Seven years of laughter, love and adventure
Seven years ago today we heard five small words that changed the course of our life forever. I sat in the barber chair with a bouncing blonde two year old on my lap getting his curls trimmed, 7 months pregnant and thinking about cabinet finishes for the home renovation project we were in the middle of. I was full of joy on a sunny November morning. My phone rang and the doctor said, “Lara, you have breast cancer.”
Bennett doesn’t know me before cancer and really Wills doesn’t either (he was the two year old). But, I am so happy to know that the years following my first breast cancer diagnosis I was an even better version of myself. I reflect on the those 6 years with such a big smile on my face. Cancer changed my life story dramatically, but we made the very best of the scary new chapter. I gradually healed from my surgeries and chemotherapy. We got our life back on track and I was a more confident, strong, exuberant version of myself. Our family was tested and so much stronger for having faced such a scary time together. Cancer has always been a part of our life as a family, but it hasn’t been our way of life.
Since cancer I have ran marathons and triathlons, climbed mountains and repelled down waterfalls. I kayaked into deep dark caves and slept under the stars. I have taught the boys to ride two wheelers, tie their shoes and express their feelings with words instead of fists (use your words, use your words…) We’ve snuggled tighter and laughed louder.
But, this year as I “celebrate” my cancerversary it is tainted with a new date. The date the cancer came back. The second phone call, January 9 2014. This time so much more devastating because after six years in the cancer world we know so much about cancer. This time the conversations were not nearly as reassuring, the plan not as clear…
The strong, better version of myself was broken and lost. But, as I look back on the fact that I have been
facing cancer for my children’s entire life and I think about how they still have me. Half of the time Jay and I have been married he has been my caregiver as well as my husband. But I am still their wife and mommy despite fears and sadness and pain. I know I am determined to continue to be able to say this. Even in the face of this new diagnosis. My story isn’t complete. This new chapter was not expected or easily navigated. But, each day or week I look back at the things we did together as a family, the laughter and adventures we have together reassures me that we have more living to do together. Lots more!
I am so very lucky that for now my cancer is responding to treatments. My body is regaining its strength, my laugher is getting louder again. We are writing this new chapter each day and defining what this new, new normal is for Team Mac. The past seven years have been filled with much more happiness than sorrow, laughter than tears and hugs instead of tugs. Seven amazing years I am so incredibly thankful for.
I have cancer. Cancer doesn’t have me.
Lara
And, so as life as a stage 4 metastatic patient becomes the “new normal” I reflect on October. A month set aside for Breast Cancer Awareness – a month that one would think that I – one of the 150,000 women with the most aggressive and deadly form of the disease would feel rallied behind and comforted. However, this month has been incredibly hard. Mainly because the mainstream perception and take on breast cancer is fight it, beat it, be celebrated as a survivor and move on! Rallies around the country give the impression that we are winning this “war” that we are beating breast cancer and there is so much to celebrate in pink boas, tiaras & tutus. However, the death rate from breast cancer hasn’t changed significantly in 30 years. 40,000 women will die this year from breast cancer. It is the leading cause of death for women 35-45. I was one of those happy survivors – wrapped up in my survivorship, celebrating my victory. I wouldn’t change that for a moment. I don’t want to take away from the celebrations of those who are living cancer free after facing cancer. It is worth celebrating!!! I just wish there was more awareness that 20-30% of all women diagnosed become stage 4. Once this happens you are in treatment for the rest of your life. The average life expectancy is 2-3 years. These are the facts. These women and men! (myself included) need to be part of the breast cancer story. And, more money needs to be directed toward research to help truly save lives by extending the lives of those living with the ONLY form of breast cancer that is deadly – stage 4, metastatic breast cancer. I think there were some significant steps taken this month to broaden the story of breast cancer. I worked with our Komen Foundation in Louisville to host their first event focused on metastatic breast cancer survivors specifically and raise several hundred dollars for metastatic research. Hope Scarves is creating a research fund where we will direct a portion of the money we raise to research. It is a very small step in the right direction and I hope Komen and other breast cancer organizations will recognize that the breast cancer experience is very different for those who are stage 4. My hope is with research we can turn this fatal form of breast cancer into a chronic disease you can manage and live with. Time is ticking for me, but I am committed to doing all I can to raise awareness about the unique needs and experience of stage 4 patients and raise funds for research to help me and those who come after me feel comforted and advocated for when their breast cancer spreads beyond the breast. Two places you can direct donations with a focus on metastatic breast cancer are 
