Tomorrow is my surgery. If you follow me on FB, you may already know that. I have debated on whether to write this blog or not. Why not? It's personal. It's private. I make myself vulnerable & entrust those who read this blog with not judging me for writing it. Why write? Because I try to live as transparently as possible without sharing information that isn't mine to share & without sharing information that would be hurtful to my loved ones. It's a fine line at times. Lastly, why write it? Because it's part of my story. Its part of what fuels my passion for Team Sweet Potatas, & I believe sharing it may somehow help another soul.
So... it's almost 24 hours before my surgery. My nerves have begun to unravel a bit. Still, I think I am doing pretty good for me. What's to fear? This surgery isn't so much about cancer as it is about the lasting effects of cancer treatment. Reality: cancer is always a concern, especially if you are a cancer survivor. Fact: God is bigger than whatever I am told when I awake. He already knows what I will hear. It will be no surprise to Him. As I was praying yesterday in church, I felt as tho' He reassured me that all will be okay. I will hold that close to my heart. He gives me strength.
In my younger years, my prayers were more like begging God that everything would be okay. As I have matured in my faith, I pray more that I will know God's presence, & I thank God that He will be with me whatever I am told. As the Anesthesiologist puts me out tomorrow morning, I will rest in Him. I expect to awake calmly & hear my news. Was the surgery done in the least invasive way as possible? Did the Dr see anything of concern? When will all of my pathology reports be available? What should I expect with my recovery (depending on how the Dr performed the surgery)?
I have prepared myself for this surgery as best I can. It is my choice, but given what I might experience if I don't do it, I have peace that I have made the best decision for my circumstances. I have stocked up on things you stock up on before surgery. I have entrusted my emotions to the Good Lord Above. Those darn emotions can get our of hand. For me, this journey isn't so much about the physical & medical aspects, it's about dealing with my emotions: fear, joy, grief, sadness, brokenness, surrender... It's about how the medical/physical aspects impact my emotions. It's a journey that for me & many other people who suffer from cancer or other illness is unending. It's about how it impacts my family, changes me, & changes my relationships. I think that's the best way for me to say it. I would appreciate input from other Survivors & people who suffer from disease. Is it the same for you?
Monday, December 10, 2018
Thursday, November 29, 2018
Suffering...
This morning I checked into Facebook, and I was immediately reminded of my faithful friends who suffer, & of those who suffered but remained faithful to the end... Jenny, Elizabeth, Brenda, Bilinda, Amy, and now Mary. I spend much of my quiet time with the Lord praying for the loved ones of those who suffer & for the suffering. My journey is a journey barraged with others who share my journey. At times, I am overcome with grief for those for whom I pray. I am sure others can relate & are in a similar place.
I cannot take a moment of life for granted for myself or for anyone. Sometimes I know my own grief is too much for my loved ones to bear. I get that so I don't always share what's troubling me. I take my sadness up with the Lord, & I believe He is where I find my peace. I believe there is a special place in Heaven for those who remain faithful in the Lord even as they suffer. I believe that place is eternal. I know our life on this earth is temporary, & I believe that Heaven is that place of "no more suffering, no more tears." I hold fast to that truth, & it brings me joy to contemplate eternity for those whose hope is in the Lord.
Some of my thoughts may be foreign to those who read this blog. They may be rejected by some & others may respond, "to each his own." Some may say I am a fool while others may think I have gone off the deep end with my faith. Some will struggle with the inability to reconcile suffering with a loving God. I accept the opinions of others. I embrace hearing them & respectfully discussing them. I have a lump in my throat when a life is lost too soon or taken without warning. In all honesty, I question God when such sorrows are so immense. I don't pretend to have the answers, & I can only share how I navigate life.
If you are reading this blog, & my words seem foreign to you, I have something on my heart to share... Some of you who suffer may not understand what a relationship with the Lord looks like. Again, I can only share my story. As a small child I sang "Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so." I believed this. It was simple. I was small. This little belief in a young heart grew as I grew & became the foundation for my life. I don't always get it right, but I try to be Christlike. I try to love others as myself. I try to love God with all of my heart, mind, soul, & strength. Sometimes I fail, & the remorse is not something I relish. It hurts.
What I most lovingly want you to know is that I turn to Christ when I am hurting, when I struggle, when I am confused, when I feel "let-down,", lonely or alone, when I have wronged another, when I need affirmation, assurance, wholeness, or when my heart breaks for myself or for another. I don't say this to "shove my faith down your throat" but rather as food for thought if you are suffering without the Lord. God is bigger than our hurt, our anger, bitterness, confusion, misunderstanding, resentment, emotional wounds, unhealthy bodies, etc. If we sincerely turn to Him, I believe we can find peace. We may not get the healing we hope for, the answer we are looking for, but our prayers are not in vain. We can find a peace that transcends our troubles, our broken hearts, our understanding, our sick bodies. It doesn't make sense. It just is what is. Trusting in Him is how I survive this world.
As I write this blog, 10 women come to mind who have relentless metastatic cancer. Their journeys have hope, but their suffering, their fear, their emotional pain, their sick bodies, their physical pain, the toll taken on their loved ones, their treatments, their strength, their courage is unimaginable. Putting your hope in the Lord doesn't mean you'll be miraculously healed (although I believe that sometimes happens). It means you'll have the presence of our Heavenly Father in your life, Christ in your heart, & the Holy Spirit intervening in your life for good. I believe there is peace for you which transcends all understanding. If you have questions, concerns, doubts, etc, I'd love to try to find comfort for you in your suffering. Suffering without the Lord isn't something I can imagine. I want peace for you.
Thursday, July 19, 2018
What could have been...
Today something new to me happened. I got a glimpse of life without me. Not to be morbid, but today could have been my funeral. The fact that it wouldn't have been cancer that took me Home kinda of surprises me. I didn't expect to die in a car accident. As most of you know, I & an elderly man collided on Monday. He came barreling through the intersection making a left turn at top speed. There I was, traveling up University Street at 40 mph. I was lost deep in my thoughts. As I entered the intersection to cross it, there he was... an elderly man turning left right. in. front. of. me! My foot went for the break but only tapped it. Before I knew it, I heard a loud bang. I felt this deep force impact my heart. My car was whirling around, & then bam! It stopped. Smoke was coming from somewhere. I could smell burning. I must get out of this car. Little did I know, it was just the gunpowder from my deployed airbags. My car never did catch fire. It never exploded.
A man came from nowhere & asked me if I needed anything. As far as I knew, I was okay. Yes, I seemed okay. But wait a minute, what about the man that hit me? His head was bleeding (a lot). I grabbed my cane & made my way through the thick bumpy grass to him. "Are you okay?" Why yes, his head was spurting blood in 2 places, but he thought he was okay too. His head left an imprint in his windshield. I was worried about him, so worried about this sweet man. I was in shock, but I was still able to call my husband, talk to the paramedics, worry about this man, & refuse an ambulance. It was all so strange. It seemed horrible, yet I seemed okay?
My husband arrived. He had a 20 minute drive or more. By the time he got to me, I was teary. I was in shock. The policeman questioned me, & he upset me. It wasn't my fault. Why was he condescending? I had just been through Hell. Why would he say that to me? I couldn't make sense of this, & it really bothered me. I'm tender hearted, & I don't understand when people aren't nice. I know... I need to get my head out of the sand. It's not good to expect people to be nice to you just because you have a tender heart. Get real!
3 days have passed. My hand is broken. I have a chemical burn the size of a lemon on my arm. It has part of the bow tie Chevy emblem emblazoned in the skin. What the Heck! How did that even happen? I was a hot mess! My chest... it hurts to laugh. It hurts to take a deep breath, to cough, to move certain ways. My underarm on that side is sore too. Of course, it's from the seatbelt. The seatbelt snapped in place & kept me in place. The 2 things that hurt me were the 2 things that protected me, the airbags & the seatbelt. The Chevy emblem came from the steering wheel. When the airbag popped out, it burned my arm, & the emblem on the steering wheel branded it. Wow!
As we inspected my totaled car this morning & collected a few remaining items, I did some detective work. There, in the junkyard, I pieced a few things together, like the Chevy emblem on my arm. It made sense now. The seatbelt which held me in place is no longer engaged. The front end of the car took the beating for me. The Appraiser said the car did her job. She saved me. I stood there in the junkyard with my collection of odds & ends, a few toys, a pair of shoes, a scraper, a package of baby wipes... I realized that today could have been my funeral.
A man came from nowhere & asked me if I needed anything. As far as I knew, I was okay. Yes, I seemed okay. But wait a minute, what about the man that hit me? His head was bleeding (a lot). I grabbed my cane & made my way through the thick bumpy grass to him. "Are you okay?" Why yes, his head was spurting blood in 2 places, but he thought he was okay too. His head left an imprint in his windshield. I was worried about him, so worried about this sweet man. I was in shock, but I was still able to call my husband, talk to the paramedics, worry about this man, & refuse an ambulance. It was all so strange. It seemed horrible, yet I seemed okay?
My husband arrived. He had a 20 minute drive or more. By the time he got to me, I was teary. I was in shock. The policeman questioned me, & he upset me. It wasn't my fault. Why was he condescending? I had just been through Hell. Why would he say that to me? I couldn't make sense of this, & it really bothered me. I'm tender hearted, & I don't understand when people aren't nice. I know... I need to get my head out of the sand. It's not good to expect people to be nice to you just because you have a tender heart. Get real!
3 days have passed. My hand is broken. I have a chemical burn the size of a lemon on my arm. It has part of the bow tie Chevy emblem emblazoned in the skin. What the Heck! How did that even happen? I was a hot mess! My chest... it hurts to laugh. It hurts to take a deep breath, to cough, to move certain ways. My underarm on that side is sore too. Of course, it's from the seatbelt. The seatbelt snapped in place & kept me in place. The 2 things that hurt me were the 2 things that protected me, the airbags & the seatbelt. The Chevy emblem came from the steering wheel. When the airbag popped out, it burned my arm, & the emblem on the steering wheel branded it. Wow!
As we inspected my totaled car this morning & collected a few remaining items, I did some detective work. There, in the junkyard, I pieced a few things together, like the Chevy emblem on my arm. It made sense now. The seatbelt which held me in place is no longer engaged. The front end of the car took the beating for me. The Appraiser said the car did her job. She saved me. I stood there in the junkyard with my collection of odds & ends, a few toys, a pair of shoes, a scraper, a package of baby wipes... I realized that today could have been my funeral.
Sunday, May 6, 2018
"I just want it to be over!"
Recently, I was visiting with a newly diagnosed Breast Cancer patient who was looking forward to getting "it" all behind her. Part of the reason we connected was so I could help her manage her expectations. It's such a tender time being newly diagnosed. Everybody's case is so unique, but it's safe to say, if the patient is having surgery & chemo, she will have some long-lasting effects. Suffice it to say, when a newly diagnosed patient has the expectation of reaching the finish line (which is always the case), I have to think of the gentlest way to try to get her to frame a different "picture."
It's hard for a Survivor to wrap her head around the fact that this atrocity is not going to end. As a Survivor, she sets her eye on the end date, usually about a year (depending on the regiment prescribed for her case). Whatever the specifics, she may be bracing herself for surgery, chemo, & radiation (not necessarily in that order). She fixes her eye on that last treatment, & says, "I can do this; I will do this. For my family, my children, my spouse, myself... I will do this."
As I sit visiting with her, I know where her head is because I remember the most tender moments of my life. The early days of this diagnosis qualify. I don't want to traumatize her anymore than she already is, but I also don't want her to be mislead. My cousin who is so dear to me is also a Survivor. We reconnected after a lifetime (almost) through our Breast Cancer journeys. She was less than one year out, & I was about 4 years out. I remember how she kept saying, "I thought this would be over. I was so clueless until this happened to me. I just never knew."
I try to look the new Survivor in the eye with all the compassion I have for her (which is pretty much all of me) & quietly suggest that she might want to reframe her picture. I explain that as much as we want this journey to end, perhaps a safer or healthier way to picture "it," is to try to embrace it. I remember when my counselor suggested I look for the gifts along the way. I came home that day & wrote a blog that went something like this..."Can you believe it? My counselor told me to look for the gifts on this journey. What the Heck!"
Well... I'm 6 years down the road now. I look back & easily get a lump in my throat. I look at new Survivors, & my heart is heavy. My road continues. The journey does not end, not the fear, not the unknown, not the longterm effects... I am forever changed both on the outside & on the inside. The surprises keep coming, & I keep accepting them. I have no other choice. I surrender, but I hang on for dear life (sometimes by a thread). Some people get it. Some don't. My relationships are deeply impacted. I am sorry for those who have to hear my story over & over & over. BUT, I do believe the best advice I was ever given was to look for the gifts along the way. The treasures are many & the depth of those treasures are the trade-off for this journey.
It's hard for a Survivor to wrap her head around the fact that this atrocity is not going to end. As a Survivor, she sets her eye on the end date, usually about a year (depending on the regiment prescribed for her case). Whatever the specifics, she may be bracing herself for surgery, chemo, & radiation (not necessarily in that order). She fixes her eye on that last treatment, & says, "I can do this; I will do this. For my family, my children, my spouse, myself... I will do this."
As I sit visiting with her, I know where her head is because I remember the most tender moments of my life. The early days of this diagnosis qualify. I don't want to traumatize her anymore than she already is, but I also don't want her to be mislead. My cousin who is so dear to me is also a Survivor. We reconnected after a lifetime (almost) through our Breast Cancer journeys. She was less than one year out, & I was about 4 years out. I remember how she kept saying, "I thought this would be over. I was so clueless until this happened to me. I just never knew."
I try to look the new Survivor in the eye with all the compassion I have for her (which is pretty much all of me) & quietly suggest that she might want to reframe her picture. I explain that as much as we want this journey to end, perhaps a safer or healthier way to picture "it," is to try to embrace it. I remember when my counselor suggested I look for the gifts along the way. I came home that day & wrote a blog that went something like this..."Can you believe it? My counselor told me to look for the gifts on this journey. What the Heck!"
Well... I'm 6 years down the road now. I look back & easily get a lump in my throat. I look at new Survivors, & my heart is heavy. My road continues. The journey does not end, not the fear, not the unknown, not the longterm effects... I am forever changed both on the outside & on the inside. The surprises keep coming, & I keep accepting them. I have no other choice. I surrender, but I hang on for dear life (sometimes by a thread). Some people get it. Some don't. My relationships are deeply impacted. I am sorry for those who have to hear my story over & over & over. BUT, I do believe the best advice I was ever given was to look for the gifts along the way. The treasures are many & the depth of those treasures are the trade-off for this journey.
Tuesday, May 1, 2018
It's not OK for you!
So... today it happened. I walked into Susan G. Komen Memorial Affiliate, & there it was! I had to wait to see it because I had to attend to a few other things first. There was Katie. There was Jeanette, and of course, Linda, & Jordan. I didn't see Gail. I had to hug each one of them. I had to thank each one of them for their prayers, their words of encouragement, & for caring for me. I haven't been there for a while, & as I walked thru the doors, it felt like home. Home Sweet Home.
Unless you've had a reason to walk thru these doors in the shoes of a Survivor, you might not understand what this place means to me. It's a refuge. It has an atmosphere that welcomes the Survivor, & says, "I am here for you." When I think of the story of Susan G. Komen & why & how this organization was founded, I understand the meaning of leaving a legacy. There is a saying that "A legacy is not something you leave for people. It's something you leave in people."
Over the last 6 years, I have thought about the legacy I hope to leave. The women I mentioned above... Katie, Jeanette, Linda, Jordan, & Gail. They & a few others are leaving a legacy. Not only are they carrying on the legacy of Susan G. Komen, they are doing it with their own touch (each of them). The older I get, the more thankful I am for compassion & understanding. When I walk thru these doors, I see pink (my favorite color). I see these women working so hard on my behalf. One of them (the youngest) is a Survivor. They all have a heart for the Survivor.
Because of them, I am alive. They represent HOPE. They know so much about this awful disease, & they give their lives to that one day it will be eradicated. I don't know why they care so much. Yes, they earn a salary, but I believe they give far more than they take. Yes, they have to live, to put food on their tables, & support families. Many volunteer to help, but these women; they never stop. I think when they awake in the middle of the night, they ponder what they can do to find this much needed cure. Why do they care so much?
When I donate my own $ to this cause, I know that it is well used. When I ask friends to donate, I believe in this cure. It is just around the corner. I want it so bad! I want it for my daughters, for my grand daughters, for my cousin, for my fellow Survivors, for my friends, for the people who will come after me. You see, people who never knew me went before me. They tried to find a cure for me, & they didn't even know me. I don't know who the next Survivor will be. Will it be someone I love?
Lump in throat. I cannot bear the thoughts of this. It's worse than my own cancer returning. I have walked this journey for 6 years. If you know me deeply, you know what it's done to me. I have embraced this journey. Even tho' it's currently wreaking havoc in my life, I still embrace it. It's okay for me, but "NO, it's not OK for you!" I finally got to it. My Pink Shirt! I can't even begin to explain what this Pink Shirt means to me. No words for that!
Unless you've had a reason to walk thru these doors in the shoes of a Survivor, you might not understand what this place means to me. It's a refuge. It has an atmosphere that welcomes the Survivor, & says, "I am here for you." When I think of the story of Susan G. Komen & why & how this organization was founded, I understand the meaning of leaving a legacy. There is a saying that "A legacy is not something you leave for people. It's something you leave in people."
Over the last 6 years, I have thought about the legacy I hope to leave. The women I mentioned above... Katie, Jeanette, Linda, Jordan, & Gail. They & a few others are leaving a legacy. Not only are they carrying on the legacy of Susan G. Komen, they are doing it with their own touch (each of them). The older I get, the more thankful I am for compassion & understanding. When I walk thru these doors, I see pink (my favorite color). I see these women working so hard on my behalf. One of them (the youngest) is a Survivor. They all have a heart for the Survivor.
Because of them, I am alive. They represent HOPE. They know so much about this awful disease, & they give their lives to that one day it will be eradicated. I don't know why they care so much. Yes, they earn a salary, but I believe they give far more than they take. Yes, they have to live, to put food on their tables, & support families. Many volunteer to help, but these women; they never stop. I think when they awake in the middle of the night, they ponder what they can do to find this much needed cure. Why do they care so much?
When I donate my own $ to this cause, I know that it is well used. When I ask friends to donate, I believe in this cure. It is just around the corner. I want it so bad! I want it for my daughters, for my grand daughters, for my cousin, for my fellow Survivors, for my friends, for the people who will come after me. You see, people who never knew me went before me. They tried to find a cure for me, & they didn't even know me. I don't know who the next Survivor will be. Will it be someone I love?
Lump in throat. I cannot bear the thoughts of this. It's worse than my own cancer returning. I have walked this journey for 6 years. If you know me deeply, you know what it's done to me. I have embraced this journey. Even tho' it's currently wreaking havoc in my life, I still embrace it. It's okay for me, but "NO, it's not OK for you!" I finally got to it. My Pink Shirt! I can't even begin to explain what this Pink Shirt means to me. No words for that!
Thursday, April 26, 2018
in the quiet
As the day winds down, dusk comes, & the dust settles. My heart begins to quiet as it continues to process the news of the day. I now have a date for my procedures. It is a month away, & I have to be okay with that. It's complicated as it always is for everyone. Nothing is simple in the world of medicine. I have been doing this for 6 years now. It's time I "let go" of the things I cannot control. We don't always get our way in life, & I believe it's important to be a good sport.
So I will wait, & I will apply the things I have learned that make the wait a bit easier. I will keep busy, pray, refocus, focus, listen to uplifting music, live in the moment... I will enjoy my grand babies & plainly do the best I can. It isn't the procedures that bother me. I will be put out. It's waiting for the results that gets me every time. I wish medicine could alleviate the anxiety of waiting, but I will not bank my hopes on that.
As for the procedures. I'll be honest. I don't want them. Many women have said, "Oh, I've had that. It isn't bad." I'd like to believe them. I do, but we each have our own story, our own baggage, & who knows what the impact will be on me? Will cancer be found? Will lymph nodes be involved? If the answer to either of those questions is yes, what will I do? How will I respond? What am I willing to endure?
There's 2 sides to every health issue, the emotional side & the medical side. Both have a great impact on one's overall well being. There are 2 sides to every doctor, their knowledge, & their bedside manner. Both impact the overall well being of the patient. It's so much to process, so much to think about, so much to put on the back burner & live life to the full regardless of the answers to those questions. And, I suppose there are 2 sides to every patient, the side others see & the side that's tucked away in the quiet of the heart...
It's the place a friend or loved one sees only if invited. I believe it's sacred. It's the innermost part of a human, perhaps it's the soul. The way the soul responds is everything. It determines what the person gives to others, what she shares, perhaps her eternity. It determines the well being of the person in spite of her circumstances. It allows the person to say, "It is well with my soul. It is well."
So I will wait, & I will apply the things I have learned that make the wait a bit easier. I will keep busy, pray, refocus, focus, listen to uplifting music, live in the moment... I will enjoy my grand babies & plainly do the best I can. It isn't the procedures that bother me. I will be put out. It's waiting for the results that gets me every time. I wish medicine could alleviate the anxiety of waiting, but I will not bank my hopes on that.
As for the procedures. I'll be honest. I don't want them. Many women have said, "Oh, I've had that. It isn't bad." I'd like to believe them. I do, but we each have our own story, our own baggage, & who knows what the impact will be on me? Will cancer be found? Will lymph nodes be involved? If the answer to either of those questions is yes, what will I do? How will I respond? What am I willing to endure?
There's 2 sides to every health issue, the emotional side & the medical side. Both have a great impact on one's overall well being. There are 2 sides to every doctor, their knowledge, & their bedside manner. Both impact the overall well being of the patient. It's so much to process, so much to think about, so much to put on the back burner & live life to the full regardless of the answers to those questions. And, I suppose there are 2 sides to every patient, the side others see & the side that's tucked away in the quiet of the heart...
It's the place a friend or loved one sees only if invited. I believe it's sacred. It's the innermost part of a human, perhaps it's the soul. The way the soul responds is everything. It determines what the person gives to others, what she shares, perhaps her eternity. It determines the well being of the person in spite of her circumstances. It allows the person to say, "It is well with my soul. It is well."
Monday, April 23, 2018
That's its personality.
You've heard of MBC. I'm guessing that unless you have Metastatic Breast Cancer or love someone who does, you may not really know what it's about. As the current commercial says, "It's relentless." I have watched this relentless disease take the lives of a few close friends, & the lives of a few friends I can only wish I knew better. It's too late.
I must pay tribute to a few... Jenny, Elizabeth, Brenda, Bilinda, Amy. Some of these women were young & had young children. Some were in my age range with grown children & perhaps grand children. I have 2 friends now with metastatic breast cancer. I admire both of them so much. I believe they both have teenagers. One of them defines positivity & the other, fierceness. I believe it takes both of these qualities to survive MBC.
There seems to be similar threads to each breast cancer journey. Each person's story is unique, but as God has blessed me to know these remarkable women, I have picked up on some signs which make my heart sink, signs which make me know that the odds are not so good or just took a sudden dive. It's hard to understand. Life is hard. When the breast cancer cloud rests over your family's head, things are never quite the same, especially if it becomes metastatic.
So what is metastatic? Metastatic means the breast cancer has metastasized. It has gone to another part of the body & taken up residence with the desire to multiply & grow. That's its personality. By this time, it's usually aggressive, relentless. So where does this insidious disease land once it leaves the breast? The most common sites are brain, blood, bones, & liver. However, it's been known to show up in other places too.
All of the amazing women mentioned above fought to the end. They tried chemo after chemo until the list was exhausted. Then, they became candidates for experimental drugs. They never gave up. They fought for the love of their families. They hung on for one more day, day after day. Their quality of life was deeply impacted, but for one more day with their beloved family, they hung on. As I remember each of them, I could be more specific because it seems each of them transitioned into the Heavenly realm in their own way, yet in similar fashion. I am going to stop here out of respect for each of them & because it's too painful for me to recount.
Susan G. Komen has a goal to decrease MBC by 50%. If you donate to this cause (my cause), your contribution will go toward research, toward helping local Survivors receive much needed screening & care, & other things too. You can look on the website & get the specifics. From my point of view, research is what will save lives. Science is on the brink of much in this department, but the answer still has not been found. Yet, we get closer & closer. What will it take to eradicate Breast Cancer?
It will take success in treating remarkable women like Jenny, Elizabeth, Brenda, Bilinda, & Amy... With each success, we will be one step closer. Each time someone donates to my team, I get a bit excited. My heart begins to race. My eyes well up a little bit. I thank God. It warms my heart because I know that person cares about me & about my cause. It's a simple way to bless another person, yet it means more than you could know unless you too are a Survivor or love a Survivor.
I must pay tribute to a few... Jenny, Elizabeth, Brenda, Bilinda, Amy. Some of these women were young & had young children. Some were in my age range with grown children & perhaps grand children. I have 2 friends now with metastatic breast cancer. I admire both of them so much. I believe they both have teenagers. One of them defines positivity & the other, fierceness. I believe it takes both of these qualities to survive MBC.
There seems to be similar threads to each breast cancer journey. Each person's story is unique, but as God has blessed me to know these remarkable women, I have picked up on some signs which make my heart sink, signs which make me know that the odds are not so good or just took a sudden dive. It's hard to understand. Life is hard. When the breast cancer cloud rests over your family's head, things are never quite the same, especially if it becomes metastatic.
So what is metastatic? Metastatic means the breast cancer has metastasized. It has gone to another part of the body & taken up residence with the desire to multiply & grow. That's its personality. By this time, it's usually aggressive, relentless. So where does this insidious disease land once it leaves the breast? The most common sites are brain, blood, bones, & liver. However, it's been known to show up in other places too.
All of the amazing women mentioned above fought to the end. They tried chemo after chemo until the list was exhausted. Then, they became candidates for experimental drugs. They never gave up. They fought for the love of their families. They hung on for one more day, day after day. Their quality of life was deeply impacted, but for one more day with their beloved family, they hung on. As I remember each of them, I could be more specific because it seems each of them transitioned into the Heavenly realm in their own way, yet in similar fashion. I am going to stop here out of respect for each of them & because it's too painful for me to recount.
Susan G. Komen has a goal to decrease MBC by 50%. If you donate to this cause (my cause), your contribution will go toward research, toward helping local Survivors receive much needed screening & care, & other things too. You can look on the website & get the specifics. From my point of view, research is what will save lives. Science is on the brink of much in this department, but the answer still has not been found. Yet, we get closer & closer. What will it take to eradicate Breast Cancer?
It will take success in treating remarkable women like Jenny, Elizabeth, Brenda, Bilinda, & Amy... With each success, we will be one step closer. Each time someone donates to my team, I get a bit excited. My heart begins to race. My eyes well up a little bit. I thank God. It warms my heart because I know that person cares about me & about my cause. It's a simple way to bless another person, yet it means more than you could know unless you too are a Survivor or love a Survivor.
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