It’s time to take it up a notch here on the Cancerbus. I’m now four solid years into blogging and my fifth cancerversary since my metastatic breast cancer diagnosis in March, 2015. Naturally for my personality in order to write this blog with more rigor, I’ve turned to educating myself.
One educational direction is through other people’s personal essays. I’m also reading up on how to touch more people through engaging with the cancer and poetry community. As a result, I’m commenting more often other blogs I read. It’s a risk to be certain, and as such, I step on my proverbial tongue at times.
When I write up a post, my somewhat warped sense of humor percolates up, and any self importance sinks down in the word stream. It’s the part of the art, the crafting of the essay about a weighty topic as cancer is, to create a tone that’s conversational feels right to me. The tone of my blog probably appeals to some and not to others because of the no-bullshit, non-pinkified, lack of “let’s all sing Kumbaya .”
It’s authentic and it’s my story without flowery effluvium, little self pity, and I hope no need for sympathy. Words either flow or they don’t. Blogging isn’t easy. Responsible for my truth, it’s also not for the purpose of emotionally abusing my readers. If it’s purple and persimmon pretty sunsets you want, you arrived at the wrong web address.
Perhaps too late and impervious to the needs of other bloggers I’ve committed a faux pas or two by commenting much in my same voice. To write otherwise would feel disingenuous. The endangered species of the personal narrative co-exists awash a sea of me-too.
Comments bubble up from the dark waters of “atta girl” and “you got this” and “how beautiful (sad, unfortunate, wonderful) your situation.” The depth of commentary reveals the time a reader takes to try and comprehend even my more lachrymose posts without turning away. My goal never included becoming the most popular or beloved. Instead my decision seemed right to me: to cobble together the rough stones down in a path to the truth of grief, death, side effects, the pain and it’s remedies, loss of love, family and friends, arising from a disease and it’s discontents.
Sometimes it’s a very difficult path to lay. Even the photos can become hard to look at but harder to turn from looking away as in my post: Bone Deep: the painful reality of metastatic cancer.
Context for content(ment)
Recently after commenting on that post, of which no background for what despair this person had come to at the end of their treatment options. I felt near obligation given the missing history of the persons metastatic cancer and what treatments they’d previously endured. My heart sank as I felt them giving up hope. I could only empathize with the information written with no kind of link to a previous post of their journey. Generally I shy away from using the word “journey” in relation to MBC, the word most used by kinder, gentler blog writers.
My contextualization of metastatic disease co-mingles help in two ways:
- Plain, black and white discussions of all the experiences from the ugliest fleur du mal to the most heart felt and touching so there can be a personal connection between us – you and I, subject and object, reader and writer. Whether or not the reader had or has cancer should not matter, since it’s the experience of the human condition in which I strive to participate not only of terminal illness.
Easing the loneliness among my sisters and brothers with metastatic cancer has always been the goal of starting the cancerbus.com. It may not help all readers. However given some of your encouraging commentary, your words fuel my desire to continue week after week.
Alone or lonely?
There’s a peace in solitude yet an anguish in loneliness. I suppose the imposition of solitude with cancer feels the loneliest of all. At that very moment you need all the support you can find, you find yourself isolated even in large crowds. No one can understand whose life is without disease. Dis-ease. Taken apart the word disease explains exactly what causes our loneliness. It’s not being at ease in our own bodies turned against the souls who resided within.
This is why I write, to ease the loneliness of metastatic cancer. To find kindred spirits out in the ether. And so that said, if I happen to meet you through your words probably written for much the same reason, please take my comments as they’re meant. A way to reach you in your writer’s space from one mind to another and sketch you a hug in the way that I’m lucky enough to find comes easy to me.
I’ll write you a love song to celebrate our lives, together yet apart. We have more than disease in common. We love life and want to hang on as long as possible, with those like ourselves who have death beating down our doors. Perhaps with more strength of numbers it can’t get through quite as fast, since loneliness creates a weaker immunity and allows our disease to win over our minds and not just our bodies.
I owe a tremendous amount of gratitude to patients and other participants in breast cancer research; to those who took part in important studies that eventually translated into marketable therapies. Of course I’ve mixed feelings regarding the enormous financial gains made by what now we call the “cancer industry” versus the sky-high cost of care in the United States, where people die because the cost of treatment and the lack of funding for providing those treatments. Reprehensible profiteering on the lives patients, their families, friends and their caregivers makes me feel more nauseous than chemo. However, it’s also very difficult not to participate in current studies both to receive the possible benefit and to show my deep appreciation. The gratitude to those who continue to provide new therapies of all types not only the profitable pharmaceutical companies. I’m addressing specifically the indebtedness I feel for those selflessly gave us the gift of their time, bodies and spirits so that I and others might stay alive longer. (As for any cancer diagnosis but especially after a stage IV cancer diagnosis.) It’s our lives that preserve their legacies. Prior to so many breakthroughs stemming from research in breast cancer, I’d have received an extremely bleak prognosis upon presenting de novo with hormone receptor positive metastatic breast cancer in March of 2015.
The Legacy of Research Participation
Today I continue to live and to thrive because those breakthroughs brought to market important new medications or combined therapies such as Faslodex and IbrancePALOMA study of Ibrance plus Faslodex. The PALOMA-3 study’s findings was very recently published in 2016. The findings published nearly simultaneously to my decision to utilize Stanford Cancer Center and change my oncology team were immediately put to work in my body. The median mortality expectancy for metastatic breast cancer passed months ago in no small part due to the women who participated in this study gave me their lives so that I could extend mine.
How do I thank them? Participation in further studies and with daily gratitude to those still with us and those who succumbed to metastatic disease, for which we have no cure. (As of this blog post, MBC receives a mere 7% of all funding for breast cancer research. Ask any person with MBC. She knows this statistic well. And if she doesn’t it’s simply because she’s recently diagnosed and still in shock.) When a study comes to my attention for which I am a good candidate, I put myself forward. So far I’ve not been able to take part in a drug or chemotherapeutic research program. Fortunately, studies do not always include the physical aspects of cancer treatment including medications, machines, and chemotherapeutic protocols. Advancements in research wouldn’t be possible if not for those who participated – most of those good hearts long gone. I‘m committed participating in studies for which I’m a good fit; I view it as a fundamental part of my legacy including writing. Additionally, recent studies include writing and it’s therapeutic benefits with cancer patients as well as libraries of online story banks meant to preserve the true legacy of a person’s odyssey. These stories help those who inevitably will find themselves with the shock of the life altering words, “I’m so sorry, but it’s cancer.”
How to Find Studies
Psychosocial and long term health studies such as Dr. Susan Love’s breast cancer research portal and the Army of Women, help to enrich the extended oncology community’s understanding of the full extent of how cancer effects our lives. This included questionnaire style research in the Health of Women HOW study . Research such as this have my full participation when I’m tapped on the shoulder or I stumble onto one through social media, research portals such as the National Institute of Health’s Moonshot Initiative , as well as through the network of people in the metastatic breast cancer community.
You can find our network all over the internet. Our network is made up primarily of women, and albeit a small group, we are a vocal group. Try doing a quick Twitter search on the hashtags #metastaticBC or #stage4needsmore or any other breast cancer related keywords. If you’ve never done so, I encourage you to participate in these conversations. Questions, answers, musings, scheduled Twitter chats, and new friends await you with open arms. There’s a lot of virtual love to tap into that can become a safe haven when our disease becomes a heavy emotional and physical load. Facebook, Instagram, and other social sites include photos, quotes, inspiration, and many other links to help when you may need it. Sometimes just putting a question out to a group will bring you answers and assistance you need to find a better solution to a problem or encouragement when you’re in need.
Writing for My Life
In offerings of possible help and the advantage of my hindsight and experiences, writing is my second most rewarding and therapeutic activity. I encourage friends and acquaintances to participate in research and to write. Write privately or publicly. Write in short form on your computer or in a hand written diary. In navigating your experience, the information about yourself and whomever travels along this rocky path becomes an invaluable tool in self advocacy. I cannot put a price on my writing out my life in black and white. I’d not have the benefit and positive self-encouragement in seeing the positive changes in myself over three years and eight months since diagnosis.
Learning to love myself and understanding the true definition of gratitude came to me with a very high price tag. However, if my life and my legacy helps in any way my peers as well as those who will unfortunately, inevitably be diagnosed after I’m long gone, then it’s a life well lived. It’s also a life I can be proud of and grateful for having lived. I’ll be 54 next year – my diagnosis came just three short months shy of my 50th birthday, at 49. I’m beating the odds, though beating them is fatiguing and emotionally charged at times. That aside, if you read this, and I hope, take away one key point, that is participate. Participate as you feel you can and in which studies and write as much you feel comfortable. The life you save may be your own (or your daughter’s, or your best friend’s, or a stranger who thanks you in her daily gratitude ritual, like me.)