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The Daily Struggle with Fear by Linda Catanzaro Boberg, A #MetsMonday Featured Post #MBC #metastaticbreastcancer #advocacy

The Daily Struggle with Fear by Linda Catanzaro Boberg – A #MetsMonday Featured Post

I’m pleased to share this new #MetsMonday featured post by online friend and fellow author Linda Catanzaro Boberg. Linda shares candidly about her daily struggle with fear. Regardless of cancer type or stage, I think you’ll relate. Be sure to leave her a comment, ask a question or share how you cope with cancer-related fear. Thank you, Linda, for sharing your voice on Nancy’s Point.

The Daily Struggle with Fear

by Linda Catanzaro Boberg

Courage is being scared to death and saddling up anyway. – John Wayne

Some days, I wish I could easily hoist myself back into the saddle. Some days I dwell in fear. Some days I successfully fight it. I’m realistic – not overly optimistic, but not pessimistic either.

But dealing with fear is a daily struggle.

My daughter-in-law, a very private individual, posted a picture of herself with her group of middle and high school girlfriends.

I asked my son what the occasion was.

“Ashley’s mom died.”

Since my diagnosis of metastatic breast cancer (following 6 years NED), I’ve learned to read between the lines when my children answer me as Patrick did.

“She had breast cancer, right?” I asked, dreading the answer and simultaneously needing to know it.

“I don’t know,” he replied. And while I was sitting there thinking, sure you don’t know…came another reply. “She died during her second round of aggressive chemo.”

I think I might know what she died of. And I’m proclaiming loudly that I am scared.

I am scared of being that poor woman. I am scared of whatever pain and suffering yet awaits me. I am scared of dying too early. I am scared of not being able to see my granddaughter grow. I am scared of missing what might happen yet for my three children.

Yes, I’m scared. And as Nancy puts it, that’s keeping it real.

In my effort to stay real, I read a lot of cancer blogs. Before cancer – before
2013 – I read articles thinking in a very naive way that doing so was like a
talisman for me.

If I knew all about it, I wouldn’t get it, right?

Stupid fool.

Then when I was diagnosed – Stage 3, ER+, PR+ (weakly), HER2-negative – I realized just how ignorant I was. I knew Stage 3 wasn’t particularly good, but what was HER? And negative 2 – was negative 3 worse?

I remember telling my first oncologist when she said they would do lumpectomies, “Take my breast! Take them both!” to which she smiled and said, “A lot of women say that.”

I was so ignorant.

Toward the end of chemo, I remember the doctor saying that the chances of my cancer returning were 60%. Although it was always in the back of my mind that it might return, for the most part, I ignored it.

Yesterday, I spoke with a friend whose brother is NED (no evidence of disease) after enduring renal cancer treatment. He told her, “I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

I know that feeling well.

After treatment I thought, well, that was bad enough. Nothing can be as bad as cancer treatment. I’ve endured it; I am strong.

Ha. There was more.

After initial cancer treatment, I had brain surgery, problems with my optic nerves, botched cataract surgery and a stroke.

ENOUGH!

Next, my cancer tumor marker numbers shot up. Oncologist #2 had no
beside manner, and her staff was worse. I knew this, but kept ignoring it
because I only needed to go every three or four months. I felt that as long as I was NED, I could endure an office staff that treated me like I was demented and a doctor who didn’t know what was going on.

Until I wasn’t NED.

I was scared but motivated enough to find a new doctor. My new one is all
about instilling confidence and realism into her patients. Once the diagnosis was verified as metastatic breast cancer, I was devastated – is there a stronger word for that?

Mad at the fucking world! So very mad at the world. Scared to death. And angry.

My daughter, more afraid than I am, organized a cancer fundraising page and took me to a cancer rally. She wanted me to wear a SURVIVOR shirt, and I did, but I felt like a fraud.

After that day, I was angry and scared and a new one for me – DEPRESSED.

I believe in being realistic. I know the stats for MBC. They aren’t great, although there are some lucky women who do live a normal length of life. I’m sure you’ve read about them during all the Pinktober writings.

I try to temper my realism with hope.

I consider myself young and young-minded, but my traitorous body disagrees. My mother-in-law is 94, and she will probably outlive me. My granddaughter is two, and I so, so want to move near her so I can watch some of her growing up.

Maybe…

I read obituaries about female celebrities’ deaths and have a morbid
curiosity about how they died. It seems like nine times out of ten, it’s MBC. I read cancer blogs that are alternatively hopeful and extremely depressing.

As Emily Garnett, a woman with MBC, ambassador for the Breast Cancer Research Foundation (BCRF) and blogger at Beyond The Pink Ribbon writes:

We do not get a choice about whether or not we get to be afraid of those facts. We live with them every day.

I try to overcome my fear. It isn’t always easy, and I am certainly not always successful. But here are some things I do that help me:

1. I create goals for myself.

Not a bucket list (I hate that term). For example, I’ve already found a place where I want to hold our 50th wedding anniversary celebration. My husband called to see if he could reserve the place, and the kind person told him they don’t reserve things more than eight years away.

2. I refuse to ever again have doctors and their office staffs treat me like I’m an old, ignorant woman.

I am NOT.

3. I listen to music.

I like Titanium (my theme song). I am Titanium. I force myself to feel those lyrics. Some days I feel bullet-proof. Some days, not so much.

4. I am trying to focus on JUST ME more.

I took a long leave from my job so I could do this. I refuse to let a job that I used to love make me sicker and bitter because colleagues don’t understand cancer.

5. I read constantly.

When I’m not reading …

6. I’m writing.

7. I tell myself I will see my granddaughter continue to grow and flourish.

8. If I need to rest, I rest.

I occasionally wake up suddenly and think I am wasting my limited life away. I still rest.

9. I pray for women like the young mother who is keeping up with her blog, raising her child and undergoing horrific treatment because she WANTS TO LIVE!

I want her to live, to show all of us that it does happen!

I was never a horse rider; my daughter was. (That is her in the featured image above.) The trainer would tell students to “Cowgirl up!” meaning try again. Don’t let falling off (or anything else) get you down.

I agree with Emily that MBC patients don’t get a choice in whether or not we get to be afraid. With MBC, we don’t get a choice in a lot things.

So, I take a deep breath and face each day as it comes.

BIO: By day, Linda Catanzaro Boberg is an international student advisor for a small college in California. She is the mother of three, grandmother of one and a wife for 41 years to absolutely the best husband and caregiver ever. For stress relief, she writes romance novels under the name Adelyn Zara. Follow Linda on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter.

The Daily Struggle with Fear - A #MetsMonday Featured Post by Linda Catanzaro Boberg #MBC #metastaticbreastcancer #breastcancer

Do you have a question or comment for Linda?

Regardless of cancer type or stage, what is one of your fears?

What helps you manage cancer-related fear?

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11 thoughts to “The Daily Struggle with Fear by Linda Catanzaro Boberg – A #MetsMonday Featured Post”

  1. I can’t express how much ALL of this resonates. Some days I am scared, some days not even close. Today is one of those days I feel unsteady. I was even scared to read this blog post. But I did. And I’m grateful that I did. Thank you for sharing this with us.

  2. So proud of you, my friend. I am reading this with tears in my eyes. I think of you often, and will keep thinking my good thoughts and keeping you in my prayers. So well said.

  3. Linda, I’m grateful to have you back in my life and I applaud you for sharing your story in such an open and honest way. And I absolutely love your photo! You exude strength and beauty and you look like you are staring cancer down. Kathy XO

  4. This post helps a lot! My cancer grade and type are exactly the same as yours and it has been difficult to find recurrence information. I’m scared, too, and just want to live long enough to have a few years post-retirement with my husband.

    Sometimes I feel like I’m being morbid, but the only way for me to cope with the fear is to know it completely and then say “Well, there it is”, like the emperor in the movie Amadeus.

    1. This blog helped so much. Linda really shared openly and honestly how she deals with her fears. Every time I think I’ve dealt with a new fear than something else crops up creating a new fear. I’m dealing with that this week. To be honest, I’m not really worried this time, it’s more fear of the unknown. And that’s another chapter! Here’s to all of us that live in fear, may we find enjoyment in each day and live to see another!

  5. You are a woman of grace and fortitude. ….an inspiring, well-versed beacon of strength for those who might not be quite as poised in the face of searching for this courage.
    And you know….sometimes you find it. Sometimes you even herald it!

    And, sometimes…I am sure it can be hard to muster, in those moments where your thoughts run away.

    I am so happy to know you, and your fiercely sharp, beautiful daughter.

    I see where she gets it.

  6. I don’t have mets…yet… but I am scared. Scared because I need to decide whether to abuse my body with AI just to lower my chance of recurrence (low) but not eliminate it. Quality of life v. maybe quantity but there are no answers, Only risk factors v. definite bone loss and side effects. I, too am angry. Angry that this has happened. Angry at the lack of answers and the dull stare you get from medical professionals when you talk about side effects, as if they have never heard of them. At 62 I face the reality that I will soon be old anyway, that life is so short, but how much do I want to live long but badly? I watch my mother in law in a wheelchair from a crumbling spine. Would it be worth it to live like that just to lower my risk but not eliminate it? I could get IT anyway and if I didn’t would AI be a self inflicted wound? And I know folks with mets would say anything is worth it to prevent that. But it doesn’t prevent it. it is a Hobson’s choice for me.

    1. Linda, I really identify with you. I do not have MBC, but I have struggled with the A.I. question too. I was diagnosed with Stage 1 , 13 days after retiring at age 62. Had a lumpectomy and 10 sessions of brachytherapy. My medical oncologist pushed me hard to start Arimidex. but the side effects were not easy to live with, so I quit. This Spring the same oncologist told me I HAD to go on an A.I. because if my cancer came back , it “will kill you”! Started Aromasin, but , again, too many side effects, so I talked to my radiation oncologist, and quit again. I worry about recurrence, and am afraid every day. But I am soon to be 3 years cancer free, and try to hang on to hope.

      1. I agree with many of you. 4 years out, stage 2B, er+, PR and her-. Chemo, lumpectomy with axillary node dissection, 27 rads, And 3 1/2 years so far on AI drugs. I’m on an oncologist approved 3 month break from the AI drugs and after 6 weeks off, for the first time since pre diagnosis, I feel like who I was!. Energy, no overall constant pain even wIth arthritis!. Such a difference. Quality or quantity?. I have at least 18 months to go, preferably 24 months after that. I am always fearful but I’ve also moved forward and have seen 34 countries/islands in the past 4 years, have a wonderful group of girlfriends and do want to see how life turns out for my 24 year old daughter, so I’ll probably have 4 more weeks of feeling great then restart the cycle of those horrible side effects.
        I book trips ahead because yes, I feel that if they are booked, it means I’ll be alive to take them. I’m angry inside but don’t show it. My primary doc said yesterday to me, “you’ve educated me so much on AI drugs”. I’m an advocate now and don’t put up with much attitude with medical professionals. I appreciate each day, am outdoors more to enjoy the sky, colors, etc, and also sleep more when I need to. It’s all a roll of the dice with some help along the way. Day by day. Hugs.

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