The first time I went to the ER for my bronchitis, the triage nurse did not believe my warnings, which I provided in between violent coughs, about the veins in my left arm.
“You can only use my left arm because I had 5 lymph nodes removed from my right arm in 2010.”
Do they ever listen to me? God no.
The first time he stuck me, he could tell almost immediately that he did not find a vein. The second time he stuck me, this time in the forearm, he said, “I think I got it.”
I coughed (barked?) out, “NO, YOU DON’T GOT IT,” after feeling both him digging around and hot burning in my forearm.
The ER nurse, responsible for the third poke, fetched a Vein Finder before subjecting me to a third unassisted stick in my arm. “Hey, next time you’re in this situation, just ask for a Vein Finder right away. Explain you have difficult veins, and that way, you don’t get repeatedly stuck like this.”
Each poke is like adding an ounce of physical trauma to my body, especially my left arm. Think of how many times I have endured a poke in the arm, cut of the skin, or radiation burn to the skin in the last 16 years. The three pokes may not be significant for a triage nurse to care about in his day-to-day job routine, but every time I experience a degree of physical pain, it’s like adding a grain of sand to a jar.
It accumulates slowly over time.
I associate my left arm with pain, with bruising, with scarring and weird vein discolorations.
When I had my colonoscopy this week, I asked the nurse who was prepping me to use a vein finder, providing the same spiel as a above, including the story of my first trip to the ER.
Did she listen to me? God no.
Luckily, the nurse for the second ER visit did listen to me and spared me from additional grains of sands. So I’m batting 50%. So… yay?
However, as I type here now, I unsurprisingly have three little bruises (compared to the first ER visit) on my left arm. The third and final bruise on my arm came from a medical professional using the (what now) Vein Finder. My patient notes probably make note of the tears I shed after the second failed attempt to insert an IV into my arm.
I wonder if they mistook my tears for anxiety, but they don’t know that it’s more than that. It’s a culmination of 16 years of countless sticks into my arm, and watching the sand in my jar fill up ever so slowly.
I wish I could provide direct feedback to these medical professionals after the fact and say, “Hey, you inflicted needless pain on me when you didn’t have to. You could have just listened to me from the beginning and that way, I’m not walking with three visible bruises on my arm for all to see.”
Translation: You made me walk around with a visible reminder that I am someone who is ill.
If you are someone in the medical professional, please listen to your patients. I didn’t tell the first nurse about my difficult veins in the midst of a violent coughing fit for the sake of hearing myself talk. I was having a hard time just even BREATHING.
Sometimes that “Big pinch” really fucking hurts, okay?
Next time, I won’t suggest that they get a Vein Finder before looking for a vein to insert an IV. I will demand it.
In the last 35+ days, I have been to the Emergency Department twice for uncontrollable coughing. I’m talking out-of-control, violent coughing, causing me to actually throw up from the sheer violence and form petechia underneath my eyes.
Breathe in, breathe out.
The second Emergency Department visit was because my cough came back (or never left), and every time I coughed, I felt a sharp pain in my upper left rib, like some invisible monster was pressing their knuckles into my rib.
I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.
It has been almost 3 years since I last dealt with a respiratory illness that knocked me on my ass. My dog, Boomer, had gotten out Thanksgiving night, and I had gone to the ER earlier that evening because I was sick as, well, a dog. I couldn’t breathe out of either nostril and I had lost my voice. She got out that night and I had to go running in my neighborhood, croaking out her name as I’m running through the neighborhood.
That particular illness lingered for a month, which is to be expected.
This time around, something’s different. Maybe it’s me, and I’m different? I’ve had three years of Ibrance, a CDK inhibitor with known side effect of interstitial lung disease, since that prior illness.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Last Friday, I spoke with my oncologist’s PA about my blood work results and my lingering cough. While I appreciate her attention to detail and compassion for my situation, I felt pretty shaken after the conversation her and I had. She mentioned that she would have no hesitancy whatsoever to sign paperwork for me to go on a medical leave.
Am I at the point in my life where a respiratory illness means I can’t work?
That realization caused a sadness that I had never experienced before. Being able to still work full-time with stage four cancer has allowed me to push certain doomerism thoughts out of my mind. My very serious illness cannot be that serious if I can still work full-time, right? Now you’re telling me that if I get a respiratory illness like this again that I’m not equipped to power through it?
This feels like a Before and After moment in my life, and it makes me sad. It’s been a month and a week since I first got sick, and I can still feel an ache in my lungs. Sometimes it feels like that invisible giant is squeezing my lungs ever so gently.
“We all die someday.” Yeah, but your “someday” isn’t staring you right in the fucking face.
I felt conflicted writing this because I know putting this out there makes it real. My very serious illness is very serious, and not even my dark sense of humor can save me from what’s to come.
I am sorry that it took me so long to cut off your siblings from my life. I could have saved myself so much heart ache and stress if I had given up on them a decade or so ago. In the 8th grade, I wrote a letter to my future self as part of a Language Arts assignment. That teacher mailed us those letters when we graduated high school, and in that letter, 14 year old Lara wrote, “This is the year you realized that your mom’s family doesn’t care about you.”
Thirty+ years later, I finally had enough. I blocked all of them and have no intention of ever talking to them again.
Your sister, although i do believe she means well, has never gotten to know me. In my limited interaction with her, she always asks if she could have the bedroom set that YOU wanted me to have. She’s asked me about that more than she has ever asked about my illness or basically anything about me. All that matters to your sister is that I have something she wants, and she refuses to let it go. If this gets to your sister, I want her to know that the bedroom furniture will go to my future stepdaughter, or I’m going to smash up the wood and throw it in with me when I get cremated.
When I was 18 or 19, I remember being on the phone with her and she asked me if I still went to church. When I said no, she told me that you’d be so disappointed in me. Maybe you would have been, but who’s to know? However, I think you would have been more disappointed in your siblings for ignoring your children as they grew up without their mom. When she said that to me, I was so angry at her but I kept my cool and just said, “I think my mom would just want me to be a good person, whether or not I go to church.”
Your brothers are not good people. They are the ones who taught me the N-word when we were in Panama City Beach when I was 7. In my early 20s, I got into it with your younger brother when I was down there for a wedding. He and your cousin J were talking about black people in a disgusting way (“White is right”), and I got so heated that I was told to walk away from your brother and cousin.
Your other brother took items from your parents house instead of evenly dividing the belongings between the rest of the family. All the heirlooms and family keepsakes just had to be given to his daughter. Screw the rest of the grandkids, right?
My final straw was your younger brother lying to me about an interaction we had in Texas around 2016. He tried to goad me to talk about Trump, and I repeatedly said I wouldn’t talk politics with him. He was almost gleeful in his attempts to rile me up. Well, I reached out to him to ask if he is happy as a clam now that his boy has been back in power. I brought up that 2016 interaction and he denied that it ever happened. (Your one cousin, P, confirmed to me that she remembered that happening too.)
Then he went on the defensive (“You’re calling me a liar”) and I came close to responding by cursing him out right back. Instead, I just blocked him. Then I blocked your other siblings and a weight lifted off my shoulders.
I’m almost 46. Instead of carrying this hurt and resentment with me about them, I’m just going to cut them out of my life. I didn’t want to because they are a connection to YOU, but I realized that they actually aren’t. They don’t know who I am, and I never got that connection to you from them. I wanted to hear stories about you, and find a way to get to know who you were to them. I wanted another piece of you to put away in my heart.
They are the same people who hemmed and hawed about coming up to see you while you were dying of breast cancer. They would do the exact same thing to me, so why do I need them in my life?
I’m done. I don’t care if I never talk to them again for the rest of my life, even on my deathbed. I want my loved ones to be around me, and they aren’t part of that club. Because of who they are and what kind of people they are, I have a pretty solid will, so they cannot be the vultures they are and claim ownership to anything I have.
They will get absolutely nothing from me.
(P.S.: “S” if you’re reading this, I’m sorry. I don’t know you but apparently you have tried to keep track of me. I have no ill will toward you because I honestly don’t know you. Your husband can go fuck off, though.)
Every year, I make a bunch of New Year’s Resolution, and by year-end, I’ve maybe accomplished one or two of those items. Lather, rinse, and repeat. This year is no different, friends. I am going to make bunch of New Year’s Resolution and do my absolute best to make it happen.
Read More Quality Books: In 2025, my initial reading goal was 40 books. I surpassed that goal in summer 2025 and upped my reading goal to 70, which I did reach. I ended up reading 73 books in 2025. My goal for 2026, though, is quality, not quantity. I want to read more classics and non-fiction in 2026.
Do Not Buy New Books: My To-Be Read pile is insane, friends. I purchase books like I truly believe I am going to live forever, even though I am a woman living with stage 4 cancer. I have amassed a decent collection for my TBR pile, and I need to start working on the books I already have. This doesn’t mean I won’t borrow books via Libby or use gift cards to buy books, if applicable.
Do Not Buy Any New Clothes: In 2025, I bought a lot of new clothes and shoes for someone who works from home and doesn’t like to leave the house, if necessary. There is absolute no need for me to buy anymore clothes this year. I literally have no room in my house for anymore clothes.
Keep Boycotting Target and Starbucks: Target has been dead to me since they eliminated DEI initiatives and donated to the Trump inauguration.
Meal Prep More: I have a bunch of Souper Cubes that I have not been using to their full potential. That is going to change in 2026.
Lock in on training for Hyner: If I don’t ramp up my training, then I am going to fail miserably at Hyner in April. This has to be my main focus from here on until race day.
Travel More: I want to take more weekend trips to cities in the U.S. that I haven’t been yet. This year I will be visiting Boston for the first time, and there are many more cities that I have to visit. Let’s fix that! My goal is for more travel domestically and internationally (fingers crossed).
Less Social Media: Social media in the United States has been bought and conquered by Trump stooges who want to use these apps for surveillance. Count me out.
I like New Year’s Resolutions, even if I don’t achieve my goals, because goals are just good to have. Goals give you hope and motivation, something to look forward to. My Stage 4 cancer goal is to just stay out of the hospital. I hope to god that I don’t have to go the ER, have any type of surgery, or be admitted in 2026. Every year that I manage to stay out of the hospital, the better.
Living with Stage 4 cancer in the United States with RFK Jr. (aka Secretary Brainworms) and Dr. Oz is an everyday mindfuck. Any time I get a news notification with RFK Jr. or Dr. Oz doing something, my stomach drops and I think to myself, “What fresh hell have these eugenicist freaks done today?”
Yes, I am calling Secretary Brainworms an eugenicist. I’m not alone either.
An August 27, 2025 article published by the Disabled Journalists Association stated: “The healthcare system Kennedy envisions is rooted in ableist thinking and language. It rewards physical strength and resilience while ignoring social, environmental, and financial determinants of health. It also erases the lived experiences of millions who depend on mobility devices, feeding tubes, or immunosuppressants to survive — and questions the value of Disabled lives.”
Yes, yes, and yes.
While I don’t quite see Dr. Oz as cartoonishly evil as RFK Jr., he has said and done some real “What the Fuck” things recently, too.
RFK Jr. is the Absolute Worst
Prior to his confirmation, Secretary Brainworms’ cousin, Caroline Kennedy, wrote a letter to the good-for-nothing politicians in the Senate, warning them not to approve his confirmation. According to a January 28, 2025 NPR article, Caroline Kennedy said, “He lacks any relevant government, financial, management, or medical experience.” She also said, “I’ve known Bobby my whole life. We grew up together. It’s no surprise that he keeps birds of prey as pets, because Bobby himself is a predator.”
I want to shake every single Senator who ignored the Kennedy family’s warning and voted to approve his appointment. The BBC reported on February 13, 2025 that Secretary Brainworms was confirmed by a 52-48 vote, and no Democrats voted for him. Senator Mitch McConnell, the former Republican leader who is a polio survivor and has one foot really in that grave, was the only Republican to vote against RFK.
Senator Bill Cassidy (R – Louisiana), an actual medical doctor and chair of the Senate Health Committee, violated his oath by appointing this charlatan and eugenicist madman. In his statement on the Senate floor, Dr. Cassidy said the following:
“He has also committed that he would work within the current vaccine approval and safety monitoring systems, and not establish parallel systems. If confirmed, he will maintain the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices without changes. CDC will not remove statements on their website pointing out that vaccines do not cause autism. Mr. Kennedy and the administration also committed that this administration will not use the subversive techniques employed under the Biden administration, like sue and settle, to change policies enacted by Congress without first going through Congress.“
To no one’s surprise whatsoever, a June 9, 2025 press release from HHS announced that Secretary Brainworms removed the 17 sitting members of the ACIP committee and planned to replace them with new members. A September 3, 2025 Politco article announced that RFK was “considering appointing seven members to the new CDC independent vaccine advisory panel – many of whom share his skepticism of Covid-19 vaccines or the pharmaceutical industry.”
I wonder if Dr. Cassidy truly believed RFK Jr. would trust the science when he voted to confirm him, or did he knowingly violate his oath to do no harm when he voted yes. Because who in their right mind would believe Secretary Brainworms, one of the world’s most prominent anti-vaccine grifter, wouldn’t fuck with vaccines in this country???
Dr. Cassidy, what the fuck were you thinking?
My Own Family Voted for My Demise
Whenever I have tried to talk to my dad, a retired chemist, about my concerns and fears about the Trump admin, public health in this country and how it might impact me personally, he’ll typically say, “I don’t really follow the news, Lara.” I don’t know if that’s actually true or if he’s saying that to get me to STFU.
On July 26, 2025, CBS News reported Secretary Brainworms announced that he planned to oust all 16 members of the U.S. Preventative Services Task Force, “a panel of independent medical experts whose recommendation help guide insurance companies and doctors’ decisions about a range of preventative health measures, like cancer and diabetes screenings as well as HIV and cholesterol drugs.” The Wall Street Journal cited “sources familiar with the matter” that Secretary Brainworms wanted to dismiss this task force for being “too woke.”
WHAT THE HELL IS “TOO WOKE” ABOUT CANCER SCREENING RECOMMENDATIONS? Luckily, it appears that the task force is still operational as of year-end, but who knows for how long.
Before the Trump Regime came into power and started destroying public health in this country, I kept reading about promising cancer research using mRNA technology. RFK Jr. came along and destroyed that hope I allowed myself to feel.
The BBC reported on August 5, 2025 that Secretary Brainworms cancelled $500 million in funding for mRNA vaccines for diseases like Covid. Dr. Paul Offit, the director of the Vaccine Education Center at Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia, told the BBC that the funding cancellation could put the US in a “more dangerous” position to respond to any potential future pandemic.
During the time that Secretary Brainworms’ decided to cut the mRNA funding, his cousin Caroline’s daughter, Tatiana, was going through extensive cancer treatment. She wrote in a moving essay in The New Yorker about her terminal diagnosis:
“As I spent more and more of my life under the care of doctors, nurses, and researchers striving to improve the lives of others, I watched as Bobby cut nearly half a billion dollars for research into mRNA vaccines, technology that could be used against certain cancers; slashed billions in funding from the National Institutes of Health, the world’s largest sponsor of medical research; and threatened to oust the panel of medical experts charged with recommending preventive cancer screenings. Hundreds of N.I.H. grants and clinical trials were cancelled, affecting thousands of patients.”
On December 19, 2025, Yale School of Public Health (YSPH) announced that a report produced by the YSPH Center for Infectious Disease Modeling and Analysis concerning the U.S. government’s cancellation of funding for mRNA vaccine research found that this decision “could have devastating health and economic consequences” for the U.S.
Alison Galvani, Ph.D., commented the following in the YSPH report: “Our analysis shows that mRNA cancer vaccines have the potential to save tens of thousands of lives and generate enormous economic value in the United States . . . Abandoning this technology risks forfeiting one of the most promising advances in cancer treatment in decades.”
Sigh… When I say that I hate RFK Jr. with every ounce of my cancerous body, I am not exaggerating. I hate Secretary Brainworms as much as he hates evidence-based medicine.
Dr. Oz, I Haven’t Forgot About You.
I’m no fan of Dr. Oz, and when he ran for Senate in Pennsylvania, I realized what an absolute out-of-touch asshole Dr. Oz is. I was so happy when he lost the Senate race, although now we are stuck with John Fetterman.
Dr. Oz gave an interview to Fox News this year where he said, “It’s your patriotic duty to be as healthy as you can.” Listen for yourself.
When I saw this clip, my jaw dropped, and I was pretty certain that I was going to honestly have a rage stroke. The absolute audacity of this doctor to equate patriotism to health, like anyone who is dealing with a chronic illness is intentionally sick. While I don’t utilize Medicare or Medicaid, I’m not unpatriotic because I have a chronic illness like STAGE 4 CANCER.
They talk about sick and disabled people like this, as if they are just draining society, in order to justify draconian cuts that will negatively impact the sick and disabled. They don’t care if people like myself live or die.
I will never ever forgive anyone who voted for the Trump administration, who is responsible for decimating public health in this country. If this blog post lands me on some sort of government list, then I want my government watcher to tell RFK Jr. that I hate his fucking guts.
Thanksgiving 2025 has come and gone, and I am just filled with so much gratitude. I recently had another round of scans, and they showed that my cancer is still just chilling out only in my sternum. It’s as lazy as I am on the weekends. I remain grateful that my cancer is not motivated and is content to hang out in my sternum for the time being.
I find myself wanting to be a better version of myself, and I need to kick myself out of this rut that I’m feeling. I see a trainer two days a week, but if I want to have a remote chance at completing Hyner, I have to step it up big time and make some serious changes to my day-to-day.
If I keep doing the same thing over and over and hoping that somehow things will be different, then I can’t getting mad at myself for not achieving what I want. What I want is to do some cool ass shit on trails and do so without injuring myself. How am I going to do that when I’m so unmotivated and out of shape?
I can do this. I can change. I can make changes, challenge myself, and be more than my stage 4 diagnosis.
I think I have the personality and countenance to become a great eccentric. I am talking about caftans, calling all my friends “darling,” and wearing brooches and bangle bracelets.
I’ve known since I was a little kid that I was weird and different. I felt more at peace and calm with my nose in a book or hanging out with other weirdo kids. Those who don’t feel like they belong often seek out others who don’t feel like they belong. I am proud to say that I am still friends with my fellow weirdo classmates.
Since hitting my 5-year mark, I have felt this urge to really lean into my eccentricities. I’ve been dressing in comfy stretchy pants and t-shirts that make me giggle. However, I’ve been feeling…. disconnected. I look at myself in the mirror, and I don’t recognize the middle-aged schlub that I see looking back at me.
Logically, I know cancer treatment and side effects are to blame for my feeling of low self esteem. The weight gain and hair loss have been hard. However, I watched Stacy London and Clinton Kelly for years telling women to dress for the bodies that they currently have and stop waiting to achieve that number on the scale. So I want to take those lessons I’ve learned, and dress for the body I currently have.
I work from home and don’t go out much. I’m a 45 year old homebody who loves being home. There will always be chances to go out and dress the way that I want to. I have more tattoos to add to my body, too.
I will achieve peak eccentric old lady, and it will be glorious.
Last week, on October 2, I hit the 5-year mark since my former oncologist told me that my cancer had now come back as stage 4. Five years since my life forever changed because that day was a before and an after event. There was before stage 4 and then there was just stage 4.
When that day arrived, it was a mix of emotions for me. First, I am obviously grateful to still be here and have not experienced any progression yet. I also felt a bit of grief and sadness. I kept thinking about the friends who I have lost who never got to make it to the 5-year mark because why me and not them? I know they wouldn’t want me to think that way but it’s hard not to when you’ve seen so many amazing women have their lives cut short by this disease.
I miss who I used to be. I mourn that life, specifically the body that I used to have. I ran marathons and half marathons. I went to the gym and lifted. I was as strong and I saw my runner friends often, every weekend on our group runs.
At the same time, I am also proud of the person who I used to be. I think deep down, I always knew that cancer wouldn’t be done with me, so I ran. I ran and ran and ran. I gave this disease something to chase, and I have a wall full of medals from races to show that I did something pretty fucking awesome in between stage 1 and stage 4. Cancer can’t take that from me.
I ended up throwing a party for family and friends this past Sunday. I threw the party together kind of at the last moment, but it worked. When I found out my uncle, who requires the use of a walker or scooter, I reached out to my friends to find a handicapped accessible place. My friend, who works at a brewery downtown, suggested Helltown Brewery, and they said yes! Helltown Brewery in the Strip is fantastic, and I strongly recommend the place.
Prior to the party, I was a big bundle of nerves. Back in high school, I tried to throw a party for my work friends and nobody came. My stepmom had bought all these snacks and drinks for my party that never happened, and it freaking crushed me. I sobbed hard for like a solid hour, and afterwards, developed a phobia about throwing parties. (When I came back to Kansas City recently for a visit, the same work friends that broke my heart in high school all came to see me. We aren’t teenagers anymore, of course.)
They came! My fears were unfounded. Not everybody could make it, which I completely understood. I gave people a month and a half warning, and that’s short notice for most people to make any travel plans, etc.
My dad’s family travelled up from Indiana and Kentucky to attend, and my mom’s cousin flew in from Texas to surprise me. It meant so much that they came up to celebrate my 5-year mark. I adore my dad’s side of the family.
My friend Christine found a “Not Dead Yet” headband for me, which made me squeal.
It was a great time, and my friends knew that if they left early, my introverted ass would not mind at all. I was hoping that the party would be fully wrapped up by hour three, haha.
Given my complicated relationship with my dad, step-family and most of my mom’s side of the family, I often feel like I don’t matter or even belong. My five-year party showed that I actually do matter and that my extended family do care. They came and were all happy that I am still here and kicking! I am loved and I do matter.
Every day, I am in some kind of pain or discomfort. I’m not writing this to solicit any pity or anything like that. I am trying to be honest about what it’s like to live with metastatic breast cancer.
Ever since my diagnosis almost 5 years ago, my stomach has been trying to murder me. I have had Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS) my entire life, but once I learned about my stage 4 diagnosis, my IBS became my number one hater. If I had a nickel for every time I said, “My stomach hurts,” then I could probably pay off the rest of my mortgage.
The other day at the gym. I went to just kneel down on a pad to do an exercise and my knee went, “Haha, I’m going to fuck up your entire day.” It has felt like pressure building underneath my kneecap since yesterday morning. The pain has lessened today but it’s still there when I walk down the stairs.
It’s a real mindfuck when you realize, “Hey, I can’t remember the last time I went a whole day and I felt fine.” I’m either exhausted or my stomach is killing me or my joints are reminding me that I’m a 45 year old woman with stage 4 cancer. However, I am glad that I was always grateful for my “good health” between my stage 1 diagnosis and my stage 4 diagnosis. I used that time to run, run, and then run some more.
The transition from being a 40 year old long-distance runner to a 45 year old stage 4 cancer patient has not been easy. I mourn every day for the Lara I used to be. What does help me, though, is accepting the fact that version of me is gone. I still work full-time, so I get to still straddle between the worlds of everyone else and being a cancer patient.
I write all this as a testament to what it’s been like for me to have stage 4 cancer. It’s a condition that I cannot forgot for one day, although I wish I could.
Last weekend, my boyfriend and I travelled to the New River Gorge for my 45th birthday celebrations. He booked an A-frame Cabin at the Ace Adventure Hotel, and it was absolutely magical. As usual, T outdid himself.
I have been wanting to visit New River Gorge ever since I learned of its existence. I saw videos and pictures from the park and knew I had to visit it one day. I am happy to say that it was as beautiful as I thought it would be. We came at perfect time because Spring growth was sprouting up all around us. Everywhere around us, vibrant shades of green were reclaiming their rightful place among the trees.
I could not stop grinning like an old fool the entire time we were there. My whole face ended up feeling sore from all the grinning.
The best part of the whole trip was that I came there with boyfriend but I left there with my fiancee. That’s right – your girl is engaged to be married. T asked me to marry him and I, of course, said yes. I am going to spend the rest of my life with my best friend. He makes me laugh every day and thinks I am funny, too!
I am a little nervous about posting this since I know some weirdos in my dating history still monitor my blog (why, though????). I swear on my mother’s grave, if any of them send me some email or text about this, I’m just going to forward it to my fiancee, and he will write them back. 🙂
Get Up Swinging 