For years, I volunteered at a food bank in Connecticut. My task was to sort through boxes of food donations and check expiration dates.
Not everything around us has a date stamped on it. The concept of expiration or perishing is an intrinsic part of life though. From the beautiful roses in the garden to the milk on the shelf in the fridge—and even medications and treatments—everything has a shelf life.
And that brings me to my latest news. My first line of treatment had an average progression-free effectiveness of twenty-four months. I was fortunate enough to get twenty-five months out of it. However, my latest scan confirmed what my liquid biopsy a month earlier had indicated: my cancer is on the move again, and the drug I was on is no longer effective.
Did this news come as a blow? Not really. This is what cancer advocacy and being active members of my treatment team have done for me and Jim. This takes me back to the moment when we decided to change care and hospitals over a year ago. With my last oncologist, her standard response in discussions, "I’ll tell you what to do and you do it" wasn’t acceptable. And I was getting tired of having to inform that medical team about the latest studies for treatment and testing.
Jim and I are aware of the path that metastatic breast cancer often follows. As a patient and advocate, I attend conferences—both in person and virtual. I keep myself informed about new drugs in the pipeline, advances in scientific research. Most valuable of all, I'm part of a support group with other patients who are undergoing the same exact treatment. This community of voices, stories, and suggestions is invaluable. Knowledge is power, and fear festers when you're facing the unknown.
My new treatment, which I started three days ago, has an average effectiveness of seven months. I hope to be one of those outliers and stay on it longer. But in the meantime, I'm not dwelling on the dates. Instead, I'm focusing on expanding my knowledge and increasing outreach to advocates, patients, scientists, and anyone newly diagnosed who suddenly has a million and one questions about what lies ahead.
Science aside, as humans, we’re not boxes and cans with dates stamped on our bodies. We are living, breathing, and feeling beings, and our well-being is deeply entwined with the love and support we receive in our lives. I've been extremely fortunate in that regard. Every day, I wake up feeling a profound sense of gratitude for the love that surrounds me.
I'm thankful to Jim, whose unwavering support has been my anchor; to my sons, whose strength and kindness inspire me; to my daughters-in-law, who have brought so much joy into our family; and to every one of you, my friends and extended family, for standing by me. Your encouragement, compassion, and presence are the lights that guide me. I cherish each moment we share, knowing that love is the most powerful medicine of all.
So, what’s next? A trip to London next July to meet readers and attend a book event. Jim and I are so excited to look forward and make plans. We’ll let the idea of shelf life be just that—a stamp on a box.
My love to you all!
