Don’t Count Me Out—Not Now, Not Ever
Metastatic breast cancer is part of my story, but so is grit, hope, and one hell of a comeback.
"You may have to fight a battle more than once to win it."
— Margaret Thatcher
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When I first heard those words, I didn’t know how deeply they would echo through my life—until metastatic breast cancer became part of my story.
The first time I faced cancer, I followed every instruction like a model student. I did the surgery. I braved the treatments. I waited through the scans. And when it was over, I believed that chapter had closed. I believed I had “won.”
But cancer doesn’t always stay gone.
Years later, it returned—this time as Stage IV. Metastatic. Not because I didn’t fight hard enough the first time, but because some battles are not one-and-done. Some are long, unpredictable, and relentlessly unfair.
This is the reality so many of us live with. We’re not “done.” We’re managing. Enduring. Adapting. We pivot with every scan result, every round of treatment, every new side effect. We grieve the life we thought we’d get back—and instead, we learn how to live in the in-between: between fear and hope, grief and joy, surrender and strength.
But here’s what I’ve learned: just because you have to fight more than once doesn’t mean you’ve lost.
For those of us with MBC, winning looks different. It’s not just surviving—it’s choosing to live. It’s laughing through pain. It’s soaking up the magic of ordinary moments. It’s crying when we need to—and still showing up the next day with our heads held high.
I’m no stranger to pressure. I’ve felt it my whole life. And strangely, it’s where I’ve always come alive. Just like when I was a kid on the softball field—I was just okay until the game was on the line. Then, something inside me would ignite. That’s when I became a warrior.
This is no different.
We fight. Again and again and again.
Because that’s who we are.
And sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is keep believing that something beautiful still lies ahead.
And I do believe it.
I feel it in my bones—good things are coming.
This second battle cracked something open in me. It awakened parts of myself I didn’t even know I had buried. I’m healing wounds I’ve carried for decades. I quit drinking. I learned how to sit with myself. I started noticing the little things again. I find light, even in the shadows.
I am held by love—from those beside me now, and from those I’ve had to let go of.
And through it all… I am grateful.
I am lucky, after all.
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