Copyright Anchorage Daily News
It’s PinktOber again and — hello — I’m still here. I’m entering my 35th year as a thriver. The movement allots one day in October, Oct. 13, as Metastatic Breast Cancer Awareness Day, even though 30% of us will die of metastatic disease. I did everything I was supposed to this summer. Drove to Soldotna for palliative radiation, got the will and trust accomplished, filled out and filed my Five Wishes document, visited with hospice, started my “death cleaning” ‘cause you don’t want to leave that chore on anyone else, and talked about hard things with my son. No chemo drug was touching this invasive beast I have carried around 24/7 since 1992. Spent “last visits” with close friends from far corners. Went home to Minnesota for the last time, went to Mayo Clinic to double check for any trials, started serious pain drugs — the kind where I really shouldn’t drive. Agreed to take a last-ditch drug recommended by both local and Mayo oncologists — not targeted, just a general cancer killer. It’s old and cheap compared to all the shiny new targeted meds that run upwards of $30,000 a month. Its patent expired, and it is a drug of little interest to those who profit from sales. I hugged my sweet pups every night. Thank God they have no ability to worry about the long view. Exceptions to the rule Then one day in early July, I woke up and realized I hadn’t taken any pain meds for three days. I went in for a ctDNA blood test, which tracks the rise and fall of mutations, and was shocked to see that my tumor markers had gone from 340 to 14. A nosedive. I thought it must be a typo and my oncologist said I should schedule a PET scan to confirm. The scan report was filled with words like exceptional response, measurable regression, greatly reduced here and even the word “resolved.” I called Imaging Associates to make sure there wasn’t a mistake. So did my oncologist. Confirmed. He still wants to check a couple more things before I leave for extended travel. But I wasted no time getting my passport renewed. Not one second. Hope and time If you read the statistics, this drug may work for six months — or less. The range we are given at diagnosis of stage 4 metastatic breast cancer (MBC) is one to four years. I’m well into year four. Who am I to question a gift of time? Those six trees I cautiously planted last year have all survived. One even has a couple dozen little baby apples on it. I’m floating with so much gratitude. Having the summer with my son, Corin, the help of countless friends from afar for weeks at a time, and from right here in Homer for those pesky little things you can’t do when you feel like crap. I never went to a single consult or treatment alone. Our infusion center even allowed my dogs to snuggle with me. Those acts of kindness and support should be acknowledged because there is no doubt they are a huge part of the equation. So now what? Nothing to do but plant more trees, and plan my trip to Mexico for Day of the Dead (accidentally ironic) with a detour to Boston to see Corin in his element at law school. Perhaps try to learn Spanish. I hope to see him graduate. Hope springs eternal. I am ready for takeoff. Mary Katzke is a media maker and cancer patient living and working in Alaska. Her most recent work is “In the Wake of Justice Delayed.“ Other works over the years have included “Between Us,” “Beyond Flowers — What to Say and Do When Someone You Know Has Breast Cancer,” “The Quiet War” about metastatic breast cancer, “Partners in Healing” about integrative medicine, and a photo exhibit, “Alaskans in Pink,” permanently housed at Mat-Su Health Radiation Center.
