Looking Ahead to Five Years of Cancer, Treatment, and Being Cancer-Free
Looking forward, as I approach the five-year mark – later this year on October 8th – since my metastatic breast cancer (MBC) diagnosis, I find myself reflecting on the journey—one filled with trials, triumphs, and deep gratitude. Almost 5 years. In the cancer world, that number holds weight. It’s a milestone I wasn’t sure I’d see, yet here I am, navigating the complexities of survivorship with equal parts hope and uncertainty.
It has been two years since my last post “A Woman’s Heart | A Precautionary Tale”, and my heart is now doing great. I am under new oncology care and getting the best that science has to offer with quarterly personalized, tumor-informed blood-test optimized to detect circulating tumor DNA (ctDNA) for molecular residual disease assessment – early detection of cancer recurrence. I can tell you with confidence that today, my body shows no evidence of cancer recurrence!
The Reality of Five Years: Defying the Statistics
Metastatic breast cancer is often described as treatable but not curable. The statistics can be sobering—according to the American Cancer Society, the five-year relative survival rate for metastatic breast cancer is around 29%. This means that fewer than one in three people with MBC are still here five years after diagnosis. The numbers aren’t meant to define us, but they are a stark reminder of why this milestone is significant.
Every person who reaches five years—especially with no evidence of disease—is beating the odds. But living with MBC means the fight isn’t over. Treatments can work for years, then stop. The fear of recurrence never fully fades. And yet, here I am, living proof that statistics are not a destiny.
Metastatic?
Learning that I had cancer has been a bewildering experience, one that has made it incredibly hard to fully understand my diagnosis. At first, everything felt like a blur — medical terms, treatment options, prognosis — as if I was trying to absorb a new language. Even when the doctors explain it, it’s still difficult to truly grasp the weight of what’s happening inside my body. It’s a complex, ever-changing reality that doesn’t easily fit into any one narrative, and trying to make sense of it all has felt overwhelming and isolating. It has taken time, research, and a lot of emotional resilience to even begin to understand what cancer means for me, personally. It wasn’t until I had tried and grown intolerant to all three top-tier treatment options for metastatic breast cancer that I truly began to grasp the gravity of the diagnosis.
Growing intolerant to my cancer treatment has been a deeply frustrating and exhausting experience. At first, the treatments—whether chemotherapy, radiation, or targeted therapies—offered hope and the possibility of remission, but over time, my body began to react negatively. As my treatment continues, my immune system, organs, or other parts of my body no longer respond well to the drugs, leading to side effects that have been intolerable, and at times completely debilitating. Fatigue, joint pain, neuropathy, and brain fog don’t just disappear. My body is forever changed by the battle it has fought.
It’s not just about the physical toll, but also the emotional and psychological strain that comes from realizing that the very thing that was supposed to help me is now causing harm. The battle shifts from fighting the cancer to managing the treatment itself, and that can feel like an endless cycle of hope followed by setback.
When my doctor looked me in the eye and said, “If it comes back, we’ll shift to palliative care. There will be no cure,” the weight of those words hit me with a force I never could have anticipated. It’s a moment that changes everything — when the fight becomes about quality of life, not a cure. That’s when the reality of the illness settled in, and I realized just how precious every day truly is.
The Challenges: A Road Paved with Uncertainty
Living with a metastatic diagnosis means carrying the knowledge that cancer is a lifelong companion, lurking in the background even when the scans say “no evidence of disease.” There’s an ever-present tension between celebrating life and fearing recurrence.
The emotional rollercoaster. Anxiety before every scan and blood draw. The persistent shadow of trauma. Survivor’s guilt when others in the metastatic community don’t get the same outcome. There’s joy, but it’s often accompanied by complex emotions that are hard to put into words.
The unpredictability of the future. Unlike early-stage breast cancer, metastasis means I will always be monitored. Even approaching five years, the question lingers: “What next?” Some days, that uncertainty is empowering—I cherish each moment fully. Other days, it’s suffocating.
The Blessings: Finding Meaning in the Journey
Despite the struggles, this journey has been filled with immense blessings that have reshaped my perspective on life.
Time and perspective. 4 and half years ago, I feared I might not make it this far. Now, every day feels like a gift. I’ve learned to slow down, appreciate the small things and let go of what doesn’t serve me.
Family first. My family has been there by my side every step of this journey. I am so proud of the growth each of them has achieved individually. Dylan continues to serve and support me in every way. My rock. My best friend. My everything. Jasper is 26, living in Northeast Portland and working three jobs while preparing to return to school. Grace is now 22 and living in Oakland, California and working two jobs while going to school. Dahlia just got new glasses, is rocking school and loves to draw, sing, dance, and move! Daphne is also rocking school, has dreams of becoming an astrophysicist and loves to draw, paint, and read.
Community and connection. My incredible community of friends is a family like no other. Those I’ve known for years have shown up in beautifully and unexpected ways along my journey. I’ve met incredible people who inspire me daily—warriors, survivors, and advocates who remind me that I am never alone in this fight.
A newfound strength. There’s something powerful about facing mortality and choosing to live anyway. I’ve discovered a resilience I never knew I had. This experience has made me braver, more compassionate, and more intentional with my time and energy.
Hope. Advances in treatment continue to emerge, offering new options and more time. More people with MBC are living longer, with some achieving long-term remission. I live with hope—not just for myself, but for everyone walking this path.
Art therapy. Art has offered me profound therapeutic value by providing a creative outlet for emotions that are often difficult to express through words. It allows me to process my experiences of fear, grief, and uncertainty in a safe and nonverbal way, helping me to reduce stress and anxiety. The act of creating art has been a powerful form of self-expression and a way to reclaim control in a time when so much feels out of my hands. It has also served as a form of distraction, offering moments of relief from the physical and emotional pain of treatment. Ultimately, art fosters healing for me on multiple levels—mental, emotional, and even physical—by helping me reconnect with myself, process my journey, and find moments of peace amidst the chaos of cancer treatment.
Work with a mission. I continue to serve full-time as the executive director of Bridges Middle School, the only middle school in Oregon exclusively serving neurodiverse students. Bridges is so much more than just work for me. It’s a calling, a deeply fulfilling commitment to a community in need, where every decision, every action, is focused on making a meaningful impact in the lives of students who often don’t have the same opportunities for support and success as others.
In a similar way, my private neurodiverse life coaching work is driven by community need. I support a small but steady group of clients at Gnomaste Coaching, while building an ever-growing waitlist for future support. And, I developed a free app, GNOMASTE, the pocket-sized mindfulness coach, to help individuals and families conveniently incorporate mindfulness into daily life. Through accessibility and simplicity, the app’s approach to mindfulness aligns with the idea that small, consistent steps can – and do – lead to meaningful changes over time.
My work transcends the traditional roles of earning because it’s rooted in purpose: providing an inclusive, supportive space for neurodiverse individuals to grow into their full potential. It’s about creating a culture of acceptance, understanding and empowerment, which to me makes it the most rewarding and impactful work there is.
My Journey Continues.
As I look ahead to my five-year mark, I recognize that my story is still being written. Cancer may have changed my life, but it hasn’t taken my spirit. I continue forward, grateful for the challenges that have shaped me and the blessings that keep me going.
To those who are just beginning this journey, to those who are in the thick of it, and to those who walk alongside us—know that there is light, even in the hardest moments. If nothing else, I hope my journey serves as a reminder that survival is possible, hope is real, and life is still beautifully worth living.
~Beven