Staying Flexible, Lighthearted and Open While Wrangling with Breast Cancer

I was cynical at the start of this journey but it only made things worse

I’m launching 2024 by celebrating ten continuous years of Stage 4 breast cancer.

I know that’s an odd thing to say.

I am hoping not to offend people who have been recently diagnosed with cancer or people who are having profound struggles.

I’m celebrating cancer because, despite it, I’m hanging in there.

I started out on my cancer journey in 2006. I was anti-Western medicine back then. I found reasons to be angry at the surgeon who removed my left breast even though she was compassionate in her formal way. She also left me with a decent mastectomy scar.

I decided to manage my pre-Stage 1 cancer my way with naturopaths and alternative healers rather than oncologists.

I included wine as part of my renegade treatment.

There would have been room for Western medicine and alternative approaches together. I couldn’t see how that could work then. Plus, the oncologist I was referred to wouldn’t consider alternative treatments. It was black or white, and she was right, so I quit doing follow-up appointments and stopped taking the medication, Tamoxifen, she had prescribed.

I became deaf to medical advice. I convinced myself I would be completely cured of all cancer forever once I reached the five-year cancer-free mark.

It was a classic case of magical thinking.

Two years later, my ARNP — the only medical professional I trusted then— noticed several hard lumps in my remaining breast during a routine annual exam.w She referred me immediately to an oncologist, she thought I’d work well with, and ordered a CT torso scan.

She was right. Dr. Fer was funny, optimistic, and forgetful — the perfect oncologist to guide me through a terminal cancer diagnosis. I had 50 lesions in my liver and other cancer lesions spread throughout my body.

During the first year and a half of treatment, I got snowed with chemo. I had an allergic reaction to one of the harshest chemo agents.

Everything seemed ominous like I was always on the edge of death.

My cancer slowly resolved, amid infections, botched biopsies, and other surprise surgeries and protocols. I no longer had illusions that I’d ever be cancer-free.

I changed hospitals to work with another oncologist I was drawn to who enrolled me in her clinical trial.

I decided to strive toward an optimistic perspective, change my eating, drinking, and sleeping habits, and lean into my partner Beth, her daughter, Aziza, and all the friends who supported us through two housing moves with, packing and unloading boxes, making meals, and keeping it light.

My cancer continued to scope out new territories to invade, including my brain. The tumors there shrunk with radiation. I continue to get brain MRI scans every four months — a reminder — cancer may return to my brain.

I also get quarterly torso scans, heart scans, and bone density scans.

About eight months ago, lesions on my torso scans caused my new oncologist to start me on another round of chemo.

I’m still getting chemo infusions every three weeks. They seem to be keeping cancer at bay. My oncologist remains cautious.

I give myself shots in the stomach for seven days after chemo infusions. It’s easier than it sounds. I know many people are freaked out by needles, so I won’t go into details.

I don’t care so much this time, about losing my hair. I visit a barber who shaves my head every six weeks. I like a grizzled look more than the shiny, extreme shave.

What the hell? I’d rather embrace being bald than feel self-conscious about it. I have some great soft, warm hats, Beth and a friend gave me.

Launching into 2024, I’ve decided to reflect on all the positive changes that cancer has bestowed on my life.

Another odd thing to say, but I mean it.

Cancer fortified my relationships with Beth, my partner, and Aziza, my step-daughter, and our extended families.

Cancer gave me the motivation to stop drinking. At first, I just had a glass of wine on special occasions. Now I’ve entirely stopped. I still love red wine but it’s easier to be absolutist in my abstinence. I tell myself I’ve had enough booze and corresponding adventures in my life.

I choose what to eat guided by my blood draws. If my sodium level gets too low, I add more salt and salty snacks. I monitor my protein, calcium, plus vitamin and supplement intake. My potassium is usually high enough — I eat five bananas per day.

Sugar has gone the way of alcohol. I no longer crave it and seldom indulge. I became determined about this when I learned how cancer loves sugar.

When I went with Aziza and her girlfriend out to eat recently, I ate a bite of their delicious tiramisu, which made me crave coffee.

That’s the one thing I refuse to give up, even though it sometimes aggravates eczema— another side effect of the chemo I’m on. The other side effects, besides hair loss, are nausea and gut issues. I manage those issues with prescription and OTC medications.

Overall, I’m grateful for all of the people — in the hundreds by now — who have medically guided me along on this roller coaster ride. I have especially loved having great conversations and laughing with nurses, assistant nurses, and doctors.

Oh. There’s one more thing. My oncology providers recommended I go on disability which has allowed me to write. I’m especially grateful for having more time for creative projects.

I’m hoping for another ten years on the planet, even though the world is an unpredictable mess.

I plan to keep writing, learning, and loving fiercely.