When One of Us Dies....
By "One of Us" I mean people with metastatic breast cancer. Yes, people, not just women. Men get it, too.
When we hear about a friend/acquaintance/facebook friend death, we're understandably upset. We grieve. We're sad for them, their families, and their friends. We feel the loss. When that person has the same terminal disease as we do, we're more than devastated. We're scared. We might not want to admit it; we certainly don't want to take anything away from our friend, but the truth is -- we're scared out of our minds. That could be us. That will be us one day.
She was as active as she ever has been on facebook even up to the day before her death.
She was vibrant.
She was active.
She looked fine. She didn't look sick at all.
We didn't know her condition had deteriorated.
So, when you say you're sorry for my loss, I have a myriad of emotions about that. I need you to understand that one day it will be your loss, too, when it's me (or someone else close to you) that dies from this horrible disease. Yes, I look fine. Yes, I've improved my quality of life over the past few months. Yes, I am active. I seem to be living a "normal" life. The truth is, though, that I'm still terminal. I'm still on medication, one oral and two IV, and I will be on those medications until they stop working. Then, we'll try something else, then something else, until there are no options left. That will be the beginning of the end.
You see me going to the gym. You see me having fun with my family. Sometimes you see my bad days, but I don't show you all of them. Just today I had to leave work early because I got sick. That's a side effect of one of my medications, and not unusual. What you don't see is the extra rest I need when I have what's considered a "normal" day. I will come home after work and go straight to bed. After my treatment this past Saturday, I went to bed until the alarm woke me for work Monday morning.
There are so many other things I could say, but the nausea and upset stomach are making themselves known again, so I must get some more rest.
Please, don't just be sorry for my loss; do something. On the personal level, help someone, even if it appears that they don't need it. Everybody has something. Everybody can use a little help. Send a restaurant, grocery store, or gas station gift card. Show up at their house with dinner, and don't forget their pets. Scroll to the top of this page to the "more pages" section for more ideas.
On a more widespread level, especially with Breast Cancer Awareness Month coming up in a few weeks, if you'd like to donate to a national organization that can do some good, please consider Metavivor. 100% of donations go to research. Let me say that again -- 100% goes to research! Research could save my life, and the lives of the 114 on average who die per day from breast cancer. Also, if you'd like to join me at the Stage IV Stampede this year, when we meet with Congressional Staffers on Capitol Hill, please do. You can find more information about that, and register for it, on the Metavivor page.
Please. We're scared.
When we hear about a friend/acquaintance/facebook friend death, we're understandably upset. We grieve. We're sad for them, their families, and their friends. We feel the loss. When that person has the same terminal disease as we do, we're more than devastated. We're scared. We might not want to admit it; we certainly don't want to take anything away from our friend, but the truth is -- we're scared out of our minds. That could be us. That will be us one day.
She was as active as she ever has been on facebook even up to the day before her death.
She was vibrant.
She was active.
She looked fine. She didn't look sick at all.
We didn't know her condition had deteriorated.
So, when you say you're sorry for my loss, I have a myriad of emotions about that. I need you to understand that one day it will be your loss, too, when it's me (or someone else close to you) that dies from this horrible disease. Yes, I look fine. Yes, I've improved my quality of life over the past few months. Yes, I am active. I seem to be living a "normal" life. The truth is, though, that I'm still terminal. I'm still on medication, one oral and two IV, and I will be on those medications until they stop working. Then, we'll try something else, then something else, until there are no options left. That will be the beginning of the end.
You see me going to the gym. You see me having fun with my family. Sometimes you see my bad days, but I don't show you all of them. Just today I had to leave work early because I got sick. That's a side effect of one of my medications, and not unusual. What you don't see is the extra rest I need when I have what's considered a "normal" day. I will come home after work and go straight to bed. After my treatment this past Saturday, I went to bed until the alarm woke me for work Monday morning.
There are so many other things I could say, but the nausea and upset stomach are making themselves known again, so I must get some more rest.
Please, don't just be sorry for my loss; do something. On the personal level, help someone, even if it appears that they don't need it. Everybody has something. Everybody can use a little help. Send a restaurant, grocery store, or gas station gift card. Show up at their house with dinner, and don't forget their pets. Scroll to the top of this page to the "more pages" section for more ideas.
On a more widespread level, especially with Breast Cancer Awareness Month coming up in a few weeks, if you'd like to donate to a national organization that can do some good, please consider Metavivor. 100% of donations go to research. Let me say that again -- 100% goes to research! Research could save my life, and the lives of the 114 on average who die per day from breast cancer. Also, if you'd like to join me at the Stage IV Stampede this year, when we meet with Congressional Staffers on Capitol Hill, please do. You can find more information about that, and register for it, on the Metavivor page.
Please. We're scared.
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