The words you never want to hear, again.

With the last post all about the timeline of events, I thought it was important to separate the update of my current diagnosis. Warning: this probably won’t end up being one of my witty blogs with humor. Read with caution if you are sensitive to emotion as I am in these moments. 

Since being home from the hospital, I have been overwhelmed with emotion. A different emotion than I felt the first time I was diagnosed with breast cancer. This time I’m mad. I’m carrying so much anger and resentment and hatred towards the C word that I can’t see straight.  The first time I was scared. This time, I’m just pissed.  And to be perfectly honest, the emotions of it all are getting the best of me. My positive attitude is what got me through the first time, and even knowing this, I’m struggling to even pretend to slap a smile on my face this time around. Attitude is everything in this fight and right now my attitude is pretty crappy. I find myself asking, why? Multiple times a day. Why me? What else could I have done? I took every single, harsh, radicle step to prevent a reoccurrence. I mutilated my body. Destroyed my self esteem with my new appearance, pumped my veins full of poison and missed important times in an entire year of my child’s life, being sick. I did everything I was supposed to do to get to that 63% chance of a 5 year survival rate. And it wasn’t enough. And to beat a dead horse, I didn’t even make it 5 months NED. Why?! 
As much as I wanted the tumor pathology report to come back as breast cancer, the words weren’t easy to hear. A new cancer would have been harder to treat. But my body has fought breast cancer before, I can fight it again. And best case scenario it be the same type as I had before and easy to treat with radiation! This would give me better odds at ensuring we could kill all of the cancer cells that were active in my body. Unfortunately with that diagnosis comes some heavy conversation. So here it is...On May 27th I was found to have a brain tumor that would lead to the new diagnosis of stage 4 Metastatic Breast Cancer. Pathology confirmed that the tumor was in fact Triple Negative, which was the same type of cancer as I had before. Metastatic breast cancer. I hold my breath every time I say it. With knots in my stomach over the thought of a life long, incurable, diagnosis.  
“Metastatic breast cancer: this type of cancer means the cancer has metastasized, or traveled, through the bloodstream to create tumors in the liver, lungs, brain, bones and/or other parts of the body. Between 20 and 30 percent of women with early stage breast cancer go on to develop metastatic disease. While treatable, metastatic breast cancer (MBC) cannot be cured.” 

Can not be cured. Those were the words I heard in my head as I sat in the doctors office having the hardest conversation of my life, again.  Let me reference that at this point, I have decided to switch my care to a new medical onchologist. Not because of any fault to the previous doctor, but because I am an overthinker. And I need an over-explainer. I need someone who is going to sit in front of me and shoot it to me straight with all the details before I even ask the detailed questions.  Luckily I have been able to find that with my new Oncologist. And while it was a conversation that destroyed my soul a little, I left feeling knowledgeable about what my life looks like moving forward.  She said a simple sentence after I asked one of my random questions. “Has anyone had the conversation with you about what your diagnosis means?”  By this point I had already seen three doctors since leaving the hospital and the honest answer to her question was, No.  I mean, I KNOW what it means. I attended a fundraiser just months ago where I sat in tears, thankful that I wasn’t metastatic as the keynote speaker deleted photos of her friends who had passed away, one by one, on her PowerPoint presentation. I know there’s no cure. But I don’t have cancer in my body right now. So I’m not ACTIVELY diagnosed with cancer. Right? Wrong.  So, So wrong. The conversation started with her explaining what it meant for cancer to metastasize and that more than likely I had just one rogue cell that snuck by into my blood stream and spread to my brain, an area that wasn’t effected by chemo because of something called a blood-brain barrier. Basically a wall that prevents poison from getting to your brain. Making it the perfect place for a rogue cell to hibernate and grow. Which honestly is still confusing since chemo brain is a real thing. Much like pregnancy brain, forgetfulness, memory loss, confusion etc.  While surgery was successful in removing the entire tumor with clean margins, we now have to be hyper aware that my body has shown us that it can produce and mutate rogue cancer cells causing a high risk for another reoccurrence. Because of this, I will have to have a brain scan every three months for the rest of my life. And a full body scan more frequently as well. The conversation went on in a very frank matter. As hard as it was, I was grateful that she was able to speak so openly and honestly with me. My question to her leading up to the conversation was, what about children and reconstruction? We were planing on growing our family, will the hormones from pregnancy cause another reoccurrence? Can I even get reconstruction if I will have to start a new treatment? If looks could speak, the doctors eyes would have said “bless her heart. She has no idea”. I was so naïve to think that life would go back to normal as it did the first time I beat cancer.  As the oncologist put it... the first time you were diagnosed was about removing the cancer from your body and curing you. This time it is about keeping you alive as long as possible at the best quality of life we can give you”   Those words slapped me right across the face. “Keeping me alive as long as possible.”  What does that mean?! 1 year? 10 years? 60 years? In that moment I told myself over and over again in my head, there’s no cancer in your body. As long as possible is many many many years. Don’t give up.” She went on to say that with my young age, I have a higher chance of a reoccurrence because I have more time to live. That doesn’t mean that I will have a reoccurrence. It doesn’t mean I’m going to die tomorrow. I could never have another reoccurrence again. I could live to be 100 years old. At the same time, without putting it into the universe, the opposite remains true as well. I will be fighting the disease every day for the rest of my life. And I’m living with the diagnosis of stage 4 metastatic breast cancer, every day for the rest of my life. Whew. The air just got sucked out of the room. Because I am BRCA 1 positive, I have a mutation in my genes that can cause cancer cells to grow and spread at a higher rate than if I didn’t carry the gene. Because there is no cancer found in my body at the present time, {I should mention that the bone scan I had completed on the 15th of June also showed 100% clear results with no abnormalities and no cancer! Praise!!🙏🏻} the best plan of action would be to start a PARP inhibitor. This is basically a maintaince drug that helps repair DNA when it becomes damaged. The specific drug that I will be taking targets aggressive BRCA cells with the intent to kill them before they are able to mutate and metastasis. When asked how long I would be on this drug her response was “as long as my body will let me.” The side effects are a little scary. It’s like the commercial you see when women are dancing in the street with a big smile on their face, living their best life, while in the background the narrater is saying “may cause blah blah blah and sometimes lead to death”.  The warning labels are always going to be there. But if it is going to be the best plan of action to take, to ensure the lowest chance of reoccurrence than sign me up!  We have a plan! 3-4 radiation treatments, followed by the start of the new drug. Having a plan in place is reassuring. So why don’t I feel reassured? Probably because the conversation didn’t end there. She went on to say that carrying another child was no longer an option. Not necessarily because of the hormones from pregnancy causing a reoccurrence but because there was no way to ensure my safety or the safety of a child I’m carrying because I am at such high risk of reoccurrence. Should I have a reoccurrence during pregnancy, they would potentially not be able to treat me with out harm to the baby or vice versa. This news was the heaviest of all. In that moment I realized that my life decisions were being taken away from me, again. I was no longer able to continue with the plans I had for me and my family.  And it made me so angry. Why? Why am I not allowed to have more children? Why is God taking that away from me? Why did God decide that this was fair to Raylan or to Tyler? Why is this happening to me? I am an only child, and after beating my first diagnosis it became so important to me that Raylan not be alone. There are so many what if’s. What if I’m gone tomorrow? Who would he invite to his families thanksgiving when he is older? Who would he share memories of Tyler and I with when we both leave this world? I have a good relationship with some of my step sibling while also having not so good relationships with others. I have bonus nieces and nephews that hopefully Raylan will continue to grow up with, recognizing the importance of family, but to be perfectly candid, ultimately I’m terrified Raylan will be alone. My biggest fear. My biggest request in all of this, in every conversation I have with my friends and family is please, please don’t let him be alone if something happens to me. Give him love. Give him family. Give him support if I’m no longer able to. Tyler doesn’t have immeadiate family past his brother, and we both have our parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins and second cousins who we love and cherish. But how often do those relationships carry over into everyday moments? It’s nothing like having a sibling to grow up with. Share memories of your childhood with. But the idea of Raylan not having someone, a sibling , to share memories with when Tyler and I are gone,  is gut wrenching for me. The thought of Raylan being alone at Christmas or Thanksgiving or who he will invite to his kids birthday parties if my time comes early to not be here, destroys me. And is the heaviest part of this entire story. How is this fair to him? How is this fair to any of us? The burden that it has placed on everyone around me. That’s what cancer is. A burden. The extra weight it has placed on me to make sure that Raylan’s future is happy and safe should anything happen to me. The weight of making sure everything is in order and my husband will be ok should something happen to me. When he said in sickness and in health he most certainly didn’t think that at 34 his wife would be sentenced with a life long disease. The fact that my life will never be normal again and the fact that I’m faced with a life long sentence of burden.  It’s too much to carry right now. And quite honestly,  I’m doing a poor job. So here’s what I’m getting at. I’m mad. I’m SO mad. And with that comes emotions that I don’t know yet how to cope with. Mood swings. Irritability. Anger. So this is my advanced apology. I’m sorry for my short temper. I’m sorry for not pretending to smile through it this time. I’m sorry for the emotion and the tears and the anger and the anxiety. I’m sorry for not returning phone calls or for calling you at 5 am when I can’t sleep. Don’t read too much into my one word responses in messages, I promise I’m not ignoring you.  I’m sorry for the hurt and the anger that comes out during random times that amount to nothing. I’m sorry for the burden. I’m sorry for this rollercoaster that you unwillingly signed up to be on when you entered my life. I have the best support system. The most amazing family and friends who are fighting with me and I’m sorry that I am not myself right now. But I promise you I am trying. I promise I’m finding my way and trying to get my head on straight so that I can be around as long as possible. I promise I’ll fight. I promise I will never let Raylan see me fail without trying my hardest and I promise I will not give up. I’m angry and weak but I promise I am trying. I know it is Gods will. And in my daily prayers I find myself yelling, without doubting my faith in Him, why me? Why is this burden on my shoulders? Why my family? Why Raylan? Is it because he thinks I’m strong enough to handle it? I want to be. But in this moment, I’m not. I’m broken. I’m angry. And I am completely lost on how to pull myself out of it. But I will find my way. In the meantime I’m asking that you all be patient with me. Remember who I was before, remember the bubbly upbeat attitude, and know I will be that person again. I just need time to unload and cope with this emotion and fear. I need patience and most importantly continued prayers. 🙏🏻💕