You Can't Judge a Book by Its Cover

Although I haven't seen the movie, I just finished reading / listening to Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption by Laura Hillenbrand. (Side note: did you know you can switch between the two -- reading and listening -- and Kindle/Audible will sync with one another for some books?! This isn't sponsored, just a tip that blew me away and made finishing this book infinitely easier for me because I could listen while I hiked or drove because I haven't had much time to sit lately, so I thought I'd share.) The irony is I had treatment yesterday and have hardly left the couch today.

Unbroken is an epic tale of one man's life, from boyhood rebellion to Olympic runner to airman in World War II. In the war, his plane went down in the Pacific and he was stranded at sea for more than forty-five days on a disintegrating life raft. When he was "rescued," it was by Japanese, who put him in a variety of POW camps where he survived the unthinkable for more than two years. On the back cover blurb of the book, it says: "Unbroken is an unforgettable testament to the resilience of the human mind, body, and spirit. . ." 

My reading of such an incredible tale was timely, as I headed to a conference last weekend where I met dozens of people who are a further testament to the resilience of the human mind, body, and spirit (not to compare what we've been through to what our servicemen endured in WWII, but humanity in the face of hardship can be pretty incredible). The HealtheVoices 2015 Conference brought together more than sixty health bloggers from around the country, representing various conditions for which we advocate (and for most of us, live with): cancer, HIV, diabetes, cardiovascular disease, mental illness, Crohn's/colitis, and rheumatoid arthritis.

A photo posted by Jen Campisano (@jencampisano) on Apr 18, 2015 at 7:13pm PDT

This conference was, as far as I can tell, the first of its kind. It brought dozens of voices together to explore how to collaborate across our varying ailments, think about how to raise the volume on our advocacy efforts, and -- most importantly, I think -- discover ways to more effectively serve the patients and caregivers who turn to us for support.

The summit was sponsored by Janssen Biotech, Inc. in collaboration with Everyday Health, and I should point out that Janssen paid for my travel expenses for the summit. All thoughts and opinions expressed here are, of course, my own. 

I spent all day Friday traveling to the NYC area, where I was greeted by Ann Silberman of Breast Cancer? But Doctor. . . I Hate Pink! I've known Ann online for a couple of years, and I'm pretty sure she's the reason I got invited to this summit, so I was especially excited to meet her in person. And as Shakespeare said, “Though she be but little, she is fierce!”

There was a cocktail reception that evening followed by a dinner program in a windowed room overlooking the Hudson River and the New York skyline. It was an effort to focus on the speakers and not the view (seen here the next morning when I got up early to walk around a bit and soak it in).

Saturday kicked off with an inspiring and entertaining keynote by Dr. Zubin Damania (aka ZDoggMD), who told us we were part of the next wave of medicine, Medicine 3.0, if you will, in which medical information would be open and available to patients, relationships between providers and patients would exist like they did in the past, but would be more of a partnership and less of a paternalistic relationship, and that we, as online advocates, would be part of making that transition happen. He spoke to us about leaving his career as a doctor at Stanford (by way of some hilarious and avant-garde videos) to help open a membership-based (like a gym!) primary care clinic in Las Vegas that goes beyond traditional medicine by offering a range of services, including yoga and counseling.

Saturday was a whirlwind of breakout sessions on a range of topics aimed at making us better at what we do, including a session on legal issues in online advocacy that almost made me nostalgic for law school.

There was a little time for catching up with other attendees between sessions and during meals, and then we broke into smaller groups for dinner Saturday night, where I had the privilege of sitting next to the inspiring Chrisa Hickey, who writes about living with a son who was diagnosed with schizophrenia when he was just eleven years young. She has taken this challenge and turned it into a loving and safe online community of parents facing similar circumstances.

Like so many bloggers I met this weekend, she has been faced with the unthinkable, picked herself (and others) up from the doldrums, and put one foot in front of the other until life was bearable again. Resilience, indeed.

After dinner, I spoke with a man who was diagnosed with Stage 4 prostate cancer more than nine years ago and told he would probably die soon. He did not. I met a marine who was about to be deployed to Afghanistan when he got the terrible news that he was HIV positive. I spoke with another young mom who is sometimes debilitated due to her rheumatoid arthritis. Not one of these people looked sick. I don't look sick, either.

Here is a photo of those of us who were attending and write about breast cancer. Four of the five of us have been told we have metastases. Three of the five of us are in remission. I don't think any of us appear ill. (From left to right: Kathy-Ellen Kups, RN, Life with Breast Cancer; me; Vickie Young Wen, I Want More Than a Pink Ribbon; Ann Silberman; and Heather Lagemann, Invasive Duct Tales.

What I learned this weekend above and beyond how to be a better advocate, if I didn't know it already, was you never know what someone else might be going through. I looked around the room and realized that if we weren't all there together, I would never expect most of these people were facing any health hardships. You just never know. The old adage is so true: you can't judge a book by its cover. Also, never underestimate the resilience of the human spirit.

Around the Web

Just when I start to think most of my anger toward cancer has dissipated, a dear friend sends me an email about her colleague's wife who just learned that her early-stage cancer is now metastatic. Meaning, it has spread to bones or vital organs. It is incurable. I don't know this woman's health history, but I do know her cancer was first diagnosed in 2007. So, more than SEVEN years later, after I'm sure she figured she was done with this disease, barely a speck in her rearview mirror any longer, it rears its hideous head again.

Then I learned of another woman, a mom to two young children, who died this weekend after battling triple negative breast cancer for a little over a year. One year. If you want to contribute to her family as they try to navigate through life in the absence of their wife, mom, daughter, best friend, the link to do so is here.

And if you've ever been tempted to say (as I was and did, when I was first diagnosed) that, well, everyone beats breast cancer, please think again. As the first article in this week's round-up reminds us, we still have so much work to do. Also, if you find anything you think I should include here, please shoot me an email. I'd love to hear from you.

{photo source}

Pretty in Pink? A Reminder That We Still Have Work to Do in the Fight Against Metastatic Breast Cancer

(Full disclosure: I'm quoted a couple of times in this article.)

"According to the American Cancer Society, the 5-year survival rates for stages I, II and III breast cancer are 100 percent, 93 percent and 72 percent respectively, and not all early stage breast cancers will advance to stage IV....

In contrast, 75 percent of people diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer will die of the disease within five years."

But There's Reason (in the form of Personalized Medicine) for Hope

"Even more tailored treatment is on the horizon. In the next few years, patients with breast cancer can expect increasingly detailed diagnostic tests, tests that may predict side effects of treatments like chemotherapy or radiation, and better guidance in choosing the drug, or drugs, most likely to eradicate their disease. Genomic discoveries may also help patients with advanced, aggressive cancers, a group for whom even the latest treatments often fail. In these ways and many others, breast cancer prevention, treatment, and care are a microcosm of the slow but inevitable shift in healthcare....

'We are at the beginning of a revolution,' says the American Cancer Society’s Lichtenfeld. 'Breast cancer, as with many others — lung, melanoma, etc. — has a number of therapies in the pipeline, and that number is increasing dramatically. What does the future hold? Some successes, some failures. Will it lead to a cure? I can’t say that. Will it lead to control of breast cancer? That’s a real possibility.'"

A "Novel Platform" for the Treatment of Pancreatic and Breast Cancers

"Scientists from the Florida campus of The Scripps Research Institute (TSRI) have identified a novel synthetic compound that sharply inhibits the activity of a protein that plays an important role in in the progression of breast and pancreatic cancers.

In the new study, to be published in the February 2015 print edition of the journal Molecular Pharmacology, the scientists showed that the compound, known as SR1848, reduces the activity and expression of the cancer-related protein called "liver receptor homolog-1" or LRH-1.

In fact, the study showed that levels of LHR-1 in a cell's nucleus began to diminish four hours after treatment with SR1848, and the compound repressed specific target genes as early as two hours after administration."

Rates of Diagnosis and Survival Vary by Race

"A new study published in JAMA finds that among women in the US, the chance of being diagnosed with breast cancer in the early stages of the disease and the likelihood of surviving after such a diagnosis may be influenced by race and ethnicity, and this may be down to biological differences."

Around the Web

Quinn and I spent most of the day yesterday on the couch. He was recovering from a minor but necessary surgery that left us both exhausted and me frayed all around my edges. (Quinn on the other hand seemed totally fine, as long as I continued to supply him with jello.)

Recovering from (minor) surgery like a champ with some help from his "pets."

A photo posted by Jen Campisano (@jencampisano) on Jan 12, 2015 at 2:14pm PST

The anesthesiologist allowed me to carry Quinn back to the OR, where I held him while he protested (Quinn, not the anesthesiologist). Quinn was screaming and crying that he didn't want the mask they'd tried to tell him was a superhero mask, while the doctor held it gently above my child's face. I rubbed Quinn's sweaty hair off his forehead and told him how brave he was. Somehow, I held it together until he passed out, then broke out in sobs as I walked out of the room.

Quinn and I watched four -- yes, four -- movies in a row yesterday. Three of which we already owned. I hesitated about paying the money to purchase the fourth one.

"It's twenty dollars, buddy," I said.

"I can handle that," Quinn answered.

HA. Ha ha ha ha ha.

I chuckled so hard that I gave in and paid the money. Well handled, indeed, my little man.

***

On to the news I came across over the last week. Is it just me, or is this week's round-up exceptionally full of good news and hope? Here's to 2015, people.

Why Do Some People Develop Resistance to Cancer Therapies? 

Duke researchers may have the answer, according to a couple of recently-published studies.

"The team managed to map the particular steps that breast cancer cells (along with melanoma and blood cancer cells) use to gain resistance to drugs."

And a Potential New Drug Target for Combating Those Resistant Cells

"Researchers have identified a signaling pathway that contributes to the slow proliferation of difficult-to-kill cancer cells. These cells, which are resistant to current treatments, are believed to be responsible for instances of cancer relapse. The researchers believe that the signaling pathway could therefore provide a potential target for new treatments.

'Most cancer treatments target rapidly dividing cancer cells but leave the slowly dividing ones unharmed and still capable of causing disease recurrence after the initial treatment,' Dr. Ramaswamy adds. 'Our goal has been to understand how these slow proliferators are produced in order to devise ways to eliminate them.'"

FDA Fast-Tracks Drug to Treat Advanced Triple Negative Breast Cancer

"The FDA. . . granted fast track status to sacituzumab govitecan, an antibody–drug conjugate in development for treatment of patients with triple-negative breast cancer who failed prior therapies for metastatic disease, according to the drug’s manufacturer.

The FDA’s Fast Track program is intended to facilitate the development and expedite the review of new drugs intended to treat serious conditions, as well as agents that would fill unmet medical needs.

The FDA based its decision on the efficacy sacituzumab govitecan has shown in patients with advanced triple-negative breast cancer."

Well, This is Potentially HUGE for Her-2+ Breast Cancer Patients...

"Scientists at Dalhousie University’s medical school have found a never-before-used combination of drugs that shut down aggressive breast cancer tumours and prevent the disease from recurring."

(I couldn't not put emphasis on that entire sentence.)

Could This Spell the End of Cancer?

"By tapping into a cell's natural processes, researchers may have found a way to inhibit tumor growth and ultimately kill off cancer cells.

'We believe this small molecule will address an unmet cancer need in an underexplored area that will be rapidly applicable to the clinic,' said Dr. Jerry Shay, vice-chairman and professor of cell biology at the University of Texas Southwestern Medical Center and senior co-author for the study."

New Drug for Hormone-Driven Breast Cancer Set for Approval This Spring

"The first in a new class of cancer medicines, Pfizer's Ibrance, appears poised for approval to treat advanced breast cancer within a few months and could quickly become a blockbuster, some analysts believe.

Those drugs are believed to block enzymes, called CDK4 and 6, that help cancer cells divide uncontrollably."

Breakthrough as Gene Driving Triple Negative Breast Cancer is Discovered

"Scientists have identified the gene behind one of most aggressive forms of breast cancer in a breakthrough which could bring life-saving new treatments.

Triple-negative breast cancer is one of the most deadly forms of the disease and nearly one quarter of patients diagnosed will not survive for more than five years.

Now researchers at Cambridge University and the Wellcome Trust’s Sanger Institute have found that the BCL11A gene is overactive in eight out of ten patients."

Personal Liberty vs. An 85% Chance of Survival for One 17-Year-Old Girl

On the one hand, I'm a strong believer in letting children have some say in what happens to their bodies. Meaning: if Quinn says stop tickling, I stop tickling. And I don't force him to give hugs, much to his grandparents' chagrin. 

HOWEVER, I would certainly make my child receive chemotherapy if there was an 85% chance of survival. There would be no question. She would sit in that infusion center and I would hold her hand through side effects and uncertainty and I would hate it but I would make her fight. (This hypothetical 17-year-old girl child of mine.)

Having gone through what I've gone through to spend more time with my family, I cannot wrap my head around this mother's position one little bit. But I'm curious: what's your take?

Getting Off the Hamster Wheel

I came down with a cold this week -- or maybe last, but it really hit this week as I was recovering from chemo. Perfect timing! Then Quinn spent Tuesday night feverishly whimpering in bed next to me. He woke up sick to his stomach Wednesday morning, which made two of us. The last few days have been kind of a blur. In traditional denial-ist fashion, I've been telling myself I just have terrible allergies, even as my head has spent most of this week feeling like I got run over by a reindeer.

I managed to make it to yoga earlier in the week (or late last week?), hoping to sweat out some of the gunk that's been plaguing me. I ran into a friend and mentioned that I've been feeling like I'm on a hamster wheel lately, with the decorating and shopping and cards and laundry and cleaning and baking and school activities and I just hadn't been feeling very festive. "Oh my God, me too," she said.

She told me she'd been feeling the same thing but had had a session with a local woman who is part therapist, part energy healer. And I might normally roll my eyes, but this friend is especially grounded and I've had some pretty remarkable sessions with people doing energy work myself. Also, my friend told me something that really struck home. Her therapist/healer suggested looking at the items on the hamster wheel from a slightly different perspective, shifting her gaze just a tad so things no longer feel like chores. Hearing this, it was as if I was suddenly given permission to be okay with the chaos, to embrace it even, to possibly find some kooky sort of joy in it. I feel like my friend got a two-for-one deal because this was EXACTLY the nudge I needed to get my head out of my ass.

Then, another woman I didn't know too well -- but who was also rejected by The TODAY Show before she was invited (and attended) on the Plaza with Joan Lunden -- passed away this week. We'd sent each other congratulatory notes on our TODAY appearances. A few weeks later, she suffered a stroke from which she never really recovered. Despite all that, in October, she tweeted this, which is a perfect little nugget of wisdom. Thank you, Annie.

I beg of the world. Stop complaining. Find ways to be happy. Seriously. Dig deep. Even in my worst times, I still try. No matter how hard.
— Annie Goodman (@annieg917) October 28, 2014

The Busiest People Ever

"We are the busiest people EVER!" Quinn announced the other day.

We were driving home after preschool pick-up, and I'd asked him about his day. As usual, he told me he "played and played and played!" And then, in an adorable pattern I've noticed lately, he's starting to ask things like, "How are YOU, mom?" or "How was YOUR day?" Our conversations are becoming two-way streets, even if those roads often lead to tales about dragon-sauruses who've turned into trolls.

I told Quinn I'd had a "doctor's appointment" (my CT scan), lunch with my friend/book editor, and that we'd gotten good news that day. Just in case you're not on FB/Twitter/within a few blocks of my home where I spent Monday squealing like an excited pig over the news, my oncologist called with my scan results: it was clean. This marks one year of No Evidence of Disease.

We celebrated as a family Monday night, cheers-ing our glasses of wine to Quinn's milk. The twitching in my right eyelid that's been plaguing me since mid-day Sunday has almost stopped. For now, I'm taking a break from my nightly dose of Xanax.

But I've been circling back to Quinn's comment about how busy our lives are, and wondering if we're over-scheduled. I try to give us ample downtime (see: days in front of the TV post-chemo), but I also try to accommodate Quinn's requests to spend time with friends, introduce him to new activities, and maintain a semblance of routine. We still go to swimming once a week. We just planted our fall garden, since that's what you do when it's still 85 degrees outside in November.

On Tuesday morning, we went to our friends' house, where we walked to the nearby Veteran's Day parade. That afternoon, another friend dropped her son off for a few hours so she could make it to a meeting (school was closed). By bedtime, Quinn was fried, and it showed.

I laid down with him as he fell asleep, a habit we're still clinging to. He wrapped his arms around my arm, holding my hand to his chest as he nodded off. My heart tightened. We try to protect him against everything I'm going through, to keep our anxiety away from him, to not talk about potential outcomes around him, but it's impossible for some of it not to seep into our daily lives. And kids pick up on so much. This strong, brave boy, who is exhausted from the hectic flow of our lives, has already had to know too much, sense too much, experience too much.

So, with my good news and the holidays approaching (because when could be a better time for trying to slow things down, amiright?), I'm going to work on making our lives slightly less busy, slightly less anxiety-ridden, slightly less scheduled and see what happens. The flip side of that coin is I'm looking at adopting a dog, though, so maybe we will still be the busiest people ever, just with more slobbery kisses.

Enough Brave to Go Around

I suspect by now you've heard of Brittany Maynard. The 29-year-old newlywed recently made the very public decision to end her life before incurable brain cancer could make that decision for her. If you hadn't followed her story, you can read more about it here.

I've been debating writing about her life, her choice, her death here because I wasn't sure whether I agreed with what she did -- even if I 100% support her RIGHT to choose. After all, who am I to judge? Who are any of us, if we haven't been in the same situation? As my dad liked to tell me when I was young (and very often I had no inkling what on earth he meant): judge not lest ye be judged.

And yet, I couldn't help thinking of all of us who are fighting so hard to stay alive, or participating in clinical trials to further advance research for the next incurable patient who comes along. People lauded Maynard's choice as "brave," which left me wondering what that made the rest of us, those of us who dig our heals in until the bitter, ugly end. Those of us suffering through treatment after treatment in the hopes that one might work. Were we not brave?

Then I realized -- had an epiphany of sorts -- one has absolutely no bearing on the other. 

We can all be brave (or not; a diagnosis of cancer does not automatically turn one into a superhero, and some days, brave has nothing to do with the decision to get up and keep fighting. No--some days, that decision is pure stubbornness, or a deep-rooted responsibility to those who most depend on you to get your ass out of bed, or a little seed of hope that today might be the day they announce a cure). However you look at it, there is enough brave to go around. There is no brave shortage for which we need to conserve.

Putting on our bravest faces

Brittany's bravery was in her voice. Her bravery was in speaking up for the right to choose how you leave this world when you are told you will be checking out very soon. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.

I was also diagnosed with incurable cancer, but I have not exhausted my treatment options. I do not have tumors in my brain threatening to take away my ability to make independent decisions. I am not having seizures that leave me unable to express myself. 

I repeat: I am one of the lucky ones. 

***

On Tuesday this week, a dear friend was admitted to hospice care, somewhat unexpectedly, as her cancer has taken a rather rapid turn for the worse. Radiation to treat her inoperable brain tumors (from metastatic breast cancer, not brain cancer) isn't having the desired affect. Someday soon, she will leave her two little girls, aged two and four.  

I cried until I couldn't cry anymore that night, and it had nothing to do with the elections.

This friend of mine told me she's at peace with whatever lies ahead for her. I can't quite wrap my brain around that idea -- of peace in the face of death. For me, it's an idea that no longer fits, like a sweater I accidentally put in the dryer. While I don't understand my friend's acceptance of her fate, I can find a form of bravery there, too. She has come to the end and -- still, she is bravely forging ahead to whatever might be next. My friend is a Christian, and I'm certain she would not choose the path Brittany Maynard did, even if it were an option in Arizona. 

Instead, hospice (from what I understand) provides comfort in the form of spiritual counseling to the extent one needs/requests it, social services for the family being left behind, and palliative care to keep the patient as comfortable as possible for however long it takes. In hospice, treatment for the disease itself is over. This process of dying can take weeks, or it can take days. With Medicare, hospice is available to any patient whose physician certifies that they have six months or less to live.

My friend will spend this time -- however much of it she's got -- with her little ones and her husband standing by. She'll be in and out of consciousness, in and out of pain, in and out of breath, until there is no more and she is just out. 

***

I have a scan on Monday. I expect good results (hope for them with every breath I take if I'm being honest), but I still filled my prescription for Xanax. I'm still jumpy with every weird pain -- the pinching where I probably pulled something under my arm in yoga, the place where my sternum cracks like knuckles when I stretch a certain way, and the headaches that are most certainly from stress and grinding my teeth at night but a little seed in my brain wonders what if anyway.

And all of this has me thinking: I don't know what choice I would make, if my options had run out and my possibilities were between a slow expiration and a quick end to suffering -- mine and my family's.

As my friend Nancy Stordahl wrote this week: "I remember when my mother was extremely ill, lying in a bed at a care facility and unable to do much of anything at all anymore. She was dying from metastatic breast cancer and it was a slow, painful and agonizing experience for her and for my family to witness. I remember there were moments when I wished the end would just come for her because she was suffering so much. I also remember immediately feeling guilty for thinking such things. I bargained with God for more time. I wanted more time; just one more day or one more night. I wanted it both ways."

I am a LONG way from that fork in the road. If and when it gets to that point, though, I really hope nobody will judge me if I move to Oregon, where I could at least get rid of my Xanax prescription.

The Mighty Quinn

He takes his job as Superman VERY seriously. God, I love this kid.

The Road Less Traveled

{photo credit}

At chemo yesterday, I got to chatting with the woman sitting in the chair next to mine. She was petite, with perfectly manicured nails (in contrast to my big toes that are holding on to the last of a pedicure from more than a month ago.) She apologized for her raspy voice, said it was probably the radiation to her throat and chest. I asked whether she had throat cancer.

"No -- lung cancer," she told me. "My gym just named me fitness woman of the month in January, my husband had surgery, and then I had this persistent cough that they told me was pneumonia. It was not pneumonia. I mean, I was going to spinning classes and walking eighteen rounds of golf and then this."

I asked if they'd caught it early -- cancer small talk.

"No, it's Stage 4," she said meekly.

"Mine was, too," I told her. "From the beginning. That was almost three years ago -- breast cancer."

She was at the infusion center for her first chemo, but had been too dehydrated to receive it, so was just getting fluids. She confessed she wasn't sure if she'd continue to fight the cancer, she was so scared at the prospect of chemo, although she admitted she'd thought radiation had been a piece of cake.

"I'm lucky," she went on. "I've had a full life. I'm seventy-six."

I just about fell out of my chair. This woman did not look like a 76-year-old. She looked like the fitness woman of the month, with porcelain skin and a cute blonde pixie cut.

"I was always so healthy, had my tonsils out when I was five, but that's been it," she went on, expressing to me what I've come to know far too well: that cancer doesn't always care whether you're otherwise healthy. That cells mutate, go rogue, form tumors for reasons we don't fully understand.

We spent the next couple of hours chatting intermittently. My friend Sandi came to sit with me and encouraged this woman -- she introduced herself as Grandma Sue ("That's my mom's name! She's coming to visit and take care of me this week," I shared) -- to go forward with chemo. We both did.

But it got me thinking about what I would do if I were forty years older than I am now. If I didn't have Quinn and Chris and my (relative) youth to want to stick around for. Would I still put up this much of a fight? Would I feel lucky at the life I'd lived, and be ready to let go, to give up this life? The concept scares the daylight out of me, so I didn't pursue that line of conversation with Sue.

Instead, I did the only thing that I know how to do: gave her a vote of confidence that if she's healthy otherwise, she'll be able to handle chemo. Promised her that the meds they give to combat side effects are truly remarkable. We told her to watch a marathon of "Downton Abbey" when the fatigue lays her flat on the couch.

Even as I was talking, part of me felt like I was chickening out, taking the easy, familiar route rather than dive into why Sue felt it would be okay if she stopped getting treatment. I wasn't comfortable talking about accepting death. Does that part come after a certain amount of time living in cancer land? (P.S. I would not make for a good hospice volunteer.)

At the end of the day, Sue's 82-year-old, equally fit husband came to pick her up. She introduced Sandi and me as the ones who'd been giving her a shot of courage, and I was flattered. Then her husband shook my hand and said, "Thank you."

The Bravest Thing

Chris and I started watching Season 2 of House of Cards last night, and there was one line of dialogue where a guy is talking about grief after losing his wife (not a spoiler, I promise). He says something along the lines of, "I mean, who dies of breast cancer at 31?" Chris and I both laughed awkwardly. It isn't funny.

But it means that -- little by little -- word is getting out about the possibility of death from breast cancer at a young age. It's mentioned in a Netflix TV series, for crying out loud! Maybe, little by little, people are waking up to the reality that this disease is not a "good" cancer, not all pink and happy, not something to be trifled with or taken lightly.

In that vein, I want to do my part to give some recognition to metastatic breast cancer. That's what this blog is about -- shedding some light. But this blog is not quite enough. So I wrote this piece, which was published here. Please take a peek.

I don't know why I'm so nervous to share this here, but I think it relates to how weird I feel about self-promotion. But then, I think if I really want to be brave, I should tell my story to anyone who will listen. I should find as many outlets for it as possible and then do my best to make sure it reverberates. I hope you'll help me by sharing it far and wide. Shout it from the proverbial rooftops.

Then I'd love to hear your story, too. Tell me how cancer affects you. As Sara Bareilles says, "I wanna see you be brave..."