About Stage Five

Loosing my hair for the first time was emotional, but it was also a catalyst into wanting to push myself harder and give myself a greater chance for survival.

I have been living with Stage Four (metastatic) cancer for more than ten years.

That is a long time to live with something that is supposed to be terminal. I've learned to be grateful for the time I've been given, while also knowing that cancer can make the future feel impossible to imagine.

There are scans and treatments and side effects. There are good days and terrible ones. And there are sweet moments, dogs, friends, laughter, summer walks, and all the ordinary things that become extraordinary when you don't know how much time you have.

Stage Five is what comes after the standard script.

Not necessarily another treatment. Not another protocol.

It's what happens when you decide to keep living even when you don't know how long you have.

I want to learn how to live despite cancer—not just how to survive it. To find hope where there isn't much reason to hope. To make plans without guarantees. To allow myself to imagine next year as readily as tomorrow.

I'll explore whatever helps me do that: new possibilities in cancer care, ways of living well with uncertainty, the experiences of other people walking this strange road, and the small and enormous things that make a life feel worth living.

This is a working notebook for an unfinished life.

I'll share what I'm learning, what I'm trying, what gives me hope, and what doesn't. Sometimes I'll be looking for answers. Sometimes I'll just be trying to make sense of the questions.

I don't know how much time I have, but I have today. And, as far as I'm concerned, I have next year too.

So I'm going to find the hope and strength that allows me to plan. To plan like there's a tomorrow, a next year, and hell, maybe I'll get to celebrate my 50th birthday!