A Day in the Life with Metastatic Breast Cancer

        Episode 3

Hello, again. This episode was supposed to be more about drug side effects, but life has intruded, and taken me off topic, as it were. Today, I’m more interested in talking about how people respond, once they find out about what you’re going through. Often, what they say tells you more about them than about what is actually going on with you. This is useful! As Maya Angelou famously wrote, “When people show you who they are, believe them the first time.” And move on from them, if you must. Here are some of the reactions I got from strangers, as well as those close to me in the early days with stage 4 breast cancer.

Making those initial phone calls to family members, close friends, and lovers feels like dropping staged detonation bombs - it takes a while before the full impact is seen and felt. Everyone’s first reaction is disbelief and shock. And everyone has questions - so many questions. But, the best response, for me, anyway, was when the people who love me just started showing up.

One of my dearest friends bought a plane ticket and was was in my living room within days. My only nephew changed his vacation plans and flew to see me within a few weeks. Knowing my shock had turned to mental shut-down, my ex-husband immediately began researching the financial aid I might need going forward. Another dear friend showed up in another way. Rather than waiting for me to provide all the complicated, and scary information related to this condition, she went deep down the rabbit hole of research for a few days. When she emerged, she called, took me to lunch, and we discussed how best she and her husband could provide support for me. I hope those of you out there reading, and listening have people like these in your life. I really do. Now, let me warn you about the other people.

Another friend exclaimed, upon hearing my news, “Oh, my God, I thought I had breast cancer, too, but I didn’t. I am so blessed!” And you know what? I let it go - attributed her response to shock. After all, she’d been a good friend for more than 40 years. I was sure she didn’t mean to sound self involved and cruel. It was in my next conversation with her that I felt that staged explosion. She began firing questions - what made me go to the doctor in the first place; how long had I had symptoms; when was my last mammogram; and what medications, and treatments had I been taking prior to the diagnosis. It finally dawned on me she was not just asking for her own edification, but so she could share with her friends for discussion. Now, this is very human - to look for explanations, and affix blame to the victim of violence, or disease as a way establish control - makes you feel as though it won’t happen to you. I get that. But from someone I’d trusted and loved? Devastating. But, instructive. I finally saw this person for who she really is, realized she’s always been this way, and cut her loose. That was hard. But, you know what? Not as hard as I thought. What is still hard is the casual cruelty, and coldness I get sometimes from strangers I encounter in my day to day life.

While my meds are harsh, and the side effects profound, I clearly do not look or act “cancer-y” enough for some people. I cannot tell you how many times someone has remarked, when finding out about my condition, “Well, you look fine to me.” And it is always said with a soupçon of suspicion. A close friend walking the same stage 4 path heard the following from one of her lunch companions - “So tell me about this cancer you think you have.” Who says things like that? You’d be surprised. And horrified. And then there are the people who just want to help, and insist upon regaling you with stories of dietary cures; secret homeopathic treatments in Europe; and the power of positive thinking. Those are fun. I actually collect them now, and bring them to my oncologist so she can laugh, too. Because sometimes, that’s all you can do. Laugh.