Seven Years of MBC

July 18, 2026

I’ve been thinking about how to frame this update. The short version is that everything is fine at the moment. I changed medications in April and my scans and bloodwork show that the presence of cancer in my body has decreased.

For this I am extremely grateful.

I also know that I’ve been amazingly fortunate. This month marks 7 years since I receive my metastatic breast cancer (MBC) diagnosis. I’m quite certain I’ve had it longer than that – it was misdiagnosed for at least 9 months before that.

While the statistics of how long you can live with MBC are outdated, 7 years is pretty notable.

The longer I live with MBC and stay involved with MBC advocacy, the more people I meet from across the U.S. and around the world. The number of people I know who have died from MBC in the first half of 2026 alone is too many to count.

Why me? Why was I diagnosed with this? Who knows. Why am I still alive? Unclear. Why do I respond pretty well to most medications? No one has a good answer. Why can I tolerate medications better than almost anyone else I know with MBC? Unknown.

What I do know is that I am fortunate and yes I’m going to use the word privileged.

It’s a known fact that people with higher incomes have better insurance and get better health care treatment in the U.S.

It’s a known fact that more money is spent on breast cancer research than any other kind of cancer, resulting in better understanding and treatment options.

It’s a known fact that non-White individuals with MBC have poorer outcomes.

It’s a known fact that people who live in rural areas fare worse than those that live in urban areas.

I have a professional job that allows me to set my own schedule, work from home and take better care of myself than if I were an hourly employee working retail.

I am educated enough to understand how to read medical publications and understand the biology of this disease which helps inform my approach to living with it.

For all of these things I am grateful.

I will never be grateful for having cancer, I will never call it a “gift”.

Cancer is a thief. It robs you of your life. You are faced with creating a new one. If you are lucky enough you can create something like a new normal. Many people are not that lucky.

I plan my life in 3 month increments. At the same time, I have long term goals. I will be attending Maddy’s college graduation in 2029. I will be visiting Evelyn in whatever city she ends up working. I will celebrate my 60th birthday.

I have a positive attitude because I don’t see any other choice.

We are all dealt a hand of cards. Unfortunately, one of mine is cancer. It does not define me, but it shapes me. It shapes my family and impacts my friends.

For 7 years I’ve been providing updates on my situation. I realize that may seem odd and counter to the diagnosis and prognosis.

I live everyday knowing that today could be the day the cancer mutates and outsmarts the medication. That is a heavy load to carry.

In some ways I and my family have a terrible situation. In other ways, are living a life others can only wish for.

We all have one life and we choose everyday how we want to live it.

I choose to work to make the world a better place. I choose to help others understand what MBC is. I choose to support my MBC sisters and brothers by providing peer support. I choose to support science by being a research advocate. I choose to live life to the fullest and embrace each day as an opportunity.

I choose life.

How much life I have and how much life you have is not known. No one is guaranteed tomorrow, make the most of today.

Onward.

Summer, Scans & Science

June 4, 2025

Happy summer my friends. In Colorado we are starting off with a cool, wet one which is great for the a/c bill but less ideal for exploring outside.

Lot’s going on here including medically.

I had some work travel last month and towards the end I started not feeling well, including being light headed. I mentioned this to my oncology nurse 2 days ago during my treatment appointments and she scheduled a brain MRI and echocardiogram. Yes, light headedness triggers the immediate thought of brain metastasis.

Recall from my last post that we’ve found the MRI to be the best imaging for me. The brain MRI captures the head and top part of the spine (cervical). Mixed results: no brain metastasis 🙌 but it did pick up a new lesion on my C1 vertebrae 👎.

The nerves that come out of the C1 impact the sides of your face and head as shown in this nifty diagram (one of my fav diagrams BTW).

The most likely explanation for my light headedness is that the lesion (tumor) is pressing on the nerves. So, my oncologist has ordered another PET/CT to check again. It seems a little insane to keep getting imaging that doesn’t work so well – I guess he wants to confirm or look for other lesions.

My tumor markers did drop the end of last month which is in contradiction to the new tumor.

See how complicated and tricky cancer is?

For now, I’ll get the PET/CT and an echocardiogram and keep doing all the things (eating healthy, moving, relaxing) and we shall see where this takes me.

After my work trip I spent 2 days in Chicago at the American Society for Clinical Oncology (ASCO) where I learned about new treatment lines coming out and connecting with other patient advocates.

The cancer research going on now will result in the drugs being used in the coming years. This is why it is so important to preserve funding for the National Institutes of Health. The presidents budget slashes funding by almost 50%. That means many fewer clinical trials and many fewer drugs in 5 years. No one expects to get cancer. If you get cancer in 5 years you will be wishing the NIH had done more research to help you. Please call your elected federal reps and push for restoring funding to NIH.

On a lighter note – Maddy graduated from high school, Evelyn started a research internship at University Colorado Anschutz Medical Campus and we all head to Las Vegas at the end of the month to support Maddy in her last National Dance Competition.

Onward!