OPINION: What if you don’t die on schedule?

Sunday, Oct. 13 was Light Up MBC (metastatic breast cancer) Day. Metastatic breast cancer, the pesky little sister of the “Pinktober” month that 30% of survivors face. Somewhere in your own circle, a woman is facing monthly infusions and scans and endless appointments dealing with side effects, which we feel ashamed to mention because after all, “We’re still here.”

Hope comes and goes like Alaska’s fall windstorms in the night. We are lifted and dropped over and over. In the morning, we’re left to pick up the pieces and try to make sense of them. Another champion in my circle has recently passed, breaking our hearts.

When I was first diagnosed, it was sudden and shocking. I’m sure the alarm in my voice was contagious. It was my honest appraisal of what was to come. I was told “two to four years”, and I’m now past halfway.

People in my life scraped travel funds together for that last visit. Family and friends said things they probably wouldn’t say today. My possessions and my beloved pets are spoken for. Will is drafted, advance directives are in place. I wish my son would be here, but how can he be? Like my own mother said, “I don’t want you waiting around for me to die — go live your life.” And he is, thankfully, doing just that.

Now I get to say, at least today, “Don’t be disappointed — I may be around longer than expected.” According to last week’s PET scan, the latest drug, regimen No. 4, appears to have stalled any new growth since May. Nothing went away, but nothing new has appeared. This is a success in the MBC game.

I celebrated by buying and eating a cherry pie. A whole pie.

I am on a four-week schedule, which means 12 days of feeling crappy and about 16 days of feeling more normal. During those “good days,” other than looking like Barack Obama as winter rolls in, and being 17 pounds lighter (no I didn’t find this to be a benefit) my brain is functioning at about 75%, and I am able to walk my dogs three times a day, travel — even to Africa — and have an occasional glass of wine, make holiday plans with my son, and add plants to the yard.

The questions have started. When are you finished?

Now that’s a loaded question.

Never.

Will your hair grow back?

Unlikely.

Am I cured? Sorry, no. Am I being given a bit of a breather? Perhaps. I am grateful I am only six blocks from treatment and can get appointments when needed, unlike in large cities across the country. My “care team” actually cares.

My own question becomes, “How much money can I spend on fun things?”

It’s unpredictable at best, and living with uncertainty is the new norm. Gratitude multiplies and ripples out from even the simplest things. Coffee by the fireplace. Watching the pups doing their zoomies at the beach. Pie. Feeling the best in people who help me face each treatment, or who stop by to help move heavy things. Or help with the yard.

New sheets. New socks. Fun hats. More time in my day that was once spent styling my hair.

Maybe I’ll even plant a tree.

Mary Katzke is executive director of Affinityfilms Inc., a nonprofit filmmaking enterprise that focuses on social issues, and has been based in Anchorage since 1982.

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