Tag Archive | Metastatic

Fatigue No One Sees

Sep18

Here’s the thing about fatigue with stage IV cancer: it’s not “I stayed up too late last night” tired. It’s not “I just need a nap and a coffee” tired. It’s bone-deep, soul-sucking exhaustion that no amount of sleep, vitamins, or positive thinking can fix.

And the kicker? It’s unpredictable.

Just because I wake up feeling halfway decent doesn’t mean I’ll still feel that way by lunchtime. I can say “yes” to something with every intention of showing up — then my body pulls the rug out from under me, and suddenly I’m on the couch with zero energy, nauseous, and mad at the world. It feels depressing because I want to go, I plan to go, and then… I can’t.

That’s the hardest part: not being able to trust my own body. I used to be a planner. I thrived on calendars, commitments, and being the person who always showed up. Now, week 4 of my Ibrance cycle is basically the Bermuda Triangle of my life. Energy goes in, but nothing comes out. I know better than to schedule anything major then — but life doesn’t stop for my blood counts. Showers, birthdays, dinners, family things… they don’t care what week I’m on.

And then comes the guilt. Backing out feels disrespectful, like I’m letting people down. But here’s the truth: I’m not disrespecting anyone — I’m protecting myself. This isn’t about being flaky, it’s about survival.

I’ve had to redefine what “showing up” means. Sometimes it looks like dropping off a gift even if I can’t stay for the party. Sometimes it’s sending a text that says, “I’m with you in spirit.” And sometimes it’s choosing to stay home, rest, and save what little energy I have for the scans, infusions, or just getting through the next day.

Do I like it? Absolutely not. Do I grieve the old me who could plan without hesitation, commit without fear, and follow through every time? Every single day.

But here’s what I’m learning: showing up doesn’t always mean being there in person. Sometimes showing up means honoring what my body needs. Sometimes it means loving people from a distance. Sometimes it means letting go of the guilt and reminding myself — I’m not lazy, I’m not unreliable, I’m not disrespectful. I’m living with cancer fatigue, and it’s okay to say, this is all I have to give today.

And honestly? That’s enough.

The Difference No One Talks About

Sep8

When people talk about cancer, the story almost always centers on survivorship. There’s a beginning, a middle, and an end. A diagnosis, a battle, and a victory. Survivors ring bells, declare themselves warriors who “beat cancer,” and step back into a version of normal life. Yes, there’s fear of recurrence. Yes, there ay be follow-up scans every six months or a year if something doesn’t feel right. Yes, there may be medications with side effects—but for most, those meds have a finish line, often five years down the road.

Stage IV is different.

There is no finish line. There is no “last day of treatment.” There is no bell to ring. Cancer doesn’t leave; it moves in. It’s not something you beat—it’s something you live with. Sometimes it quiets down, sometimes it flares up, but it is always there.

Stage IV means:

Infusions that don’t end. Scans more often. Constant blood work watching white blood cell counts and tumor markers. Stopping and starting meds because your body can’t handle it and the fear that everything will get out of control, and sometimes it does. Medications that are lifelong, not temporary. Radiation to stop growth on occasion. Exhaustion that never fully lifts. The knowledge that cancer is not a visitor that might come back—it already has.

For survivors, the narrative is one of triumph: “I fought and I won.” For those of us living with Stage IV, the narrative is different. It’s about endurance. Adaptation. Learning how to carry cancer alongside life, even when the load feels unbearable. Sometimes the disease wins ground. Sometimes it’s held in control. But it never leaves the room.

This isn’t about minimizing what early-stage survivors go through—their fight is real. But the lived reality of Stage IV is different. It’s not about beating cancer once and for all. It’s about learning to live fully while cancer stays.

The Biopsy

Dec28

I had the bone biopsy yesterday. Got there at 11:30. They prepped me which was a lot of me laying there. Got the IV in, then the dr told me what they were going to do and how they were going to do it. Yes I was scared to death and thank god they sedated me.

It took about a half our to get me all set up with the CT machine. They finally gave me versed and fentanyl. They didn’t have to drill or hammer into a bone. I’m not sure that’s a good thing or not. So they suck the guide needle into my hip bone and then the smaller needle in the guide needle to extract the sample. The actual procedure only took 26 minutes.

Went back and they kept me for about an hour before they let me leave. Yes Pete drove me home. And even stopped to get something to eat since it was 3:30pm and I hadn’t eaten anything since 7pm the day before. When I got home I basically slept the rest of the day.

I didn’t feel any pain but for the amount of drugs they gave me…

Now today I woke up feeling like I had a hang over and there was mild pain at the site. It eased up as the day went by. You know I had so many people tell me how barbaric it was and how painful it was going to be. They said I would be down for at least a week and it would take like 3 weeks for it to heal. So of course I was scared to death. Like I did NOT want to do that. So what this means is never listen to people regarding procedures and medications!

Anyhoo. Since we already know that the biopsy is positive, the main purpose of this was to see if it was ER/PR+ HER2- like my original breast cancer. This will determine how to treat it. So I’m kind of hoping that it is the same and we can get this bitch under control. I am kind of hoping that we can get it in remission. I know we will never cure it in my life time, but I’m hopeful we will be able to control it.