u/Metal_WaterWood

I feel like I live in a Groundhog's Day cycle. Each day starts the same and end the same, and there's a bunch of lingering emotions during the in-between hours that I can't really explain. It's like I'm living, but really just waiting for a shoe to drop somewhere. It's not even like a fear of recurrence, so much as it is, "wait, this it?" Maybe I need to look for a better job or pick up a new hobby? I swear it just feels like going through cancer was a BIG BAD dream. Living day to day just feels weird to me. I know... therapy. I'm on it!

Although I am also part of this shit club, I am posting this as a caregiver for my sister who is 3 years NED, and now going through a horrible divorce :( I know a lot of women have been in this position and I am here to support and care for her. I am also terrified of saying the wrong thing, or for her to get mad at me for something.... She has a history of freaking out on me over really small things. I know so much of what's going on has to do with the medical trauma, surgical menopause and other cancer-related issues that cause depression/anxiety. How can I be there for her? We live in different states, so that's crappy. I'm just trying to do my best. Asking for a friend. 🩷

It's bad enough that my sister and I were both diagnosed with breast cancer only two years apart. We are both in our mid forties and now suffer the daily consequences of treatment, including osteoporosis and osteopenia. We've both lost our quality of life from stupid fucking cancer. THEN, I get a phone call that my first cousin who is exactly my age whose just been diagnosed with STAGE III kidney cancer- AND, he only has ONE kidney. He is saying the doctors are giving him one year to live 😢 NEXT UP- my disabled son who is Autistic with profound Intellectual Disability is being questioned over a few savings bonds that were bought for him by my father like 20 years ago. Social Security is demanding this information and threatening to take away his benefits. PEOPLE FUCKING SUCK. CANCER SUCKS. The fact that all three of us have been diagnosed with cancer within 5 years of each other is not a coincidence! But MO reassured me that my genetic panel was negative for any gene mutations- *eye roll* give me a break. I have had it with life!!! Vent over. Thank you for listening.

In a quiet coastal town, there was a lighthouse keeper who had once lived through a severe storm. During that storm, the power failed, the backup systems lagged, and for a few terrifying hours, ships nearly ran aground. No one was hurt, but the memory stayed sharp in the keeper’s mind.

After that night, the keeper began checking the lighthouse again and again. Even on calm days, they would walk the same steps—testing the light, confirming the backup generator, rechecking the radio log. At first, this made sense. The storm had been real. The danger had been real. The caution felt responsible.

But as time passed, the ocean grew calm. Seasons changed. Other keepers came and went, trusting the systems in place. Still, the keeper couldn’t fully rest. Every small flicker of light felt like the beginning of another storm. Every unusual sound made their mind jump ahead to disaster.

One day, a younger assistant asked, “Why do you keep preparing like the storm is still here?”

The keeper replied, “Because I know what happened before. I know what it felt like when things went wrong. I don’t want to be caught unprepared again.”

The assistant nodded, then pointed out the window. “But are you responding to what’s happening now—or what happened then?”

The keeper didn’t answer right away.

That night, the keeper stood alone in the lighthouse and noticed something: the fear wasn’t about the present ocean. It was about a memory that had become so vivid it started to feel like a prediction. The mind had taken a real event and stretched it forward into every future horizon.

The next morning, the keeper didn’t stop checking the lighthouse. But they began to change how they did it. One careful inspection at a set time. One confirmation of safety. Then a pause. A reminder: I am responding to today, not reliving the storm.

When anxiety rose again, the keeper returned to a simple truth taught by the sea itself:

“A past storm proves the ocean can be dangerous—but it does not decide the weather today.”

And slowly, the keeper learned that preparedness and fear are not the same thing. One builds safety. The other keeps a person living inside a storm that is no longer there.

After learning so much from this board, I think I may have been a bit naive with my diagnosis. My ER was 93% +, PR was 4% + and Her2-. 1 malignant tumor at 2.3 cm, 1 node positive, tumor grade 3. They put me into chemo almost immediately. Was I treated as TNBC, considering the weak PR + number?

I know my MO is going to recommend a Signatera test today. I've read many conflicting views on it. Any words of wisdom? I'm afraid it will cause me a ton of anxiety. Thanks for your responses!