The in-between life and death cancer
The In-Between Do you feel this way to?
I’m 36. I have two kids and stage 4 triple-negative breast cancer. I live in the in-between—not at the beginning where everything is shock and plans and “we’re going to fight this,” and not at the end where there’s some kind of closure. Just… here. In the middle. Knowing, deep down, that I probably won’t make it out.
People ask how I’m doing and I never know what to say. “Fine” is a lie. “Not fine” makes everyone uncomfortable. The truth is: I’m tired in a way sleep doesn’t fix. I’m scared in a way that doesn’t go away when the sun comes up. And I’m grieving a life I haven’t even lost yet—mine.
The nights are the hardest. That’s when the whys come, one after another, like they’re waiting for the house to get quiet. Why me? Why now? Why this kind? Why did my body turn on me? Why do I have to explain cancer to my kids when I can barely explain it to myself? I stare at the ceiling and bargain with a universe that doesn’t bargain back.
Then there are the tears. They don’t ask permission. They show up in the grocery aisle, in the shower, in the car when a song hits a memory. They show up when my son looks at me, eyes big and worried, and asks, “Mom, what’s wrong? Why are you crying? Why are you losing your hair?” How do you answer that in a way a child can carry? I try to be honest without breaking his world. “I’m sick. The medicine makes my hair fall out. I’m sad sometimes, and that’s okay.” He nods, but I see the worry stay in his shoulders.
And the anger. God, the anger. It comes out sideways—snapping at the people I love most, shutting down, being sharp when I mean to be soft. Then I hate myself for it, because at the end of the day, nobody did this to me. There’s no one to blame. Cancer doesn’t care about fairness or plans or how good of a mom you are. So the anger circles back and lands on me, which only makes everything heavier.
My life is a mess. Appointments stack on top of each other. Bills come. The laundry never ends. I forget things I shouldn’t forget. Some days I’m “productive” and feel almost normal; other days I can barely get out of bed and I hate myself for that too. I’m trying to keep routines for my kids so they have something steady to hold onto—dinner, homework, bedtime stories—even when my own insides feel like chaos.
Here’s the part I don’t say out loud often: I am terrified of being forgotten and terrified of being remembered only as “the sick mom.” I want my kids to remember the way I laugh, the way I make their favorite pancakes, the silly voices I use when I read. I want them to know I was a whole person, not just a diagnosis.
If you’re reading this from your own in-between, I see you. I see the way you hold it together for everyone else. I see the questions that loop at 2 a.m. I see the guilt, the grief, the rage, the love that feels so big it could split you open. You are not alone in this, even when it feels like you are the only one awake in the world.
I don’t have a neat ending. I’m still here. Still showing up. Still trying to stay afloat in a life that looks nothing like the one I planned. Some days that’s enough. Some days it has to be.
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@shellyk89 , and you continue to bless my day! Sending hugs!
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1 Reaction@grammato3
Thank you for the welcome—and for sharing your story so openly. I’m sorry you’re in this place with metastatic melanoma, and especially that you’ve had to pause immunotherapy because of the toxicity. That kind of trade-off is its own grief, and I’m hoping the new approach helps calm the side effects so you get some relief.
Your shift from “I have” to “I’m living with” really resonates. I’ve been trying to do the same—less “I am stage 4 triple-negative breast cancer” and more “I’m a mom who happens to be living with this.” Like you said, we’re still whole people, not just diagnoses.
To your questions: I was diagnosed with stage 4 TNBC in March 2025 (about a year ago). The pathology confirmed the triple-negative profile—ER 0%, PR 0%, HER2 0+—with a high Ki-67 (up to 90%). The liver biopsy showed metastatic mammary carcinoma (CK7 strong, GATA3 strong; CK20/CDX2/TTF-1/Napsin A negative), and next-gen sequencing from the liver tissue showed BRCA1 promoter methylation. PD-L1 came back at 10%, so immunotherapy was on the table.
Treatment-wise: I started carboplatin + gemcitabine on 5/12/2025, and we added pembrolizumab (Keytruda) on 7/1/2025 because of that PD-L1 result. Scans after cycle 5 in August 2025 showed progression, so we stopped. I started sacituzumab govitecan (Trodelvy) on 9/16/2025, and the chemo knocked my counts down—I had chemo-induced neutropenia and had to get the white-cell booster shots to keep going. We got a great scan in December 2025 everything was shrinking big time. Then my most recent scan in **March 2026 showed progression again, now spreading to my neck and chest. Bone scan was clear, an the one liver lesion gone but then a new liver lesions different spot+ a mediastinal node are still in the mix along with the new areas.
For support, Mayo Clinic Connect is my main place right now. I’ve lurked in a few Facebook TNBC stage 4 groups but I’m not very active there; Connect feels kinder and less overwhelming. I finally asked my doctor for a therapist referral because up until now I’ve only been unloading into my notebooks—honestly, I’ve only been brave enough to take the mask off in my writing, and I think it’s time I had a space to say things out loud.
Questions I wish I’d asked sooner? What “stable” really means day-to-day, how to plan scans around family life without living scan-to-scan, and how to cope when a regimen has to stop because of side effects or progression without feeling like I failed. I also wish I’d asked earlier about supportive/palliative care as quality-of-life care, not “end-of-life” care. And I’m still figuring out how to talk to my kids in ways that are honest but not scary.
Like you, I’m trying to anchor in the present—finding joy in the mundane (pancakes on Saturday, the chaos of Lego on the floor), writing things down for my kids, and reminding myself that I’m still me. “We remain human forever” is exactly it. Thank you for putting that into words. I’d love to hear what helped you make that mental shift, if you’re willing to share.
Im also building a website/blog soon to be available. My brand GrayWings. That supports people in the in-between. Through writing and spreading awareness. 50 percent of donations go to any cancer facility of the buyers choice.
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9 Reactions@dbamos1945 thank you so much for your incredibly kind words. Reading your message brought tears to my eyes. It means more than I can say to know that my words reached you and that they made you feel less alone in this journey.
You described it perfectly to the exhaustion of trying to navigate a 'normal' life while dealing with the heavy, hidden reality of what we are going through. It is a burden that is so hard to carry, and knowing that we can share that weight together, even from a distance, helps more than you know.
Thank you for calling me an angel, but please know that it is your strength and vulnerability in writing back to me that gives me courage today, too. We are in this together. Sending you so much love and strength.
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1 Reaction@frouke Thank you from the bottom of my heart for such a moving and compassionate message. It is rare to find someone who can put into words the exact blend of fear, love for my children, and the struggle to stay strong that I feel every day. Knowing that my words helped you feel seen and that you, in turn, have helped me feel less alone. is a true gift.
You are so right about the connection we have with our children it is a bond that sees through everything, and I am learning to lean into that love even when I feel i helpless. Your perspective on talking to God and finding His presence in unexpected ways really touched me. It brings me a sense of peace to be reminded of him.
Thank you for your prayers and for sharing your soul with me today. It means more than I can express to know I am walking this path with people as kind and understanding as you. You are in my thoughts and prayers as well.
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5 ReactionsIt is a gift to feel understood and validated. Thank you for sharing so openly in this forum. I now think of my life as BC (before cancer) and after. My BC life had no clue. And despite having the support of a wonderful family and friends, I learned early on that sharing with them only brought them sadness that ricocheted right back to me. That’s when I started with a therapist and I am glad that I did.
I mostly sleep better these days, but not always. I’ll think of you at 2am. 🩵
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5 Reactions@shellyk89
I am also very grateful to have found a soul who understands. Your comments have resonated loudly with me, and I appreciate your response more than words can relate. I'm tearing as I write this. To actually know that there is someone that understands is wonderful. I've found a friend that knows!
I too will be listening for you, and will be here for you to vent, to share a hug of understanding.
Be well, my new friend. I don't use that word lightly.
THANK YOU!
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6 Reactions@shellyk89 I too have printed your writing out for my journal. One of the most beautiful pieces of writing I’ve ever read. You are gifted and a gift. 🫶 my heart is with you.
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4 Reactions@shellyk89: I appreciate that you have the knowledge of your illness that you can interpret the diagnostics, treatment and responses you've experienced to be an active participant in your care - and by extension use this to educate others who may be going through the same or similar journey. Regrettably, it's a journey none of us on this path had truly ever anticipated being on but being armed with facts and a certain degree of fortitude does help to navigate through the winding and seemingly ever changing path.
I've found adaptabilty is key, as is asking those key questions -- writing them down as they come to me so I can remember to ask the myriad of professionals involved in my care. Knowing where to seek reliable health information and how to gracefully respond to well-meaning friends with often unhelpful advice; knowing and honoring my boundaries. I, too, had been going about this from the time of my diagnosis in Sept of 2024 without the assistance of a therapist as I felt one I'd had in the past had equipped me with the tools I needed to support me, however as my life upended somewhat with my significant adverse reaction to pembro after 10 months requiring multiple hospitalizations, impacting my independence and activities of daily living, I did find the need for a few more sessions that were incredibly helpful. I have to add here that I'd worked for many years as a RN and had become an end of life doula (EOLD) through which I've learned of various support networks, such as letsreimagine.org which offers several good online events.
Just a thought: since you have such a knack for writing, perhaps you'd consider submitting to publications that pay for articles on health. There are several of which that do so. Freelance writing can be a more stable and faster way of generating income, with you determing how to distribute the proceeds. Let me know if that appeals to you.
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10 Reactions@shellyk89 you truly have a gift for expressing your thought … your words so validating to others!
Is your profile picture an avatar of you, or is that really you in the picture? If really you, you are gorgeous - and bald looks so beautiful on you!
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1 Reaction@grammato3 may I ask where your metastatic melanoma is?
Mine is in my lung inoperable and have been on keytruda 5 years.
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2 Reactions