didn't have a lot of money when I was younger.” She said. “My parents separated - there was a lot of stress. I was always sick.”
It sounds less than heavenly. Yet Nikkanen claims to have liked the work and she kept it up, eventually signing on to a famous agency. She was on her way.
Unlike many other models, she was always proactive, refusing to wait for anyone to call her up, going out and pounding on doors instead. And all the while she had her eye on a bigger prize.
“I always saw myself having my own business,” recalled Nikkanen. “I always thought, `If this was my business, this is how I would do it.”
In time she did have her own shop to run. And it was while she was struggling with it through the late `80's, early `90's recession, and while she was seeing her second marriage slide toward an inevitable dissolution, that she came face to face with her first bout with breast cancer.
She was 35 and busy, racing through life and running the now defunct Mrs. Mississauga pageant.
“I found a lump in my breast the size of an egg. You could actually see it,” she said.
She went to her doctor, who thought she would be fine but ordered a mammogram anyway.
She was not fine, and about a month later, she lost that breast to a mastectomy. “I felt I was in a movie watching myself. The first thing you always say is `Why me?''' said Nikkanen. “Then it's `My God, my kids, I won't see them grow up.'''
Then the brutally injured vanity pipes up. “And the other is `Who is ever going to love half a woman?''' she said. “That's the selfish part.”
At first she thought she would get reconstructive implant within six months. “Then I had the attitude that if a man didn't love me as I was, who needs them,” said Nikkanen defiantly.
But she did get that implant, and right about the six-month mark, as well. Before that, she had driven to the drug store to get an external implant to fill her bra while she went to work.
The loose implant was a source of fun for her. Vacuuming her business at the end of the day it would pop out of her bra and plop on the floor. She'd promptly pick it up and lob it at someone. “Flying boob,” she'd call out.
Surgery over, new implant in place, life returned to normal. Until 1995, when the cancer returned, this time in her lymph nodes. “I thought that was game over,” said Nikkanen.
It wasn't. But treating it did require six months of chemotherapy. The resulting hair loss was worse than losing her breast for the woman who had made her living since childhood in a charged, appearance-oriented industry.
“I remember lying on the couch and pulling at my hair and coming out in handfuls,” said Nikkanen.
The chemotherapy did a number on her energy, leaving her tired and drained. It dotted canker sores along her tongue, mouth and throat so that it hurt to talk.
“Walking across the road was an effort,” she said. “But I went to work every day.”
Soon, she rallied, again. She bought herself wigs and revealed in how little time it took to get herself ready and out the door. There was no shaving or waxing or plucking to worry about, no shampooing or blow-drying - just toss on a wig and go. In the hot summer months, she'd come home and yank the wig off, letting the coolness settle on her hare skin.