A new perspective

I don’t look like I am sick. If I stood among a crowd of people, I wouldn’t be singled out as the one with terminal cancer, the one who is dying.
But I am.
In 2012, I was diagnosed with Stage 2 breast cancer. I fought hard. I suffered through chemotherapy and the nasty side effects. I lost my hair. I had a double mastectomy and went through the reconstruction process, which was certainly the most harrowing part of my journey. After 28 radiation treatments, I was finally declared “cancer free.” My life returned to normal and I looked at cancer as a bad memory.
Until it wasn’t.
In 2015, the cough I had since my radiation treatments worsened and I felt pain in my elbow at night. When I mentioned this to my oncologist, he scheduled a scan, as he did with any unusual symptoms, to check for progression. More than likely, it was nothing – just like the other times – but we had to know for sure. I answered the call that day, expecting to hear the scan was all clear.
That didn’t happen.
The scan found a mass on my shoulder and spots on my lungs. My oncologist scheduled a bone biopsy right away. Even though it was pretty clear what was going on, I hoped that this was something else – anything else.
But it wasn’t.
I had Stage 4 metastatic breast cancer. There was no cure. The plan was to maintain my quality of life while slowing down progression.
When people think about breast cancer, they usually think about early-stage breast cancer. They think that if you go through chemo and do everything that the doctor tells you, that everything will be OK. And it is, for some.
What most people don’t know is that 20 to 30 percent of patients with early-stage breast cancer will develop metastatic disease. According to the American Cancer Society, only about 22 percent of those diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer live 5 years past diagnosis.
I was given a prognosis of about 33 months. That wasn’t long enough.
Treatment began immediately. This time, I had radiation to my shoulder bone. I took shots to stop estrogen production so I would be a candidate for the medications best-suited to treat my cancer. A few months later, when my estrogen levels were low enough, I began my first line of treatment, which was a combination of two oral medications, one of which was only recently available.

In this 2017 photo, Jennifer and husband Mike pose for a family portrait with their children, Kalea and Kade, at Mingo Creek County Park.
I started monthly injections to make my bones stronger. Relieved not to have to begin IV chemo and happy these medications would not cause hair loss, I was optimistic about treatment. I saw my oncologist every month, for blood work and routine visits. I had scans every 3 months to check for progression. When the medications stopped working, the cancer would be treated with radiation or surgery, if possible, and I would start a new treatment – until that stopped working.
That was my life as a patient with metastatic breast cancer. Although the treatment was fighting my cancer, it also came with side effects.
My bones ached deep inside. My joints screamed in agony. My feet hurt to touch the floor sometimes. My stomach kept me up at night until I started another prescription drug to ease the pain. My skin was dry and itchy. The fatigue was often overwhelming.
But I kept going.
My dad taught me that complaining didn’t help. I hurt a lot of the time. I was tired a lot of the time. I couldn’t do the workouts I used to do. I couldn’t finish cleaning the house in one afternoon. I couldn’t stay up late and get up early and still be productive. In a lot of ways, I lost the person I used to be. I had to adjust to a new normal.
Living life with a terminal illness was hard. There was fear, pain and uncertainty. It could swallow you whole if you let it.
Admittedly, there have been a few birthdays and holidays that I didn’t let myself enjoy. I couldn’t escape the fear that they might be my last; but worrying about what might never be, robs me of what is.
Those were the moments that I had to stop looking at the future, and turn my attention to right now. I wish with all my heart that my cancer could be wiped away, but I wouldn’t want to lose the perspective cancer has given me.
I bake more. I hug more. I write letters. I read my Bible. I hear the birds singing in the morning and the crickets chirping at night. I enjoy all the colors of the sunset and the leaves in the fall. I drink in all the beauty around me, the very things I was once too busy to notice.
When cancer came into my life, my priorities changed. My eyes were opened to what was right in front of me, my heart was full and my soul was content.
The number of days I will walk this earth may be fewer than I thought, but cancer has taught me to fill the days I have left with the good stuff – the joy, the simple things, the love.
I don’t know what my future holds. I don’t need to look ahead, though, because I have more blessings than I can count right here in front of me.
Editor’s note: Jennifer Collins’ blog “LifeConfetti” appears on the Observer-Reporter website.