Seven years ago today, with Dave gripping my right hand, I heard a nurse practitioner say, “There is no easy way to say this.” I felt myself being pulled down into a black abyss as I heard the words “breast cancer” and “innumerable masses on your liver.” The only thing keeping me in my seat was Dave’s steady hand. I suspected I had breast cancer, the kind you “fight like a girl” and beat, not the incurable stage 4 kind. A CT scan the next day showed that the cancer was also in my bones and my right adrenal gland. The next year it spread to my brain.

I’m not supposed to be alive today. I have a lot of guilt about that. Why am I still here when so many people I have met with metastatic breast cancer are not? You will never ever convince me that God planned for me to get cancer or that God has kept ME alive but not others. I give much credit to my medical team at Barnes Jewish Hospital/Washington University. The rest is pure luck.

I planned a quiet day today. I went to the gym and the grocery store. I bought myself flowers in the colors of the metastatic breast cancer ribbon. I enjoyed a beautiful summer day on the farm with Madi and Milli.

The results of the heart MRI show that my heart is functioning well enough to continue on the same line of treatment. I started taking a beta blocker a few weeks ago and it is helping. My cardiac oncologist said I don’t need to see her for 3 months so that means I only have 1 trip to St Louis next week. On Tuesday I have a brain MRI and meet with my radiation oncologist. The following Tuesday I have treatment again. Time flies.

Dave, Ross, Darrin, and Haley are my reason for fighting, for complying with medical instructions, for enduring all the side effects, for always finding reasons to hope.

I absolutely could not do this without Dave’s support. Way back in 1994 when we promised to love each other in sickness and in health, we didn’t know how much sickness there would be.

Year 8 begins now.

Ross and I left Elliott at 4:30 am. I had a heart MRI with contrast bright and early at Barnes.

The heart MRI is the longest of the MRIs. As I chatted with the nurse accessing my port, I told her my story about having dense breast tissue that hides cancer from mammography – about how I found a lump 9 months after a “clean” mammogram and then found out the cancer was already stage IV – spread to my bones, liver and adrenal gland. It turns out that my nurse also has dense breast tissue. She said her doctor tells her she doesn’t need to do anything else because there is no family history of breast cancer. That’s when I got to tell her that I also do not have a history of breast cancer. She promised me she would call TODAY to schedule an MRI or ultrasound. She said she was going to tell her friends about my story. After the scan she de-accessed my port and gave me a hug and thanked me again.

I need good things to come from my bad story.

Milli is 3 months old and weighs 31 pounds. She is a menace and a princess, all in one.

She hasn’t learned to stay home yet so I’ve had to adapt my routine for hanging clothes on the line.

She sleeps by my head. This is a princess moment.

Seven years ago today I had a diagnostic mammogram and an ultrasound of a palpable lump I found in a breast self exam. Until 7/17/2019 I had hope that I did not have breast cancer.

I watched the screen during the ultrasound and saw a large solid white blob that had tentacles like a splatter of paint. If you know me, you can guess that I had researched what to look for in the ultrasound. My heart dropped.

The ultrasound report said it was a suspicious abnormality and recommended an ultrasound guided core needle biopsy. The diagnostic mammogram report said that my breast was extremely dense which lowers the sensitivity of mammography. It said there was a vague density not evident on prior studies.

I had no idea I would be diagnosed with terminal (stage 4 ) breast cancer one week later.

We left at 4 am for St Louis. I slept the entire way. Lovely. Today is #120. In 2019 I didn’t think this was possible, even in my wildest dreams.

Last week had some especially challenging days. I had another fall and also one extraordinarily chaotic digestive day. Good times.

Madi and Milli keep me company and bring me so much joy. They curl up at my feet when I’m at my desk in my art room. They both love a ride in a vehicle – any time, anyplace. They play hard and nap hard – a pretty decent recipe for a good life.

July is such a hard month for me. On this day in 2019 I found a lump in my right breast. I had a “clear” mammogram 9 months before, so surely this was not a big deal.

It was.

As of 7/24/2026 my career stats for the past 7 years are:

Infusion treatments: 120

Gamma Knife procedure on brain tumors: 3

Brain Radiation (SRS): 5 rounds

Adrenal Gland Radiation: 5 rounds

Shoulder Radiation: 1 round

Spine surgery: 1

LITT to remove a brain tumor: 1

Brain MRIs: 20

Whole Body Bone Scans: 16

Chest/Ab/Pelvic CT Scans: 22

Echocardiograms: 11

Heart MRIs: 10

Breast MRI: 1

Complete Spinal MRI: 1

Thoracentesis (to drain fluid from my lungs): 2

Hospitalizations: 3

July is a grueling medical schedule: 7/14 treatment 120, 7/23 heart MRI, 7/28 brain MRI and appt with radiation oncologist, 7/30 appt with cardiac oncologist, 8/4 treatment 121. I am not fine.

Today is treatment 119. We left the farm at 4 am. I only have treatment today so hopefully we will be on the way home by 11 am. I’ve had more good days recently and I appreciate that immensely. Milli is 11 weeks old today. She is very spunky and has an outgoing personality. She is super smart and is learning things quickly, most of them good! She and Madi are best buddies already.

In July I have extra scans and appointments. That means I will have 5 trips to St Louis in 4 weeks. July is also an emotionally painful time for me as the events of July 2019 swirl through my mind. I hope the glorious busyness of a new puppy will help.

DOB April 7, 2026

8 1/2 weeks old

17 pounds

Spunky

I’m in my “meh” scan era – not great but also not horrible. That’s pretty good for almost 7 years with stage 4 cancer. Today was treatment 118 and I will go back in 3 weeks for number 119 while I continue to take oral chemotherapy pills morning and night. I’ll make 4 trips to Barnes in July for some extra scans.

The window washing crew was at Siteman Cancer Center today. I am so thankful I didn’t have to earn a living doing that!

This Tuesday I have a scan, see my oncologist and receive treatment 118. Add 7 hours in the car and it will be a long day. Hello, Scanxiety. The pressure has been building and, with it, my irritability. The state of our country makes me want to scream. I lose patience with people who seem to only complain in my presence. Someone special to me shocked me with a racist comment. I don’t always make it to the bathroom on time.

And yet

This weekend a dear friend brought flats of flowers and potting soil to bring life to my oasis again. We sat and visited over iced tea. I am blessed by her friendship. One of my children came to visit and we took Madi for a walk and laughed over her antics. I am blessed by love and laughter. I had breakfast with my cousins on Saturday. I am blessed by family who are also friends.

Since July 2019, cancer has been in the car with me. Sometimes it is driving and life is chaotic. Sometimes it is staring at me from the passenger seat while I drive, always making its presence known. Sometimes it sits quietly in the back seat, only occasionally tapping me on the shoulder to distract me from driving.

Cancer will never leave the car and it is impossible and unhealthy to ignore it, but I can do things that help move it farther back in the car.