Metastatic Breast Cancer Day: To a Brighter Tomorrow

On October 12, 2007, I kissed my 11-week old newborn goodbye as I left him with my mom and dad while Rigo checked me into Stanford Hospital for my bilateral mastectomy surgery. After a 12-hour surgery, I was rolled into the recovery room and officially declared myself "cancer-free." Incredible to think that yesterday I celebrated 4-years of being cancer-free. Some days, October 12, 2007, feels like an eternity ago; other days, it feels like yesterday. To mark this special day, Blake and I played hooky and spent the entire day together with eating corn dogs and shaved ice and enthralled by the pig races and muttin' bustin' at the Big Fresno Fair. There's no other way I'd rather have spent the day. Life is good.

Unless you live under a rock, you probably know it's National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. The pink is splattered everywhere. So much so, it even makes me a little pink-nauseous. (Truth be told, I never really liked pink.) Nonetheless, I find it refreshing whenever I see my family, friends and strangers pitching in to help bring us a step closer to the long overdue cure that's needed.

All in all, I am doing incredibly well. I am healthy and happy. But for the last few weeks and months, my heart has been exceptionally heavy for my friends. Perhaps it's inevitable that the longer I'm part of this cancer world, the more people I will meet who have cancer recurrences and, in some cases, ultimately on the losing end of cancer. But that may also be what's so dang hard about this cancer culture. The beast of cancer is so unforgiving.

Anyone who knows me knows I handle my own journey with cancer very matter-of-fact. It is what it is and I am okay with that. If I'm not okay with it, I'll figure it out and make it work. Reconstruction revision surgeries. I can deal. Early onset menopause. Again, deal. Long-term chemotherapy side-effects like chemo-brain. Dealing. All of this issues are mine to deal with and to a certain extent, in my control. My support system with my medical team, great insurance coverage, my family, my friends, my work. I have an amazing team in place to help me maneuver life after cancer as smoothly as possible and for me it's all do-able. Even on the tough days or the tough weeks, I go to bed at night knowing that odds are tomorrow will probably be a better day.

The security of knowing tomorrow will be a better day isn't always the case for my friends living with and battling through metastatic breast cancer, breast cancer that's spread beyond the breast. In fact, while the month of October is Breast Cancer Awareness Day, today is Metastatic Breast Cancer Awareness Day. Despite the flood of support for breast cancer awareness around the country, seen on TV, in the stores and heard on the radio, the numbers continue to startle me, as a breast cancer survivor. Every year, over 40,000 people in the United States will die from breast cancer. This number is unnerving for me, but I could only imagine how daunting it is for my friends living in the world of metastatic breast cancer. It's TOO many. The realist in me knows death is certain. But in 2011, death to metastatic breast cancer is unacceptable. We need a cure for breast cancer. Now. We need more effective treatment and targeted therapies. Now. If my friends want to fight, dammit, we should let them fight. To tell these women, "sorry, we are all out of options" is simply unconscionable. The reality of metastatic breast cancer is much more troubling than the worse case of pink overload.

Continue doing what you do and then pause and ask yourself, "what else can I do?" Odds are you aren't that far removed from cancer, but even if you are, keep doing and then do some more. Read about breast cancer. Practice self exams. Talk about the issues. Ask questions. Run. Walk. Fundraise. Donate. And at the end of the day, go to bed hoping for a better tomorrow. I wish you all a happy and healthy October and a brighter tomorrow.

http://www.mbcn.org/