Living with metastatic breast cancer (MBC) makes me mad, and soon it could make me gone. I want to be with my husband till both our bums are wrinkled. I want to live despite the cancer. I want to be free of it.
In the time I’ve been MBC, I have pushed. I’ve taken my dream job, published my novel and travelled to Europe for a summer or two — but can we ever get enough of life?
Whenever I’m told a treatment is no longer working, it’s crushing. It’s like my hope in something keeps getting kicked away from under me. What really gets me, though, is that sometimes I can feel it working. Maybe my breathing improves or something. But then they see spots in my liver and that means treatment is over because it spread. This is such a big guessing game, and I hate that.
Progression to the brain was the hardest news to take. When another treatment fails, I cry like an idiot and get depressed for a few days. Then I move on.
I’m now in palliative care, and it’s like I’ve become a wilting flower. Apparently, there are no more treatments, no more possibilities. The helplessness makes me mad. I want, quite simply to keep on living.
They say 2020 is the year to beat cancer, but I wish it was now. That’s just really, really far away. Still, I like to imagine I am at that New Year’s Eve party nevertheless. My dress would be all sparkles.
Catherine passed away 10 days after writing this post. She was fearless and passionate about sharing her story so that others could understand the desperation of people living with metastatic breast cancer.
Take action. Sign our petition to ensure that the voices and values of women with MBC are represented when decisions about their health and care are made.