Keep the Balm and Carry On

  • 23 October 2013
Josh and Jan at his wedding

Josh and Jan at his wedding

I’ve been remiss in writing for some time. Would that I could go back to the days of yore and post regularly about day trips as a woman who thought of breast cancer as part of her history.  Unfortunately, my day trips these days are the kind that keep cancer at bay. I call them life-sustaining day (LSD) trips.

But after a year “playing” at this new normal, I would not have it otherwise. My gratitude journal is chock full of things that happen during each day that make life worth living. Things like automatic weight control, energy sufficient to wash a car, a 30-minute walk around a lake, phone calls and social networking from people who care, monthly lunches of our Fab Four group, safe journeys to and from the center for my drugs of choice, etc. And the etc. is BIG.

What does everyday life look like for someone like me? I get a very good night sleep every night, maybe partly due to the anti-anxiety pill I take, but don’t tell anyone. People tell me I look healthier and healthier every time they see me. Strangers view me as able-bodied and even as someone who still works. I work, but not at the job they would expect me to blabber about. I work at the job of staying independent as long as possible. Taking daily walks when the weather is good helps me out. Eating snacks in between meals works great for loss of appetite. Those with whom I share a meal are accustomed to my slow eating. Some foods and drinks I once fancied now repulse me as they did when I was pregnant. Coffee is one of those; it irritates my stomach and creates nausea. That’s enough to switch me to tea. I’d rather switch than fight. Adjusting to small losses gets me accustomed to the inevitable process of ageing.

Everyday life also involves taking medication regularly to stave off pain and other side effects, keeping nails well clipped, filed and strengthen-polished to avoid nasty splits and snags. I also research health insurance information to see if I qualify for a plan that won’t cost me an arm and a leg because I’m in a high-risk, pre-existing condition pool. Anything would be cheaper, but I still must make sure any plan I choose will include the most important provider in my network, the one that administers my clinical trial drugs. Without that assurance, I can’t afford reducing my premium. Such is the financial life of a rural stage IV American patient in a clinical trial unless work provides a nice plan or the person is independently wealthy or reaches Medicare age.

But life goes on, and it is breathtakingly beautiful. I’m still able to fly, at least domestically. My son’s wedding last month became a highlight, representing young love and the potential of a new generation, something every mother longs to witness. Especially if the woman he marries is a total gem. The only challenge is living so distant from them. I can’t move very far, as I am tethered to my hospital where life-giving drugs reside.

This outpouring of gratitude is not meant to be glib. I have bad days, too. But doesn’t everyone? Sometimes my back aches despite oxycontin and oxycodone. Sometimes my body is as stiff as a starched, port-accessible shirt. Sometimes I whine. And sometimes I cry over losses that seem overwhelming. But my faith permeates all that I do, and I rely on prayer to calm these fragile nerves and their not-so-happy endings.

Many people with advanced breast cancer in my online discussion groups are living proof that this can be a chronic disease, not an ominous death sentence. They are still kicking five years out from their diagnosis, switching to a new protocol when the previous one proves ineffective.  They live long enough to see another generation of drugs hit the hospital pharmacies. Approximately 155,000 Americans live with stage IV breast cancer these days. My doctors treat me as if I will live a long time, concerned about my heart and about skin and colon cancer. They wouldn’t bother if they thought I was about to enter hospice.

The dream of all caring people around the world is to find the cure for cancers that currently have no cure. Some thought I was cured after five years from my initial diagnosis of early-stage breast cancer. I wish that had been true. But seven years from diagnosis it recurred, and then again eight years later. Breast cancer consists of many subtypes of disease, with no one-fits-all sizes. Researchers realize this and analyze tissue samples from various patients to predict who is genetically disposed to respond best. I know the clinical researchers in my case are studying my tissue to determine why I am doing so well and using those results to determine which earlier-stage patients will benefit from the same combination of drugs. The fact that my case is being studied so closely is very reassuring to me, making me feel as though I am helping future generations to stave off this scourge, to allow grandparents to see grandchildren, parents to see their children, whether for the first time or as they grow up.

Denmark is the happiest country on earth, according to the latest studies. The U.S. lags far behind. Also, older, retired adults tend to be happier than younger ones. I’m hoping I can add a bit of happiness to our culture so others can revel in the here-and-now and not suffer angst from envy, strife, impatience, office politics, lack of trust in institutions, long hours, financial uncertainty, and worry about the future. Grasp the moment. Take joy in the changing colors of the season. Study what Danish citizens savor that we don’t. Focus that camera on a detail of nature that particularly moves you or normally gets overlooked. You won’t be sorry.

Keep the balm and carry on!

  • http://none karen sutherland

    dear Jan,

    what a wonderful post! I was thrilled to see the photo of you and your handsome son, Josh – congratulations on his marriage, and your gaining a Daughter! you look radiant, and I can see why everyone comments on your looking more healthy each time they see you.

    I loved reading about the goals you have set for yourself, and I believe you will fulfill each and every one of them. having gratitude, being able to turn our sights outward towards others, and towards problems that plague us and interfere with out “happiness” factor, with a determination to effect change by carpe diem is something we can all contribute to – thanks for inspiring and reminding us of this marvelous power we have within ourselves.

    much love and light,

    Karen XOXO

  • jhasak

    Thanks a million, Karen, for your comment. It really brightened the rest of my day. Carpe diem is definitely my motto these days, and I hope to motivate others to see opportunities to change our world “one starfish at a time.” Ageing or having an “incurable” diagnosis does tend to remove blinders that keep us captive to our circumstances. Much love back to you. xo

  • Joan

    Jan, if you can take it, Biotin does wonders for fragile, breaking nails. A medicine I took for awhile left mine peeling and splitting, and my doctor suggested Biotin. It worked wonders for me.

  • Linda

    How wonderful that you got to be there for your son’s wedding — and that you shared this part of your journey with us. Appreciate your perspective as you participate in a research trial which will hopefully benefit both you and many patients to come. Now, off I go to try to be more Danish…

  • jhasak

    Joan, actually I do take biotin. I asked my doctor first to make sure it didn’t interfere with my treatment and she was okay with it. I am quite sure it is helping, as my nails don’t splinter as much as they used to. Thanks so much for your suggestion. xo

  • jhasak

    Linda, thanks for your wonderful comment. I’m off to have a Danish for breakfast…wonder if that counts! xo

  • Catherine

    It’s so good to hear from you, Jan. You look beautiful in your photograph – excellent choice in dress :) Keep the balm and carry on. I’ll do the same.

  • Kathi

    Jan, I’m so glad you are navigating the met shoals so ably. Yes, taking care of ourselves is always our main job, when you get right down to it, but now, its importance for you is undeniable. It’s great to read a post from you — any post, but especially this one. Much love to you. You must be doing something right, because you do look wonderful. But I know that wonderfulness comes from within your kind heart. xoxo, Kathi

  • jhasak

    Thanks so much, Catherine. It’s a Ralph Lauren, something I picked up at Macy’s in-between bone scans. It’s one of the advantages of coming down to Stanford for treatment–all the excellent shopping options. Definitely keep that balm! xo

  • jhasak

    What a poetic and apt expression, Kathi, the “met shoals.” They’re fraught with danger but also hint at adventure and intrigue. Thank you for your kind comment that comes straight from your beautiful heart. Much love to you, too. xo

  • Renn

    Great post Jan, and SO great to hear how you are doing these days. You have such a way with words. Please keep blogging. Your voice is an important one! You have a knack for balancing out the “met shoals” with the gratitude. We can all learn from you.

    PS Congrats on your son’s wedding!


  • Kim Vander Poel

    Jan–I loved reading your update…and even more I loved the little gems of wisdom you have sprinkled throughout your post. Your words and insights are a true gift. Thanks for sharing!

  • jhasak

    Thanks so much, Renn. The balancing act is not always easy, but it’s one that keeps me on my toes. It’s especially satisfying to know I may be helping others to understand what it is like to live with this stage of breast cancer, at least for me. I appreciate your opinion on that. xo

  • jhasak

    Thanks very much, Kim, for your kind comment. To reach readers with the lessons I have learned is immensely gratifying. xo

  • Nancy’s Point

    Hi Jan,

    I am always so happy whenever I get to read another one of your posts, Jan. And whenever I do, I’m in awe of how you always look for the good in everyone and in every situation. I love the photo. Your son looks so handsome and so happy. And of course, you look wonderful too. It looks like it was an outdoor wedding. My daughter and son-in-law were married outdoors and it was so much fun.

    Thanks for sharing about what an ordinary day is like for you now. Let me just say that you, dear Jan, are no ordinary woman. Sending love. And keep writing when you can. Much love, Nancy

  • jhasak

    Nancy, your kind words made my Monday. It’s not always easy getting up out of a warm bed each morning to start the day, now that I don’t work. It would be much easier to lie there under the blankets, reading a good book, and letting time go by until evening when I can watch a movie or a few TV shows eating on a TV tray before retiring. But that’s not me; I need to remember how good it feels to accomplish things and make a difference. Yes, it was an outdoor wedding, and the weather accommodated us by delaying the downpour until the volunteers were tearing down everything. You and my fellow bloggers inspire me to keep writing, and that’s what I intend to do, for as long as I can. xo