metastatic

Five Year Mark

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.

Take that, cancer.

Every Day

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.