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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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Life can be so unfair. I sometimes wonder why some people and families get hit over and over.
You are a very caring person. Are you comfortable asking your relative how you can help? I shut down when I was diagnosed and in treatment, which surprised me as well as my closest people. I had to tell them what I needed for my mental health. Ex: no phone calls, just texts.
I will say that little things meant a lot - treats, food, flowers sent to my home, “thinking of you” cards, texts, offers to bring food or drive me to appointments…. I learned who I could count on and it was not always who I expected.
Stay connected. Show your love.
He will know.
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2 Reactions@judyandchloe I am so sorry for the pain you’re feeling, it’s very apparent how much you love him and that is the best medicine you can give him. I’m often very pessimistic by nature and it makes my life very stressful, since I started my cancer journey going on six years I sometimes forget how blessed I am to be alive. I have learned a lot from being on this website and the people here are so very helpful, my best feelings I can give to is to remain hopeful because miracles do happen, prayers are always wonderful because God hears our prayers and helps us in many different ways, best wishes for you and your family, amen 🙏
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1 Reaction@judyandchloe: It's like a sucker punch to the gut to hear the diagnosis of Stage 4 cancer. I know - I received it myself. A year and a half ago. I assumed it was a death sentence and I wouldn't be around to celebrate a milesone anniversary with my husband, enjoy the world travel we loved going on, see my grandchildren grow, have fun and experience joy. That was a serious disservice to myself. My treatment has resulted in some positive outcomes - with some definite speed bumps along the way - but I've gone from thinking that I'm dying from this condition to I'm LIVING with it. And live I have, adapting to some speed bumps along the way, but taking immeasurable pleasure in the times spent with family, even traveling nationally and abroad, living joyfully if not quite as spontaneously as previously but still taking time to find happiness in the here and now. And finding tremendous hope in the treatments offered and available to me....that have left me for the most part free from fatigue and pain. And have increased my fortitude to deal with them when that does occur; in large part due to support I've gained from cancer related groups, my understanding family and friends.
May I suggest we pause here for a moment and think about some of the things you wrote and how to exert a little paradigm shift in how you may be taking this in with your beloved family member: "He was a marvelous influence". Let's remember he is STILL here; with encouragement, love and support he can very much be a contined postive influence on the loves and lives surrounding him, particularly during this difficult time by drawing on the encouragement, love and support of those around him. I don't mean "toxic postivity" as no one can guarantee what the future may hold - but providing access to treatment, support groups, comfort care. Simple pleasures can be derived from simple measures. Sitting near him, holding his hand, reminiscing about favorite memories, indulging in activities, visiting favorite places, can all bring about those smiles and laughs. My husband and I certainly had the opportuniity to do that recently with a dear friend diagnosed with Stage 4 pancreatic cancer 2 years ago....who continues to play pickleball and tennis on a regular basis!
A group I belong to compared cancer to a being held at gunpoint, being pressed a little harder every so often. I tend to focus on relying upon research based on clinical findings, advice from experts in the field and trusting in the process. I understand the risks, but I have not let that take away my gratitude. I have spent time doing things I feel passionate about it. I lean into rest when I need to. I have faith in my spiritual beliefs. I face challenges with dignity and courage, and as my loved ones provide their unwavering support I have been able to live life, find happiness in even the simple moments - perhaps even more so now than ever.
Do you think you can find your inner strength to help achieve some of this stamina, and in so doing, be able to assist your loved one during this time of challenge?
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8 Reactions@grammato3 happily I’m one tough cookie! I cared for our mom for five years- throughout we kept having fun! My brother was there along the way-he knows my advocacy for my mom and how it kept her dignity the entire journey. I took care of soup to nuts. He knows I’ll be there for him and with all that I learned along the way.
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