‘Uncurable’

So I have stage 4 metastatic breast cancer, this means the cancer that has spread beyond the breast tissue into other areas of the body, the back vertebra and the wind pipe.
One week on, I am still struggling to accept this diagnostic.

Yesterday I received the letter with the full details of this new diagnostic.
The medical jargon feels ruthless: My Oncologist writes that she explained to me that my cancer is not curable. The words ‘not curable’ was a shock for both myself and my partner. The treatment recommended is palliative endocrine therapy. The word ‘palliative’ is used for people with life-limiting illnesses. It focuses on providing relief from the symptoms, pain, physical stress, and mental stress of a terminal diagnosis.
Despite discussing this with my Oncologist, seeing it on paper sent me into a second meltdown. I am writing this is an attempt to get it out of my system. I reached out to my ‘sisters’ in the Facebook breast cancer support group. We discussed the medical jargon. They agreed that people can live for years with incurable cancer. Likewise, no time limit is set to the length of a palliative treatment. The advances in research mean that every day brings more hope of a longer life. The Oncologist talked about years, although how I respond to treatment is the key factor. Let’s hope I am around for a lot longer.
Yesterday I met a group of cancer ladies for a walk and coffee. They were celebrating the end of their chemotherapy and the ringing of the end-of-treatment bell. Another said how well she is living in remission after a difficult cancer journey. I was happy for them but I felt I did not belong.

Living in the constant shadow of stage 4 cancer, you need to learn to embrace the darkness on an everyday basis.
I can see that my Facebook sisters have reached a place where light and darkness can coexist. I read how desperate one lady’s situation seemed. Yet she still fought teeth and nails to be here and expressed gratefulness for each extra moment grabbed.
When I manage to quiet my internal turmoil, I will be able to find energy and strength to carry on. Maybe I will draw on my grandmother’s steely determination. When the Doctor told her she had 99% chances of not walking again, she replied: “Doctor, I still have 1% chance”; and of course she managed to get back on her feet. I know I have it in me.
I can give myself compassion, I am allowed to struggle right now.
I can give myself kindness as this is where I am.
Today is a beautiful day with an azure blue sky. I am meeting my friend M. for a walk. She is full of kindness and gentleness. Together we will walk the darkness out into the sunshine.