I’ve been following Megan over on Insta for a while now. She was a fellow mbc thriver. She’s been on the struggle bus big time recently – with brain and skin mets. Then she got covid. And, as of last night, she passed. I know I didn’t actually know her, but she was so open and honest about life with MBC, that I felt like I did. She was only in her mid-thirties, and left behind a husband and two young kids. It’s heartbreaking and unfair and I fucking hate it.

I feel like a ticking time bomb.

Stage 4 needs more.

More bad news

I can’t eat much anymore (or drink much either) without feeling really full and sick. I’ve also been having a lot of reflux. I wake up super ill in the middle of the night. Lots of nausea, reflux, and cramps. So I think I’m going to ask that my scans be moved up. I’m worried the peritoneal mets are growing again. I’m not supposed to scan until June 23rd, but I don’t think I can stand to wait that long. Plus, I need to report this kind of stuff to my oncologist anyway.

I’m so tired. I don’t know how much longer I can handle all of this bullshit.

It’s Friday but so what?

My body hurts and I’m tired. I’m mentally and physically fatigued. I slept like ten hours last night, and it still isn’t enough. Nothing makes this feeling go away. The Ritalin just masks it.

I’m trying not to get down. Everything is fine. I’m just unhappy at where I find myself – it wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was supposed to be more than this.

It’s so fucking hard. Some days are better than others. This day I feel the weight of all of it.

No bueno

I feel like a huge burden.

I feel like I have zero control over anything in my life.

I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.

I’ve been crying a lot.

I think I’m going to take a nap before court.

This is the post that fucked me up.

Sometimes I distance myself from reality enough to think that I can be one of the lucky women who last beyond the 3 – 5 year life expectancy. But then I get knocked back to reality with something like this post, coupled with renewed and persistent pain. I’ll be lucky to make it to 5 years given how quickly I’m flying through treatments. That is my reality.

no bueno

Panic attacks at 5 am. Ugh.

Yesterday, I read a post in my support group from a 40-yo mom with three young kids who will be dying from MBC in the next few months. She’s riddled with cancer from head to toe and is out of treatment options. To say it was triggering would be an understatement.

I don’t want to do this anymore. It’s too hard.

Thursday Things

It’s just…not fair. And that’s what I kept saying over and over as I fell asleep crying: it’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair…

I know all too well that life isn’t fair. I’m feeling better about things today. I accidentally drank too much. I’m a lightweight now, and need to be more careful.

But, even though I’m feeling better, I’m still sad about all of it. I need to let it roll off though, because we have shit going on today and I don’t have time to wallow.

Okay bye – it’s time for court.


In re: today’s medical appt

My psych told me that my job is to relax and take care of myself. She said she knows it’s difficult for an over achiever like me to allow themself to do so without a lot of guilt, but that she wants me to work on it. So I’m currently lying down and resting for a few hours before I head out to run some errands. Like she said: I didn’t choose this life, but I choose to make the best of it.

Also – I keep reminding myself that this is technically my retirement. I should do things that make me happy. What’s the point of feeling guilty about it? It is what it is.