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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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@judyandchloe - My brother was diagnosed stage 4 lung cancer a year and a half ago. He responded well to chemo and immunotherapy. He has had two "pop up" spots that have been treated with radiation and freezing. Still taking chemo and immunotherapy but evidence of cancer in his body is gone. There is much that can be done today that was not available even a few years ago! He lives a full life- travel, volunteering and loving grandkids. Have hope and faith- we will all end this earthly life sometime. I hope treatments go well for your loved one and the continue onward. BLessings to you and yours!
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3 Reactions@jml2025 I’m trying to not text him too much as he complained to our older sister-things change every day with him and I feel I’m walking on eggshells.
About six weeks since his diagnosis-I’m finally calming down as I realize I was sick from anxiety and worry.
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1 ReactionShelleyGrayWings:
You are an excellent writer and your story is very sad. I hope somehow the treatments that can help will give you more years than you think you have. I hope you have family, friends or other support services to help you with this awful load. Dont try to manage it all alone.
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6 Reactions@rashida
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2 Reactions@songinmyheart54
Aww that's awesome. What stage was she?
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1 Reaction@tsch I am so grateful for the wonderful support system surrounding me. Their unwavering encouragement means the world to me. Despite this incredible network, I find myself navigating personal challenges. It's a complex situation, and I'm learning to manage both the support I receive and my ongoing struggles. I truly appreciate the understanding and patience shown to me. I appreciate your comment:)
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1 Reaction@brightside21
Thank you. I felt every word of this.
“The not knowing is hard but the knowing is too.” God, yes. That line hit me right in the chest because it’s exactly where I’m living right now.
I love what you said about going one hour at a time. Some days I can’t even think about tomorrow, but an hour? I can try to do an hour. I’m going to borrow that. I’m going to borrow “I’m still here & I will be here for tomorrow” too. I need that taped to my mirror.
The tears come for me too. The “what ifs” are loud and ugly and they show up without warning. I’ve been posturing for so long that I forgot it’s okay to just cry and let it out. So thank you for the reminder that I can say out loud, “I will get stronger,” even if I don’t believe it yet. Saying it matters.
Hearing that it does get better, that hair grows back, that sleep improves, that life can blossom again… I needed to hear that from someone who’s been in it. Slow is still forward. I keep forgetting that.
You’re right. This is a different life. I’m already changed by it all, and I hate that, but maybe I can learn to appreciate the small wins more. Maybe the hugs from the people who stay will mean more than they ever did before.
Thank you for the 💓 and the hugs. I felt them. I’m sending some back to you. And thank you for telling me I’ll be stronger than I think. I don’t feel it today, but I’m going to try to believe you. One hour at a time.
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5 Reactions@teresawhite thanks you
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1 ReactionBreast and liver keytruda failed for me. You are so blessed to be able to be on something for so long. 3 months is the longest something has worked for me.
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3 ReactionsI'm sorry it takes me so long to reply to everyone. Just know I read your comments and my heart is filled with gratitude 🥰
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3 Reactions