When Brent told me to come see him today, I thought it was for a standard checkup after starting this round of chemotherapy. When his nurse escorts me to his office instead of a patient room, I can’t help but think more bad news awaits me. As if I haven’t had enough. As if I’m not already devastated just thinking about missing Kyle’s college graduation.

Somehow, I make my feet move and absently follow the nurse, until I realize Blake isn’t beside me. When I turn to look for him, I know he senses it too. His face is pale white, almost ghostly. His lips are parted, and he’s breathing rapidly—too rapidly. He’s about to hyperventilate. Unfortunately, I know exactly how he feels. That’s how I felt after the initial confirmation the tumor was malignant. Then again when the axillary lymph node involvement was confirmed. I am grateful it wasn’t a distant lymph node, though. No metastasis to distant organs is a good sign.

After I turn and walk back to him, I take his hand in mine and squeeze it until he looks down at me. He’s still so handsome—age has only made him more attractive. With my thoughts focused on him, I calm my speeding heart and slow my breathing, projecting peace and composure for his sake.

“Blake, take slow, deep breaths before you pass out on me,” I say quietly. “I don’t know if I can do this alone. Right now, I really need you by my side.”

The cloudy confusion in his eyes clears, and he sees me standing in front of him at last. He nods, and though his chin quivers, he puts on a brave face. “Until the end of time.”

We stroll together down the hall on what feels like the longest walk of my life. The door that seems so far away, yet not far enough, because I still have to walk through it and face what’s waiting for me in there. The unknown, unseen monster hiding in the dark, waiting to devour me and all my dreams in one fatal swoop.

Maybe Blake had the right idea. Passing out right about now is way too appealing.

We take our seats in front of the big oak desk and wait for the doctor to join us. The folders sitting on top of his desk tempt me almost past my capacity for rational thought. If mine is in that stack, all the answers I need are just right there. The only reason I’m not rifling through them right now is because it’s ethically wrong, and illegal, for me to see another patient’s chart. Oh, and because the door to the office is standing wide open, so I’d get caught red-handed anyway.

“What side effects?” Blake asks, pulling me from my plan to close the door and help myself.

“What?” My brows draw down, completing my confused expression.

“You said you thought your side effects were something else. What are your symptoms?”

I don’t want to tell him. Not because I’m hiding them, but because I don’t want to give those nagging thoughts a platform. But I vowed to face this disease head on, and this is just one part of it. “I’ve had some chest pains and a cough. But that could be from a compromised immune system.”

“It could,” he agrees solemnly. Without conviction. Without moving his eyes from mine. Without hiding the emotions swirling in his thoughts.

“Sorry to keep you both waiting,” Brent says as he rushes in from behind us and closes the door. He takes a seat behind his desk and unlocks the filing cabinet drawer to retrieve my file. Of course it wouldn’t be lying out in the open, and I would’ve been caught trying to find it.

With my file open on his desk, he studies the results a little too long for it to be good news. I close my eyes and squeeze Blake’s hand. He squeezes back, sharing my fear and sharing his strength.

“Just tell me, Brent. I know you’re trying to find a way to say it.”

“Spoken like a true ICU nurse, Grace.” He smiles, but it’s a sad smile. “Your dry cough during treatment concerned me, so I asked a colleague to pull your scan from last week for another look and to send me the results as soon as possible. I’m sorry to tell you, Grace, but we’re no longer looking for a cure. Your breast cancer has metastasized to your right lung. As you know, once breast cancer moves to a distant organ, that changes everything. We’re no longer treating BC. We have to focus on mBC and what that means for your treatment long term.”

Our grips tighten simultaneously. Blake’s provides the anchor that keeps me tethered to my body. Otherwise, I’d float away in what already feels like an out-of-body experience. Is this a dream, or is this real? I can’t feel anything, yet I feel everything.

“How long do I have before it’s past the point of no return, Brent?” That’s my voice, but I have no idea how I asked the question when my brain clearly isn’t operating.

He looks uncomfortable. When an oncologist looks uncomfortable, it’s impossible to have a positive outlook.

“You know I can’t tell you that, Grace. We’ll continue your course of chemotherapy for this regimen then determine surgical options for removal of the tumor from your breast after this round is finished. We have to see how the tumor responds to these drugs. There are several nodules in your lung that the chemotherapy will treat and hopefully stabilize. After you’ve healed from the surgery, you’ll need radiation, and we’ll decide our course for the next round of chemotherapy.”

“I need to clarify something. You said BC and mBC. What does that mean?” Blake asks.

“I’m sorry—occupational hazard of treating nurses. mBC is metastatic breast cancer, and BC is breast cancer.”

“So the positive axillary lymph node isn’t considered metastatic?”

“No, not the axillary lymph nodes. That’s still considered the breast area and is actually quite frequent. If it showed up in a lymph node in her groin, for example, that would be metastatic. In this case, the cancer has already spread to her lung, changing her original diagnosis of breast cancer to metastatic breast cancer, or mBC for short. You may also hear it called de novo metastatic breast cancer. That just means it had already metastasized when she was diagnosed.”

The occupational hazard of being a nurse under treatment is I know far too well how to read what is said…and what isn’t said.

When I glance over at Blake, I can tell he wants to ask more questions. The vague “wait and see” approach doesn’t mesh well with his need to fix everything right now. But he can’t do anything about this situation.

No cure exists for this advanced disease. There are only treatments that will hopefully prevent the tumors from growing or spreading more. Had we caught it sooner, my odds would’ve been much better.

He doesn’t yet realize he can’t save me.

He can’t cure me.

He can’t make the cancer go away.

The only guarantee in this entire ambiguous scenario is this monster will one day kill me.

My triple-negative diagnosis renders targeted therapy outside of clinical trials useless.

How do I tell my husband and my son that I’m going to die?

“We can get a second opinion, Grace. They missed this in the first scan—it could’ve been misread this time,” Blake insists.

I shake my head. “I don’t need a second opinion, Blake. I know they’re right. The chest pains, the dry cough. It makes sense.”

“Grace, taking some time off work now isn’t a bad idea. I’ve just dumped a lot on your shoulders. You could do without the stress of working in ICU for a few days.” Brent has good intentions, but his suggestion feels a lot like he’s telling me to get my affairs in order as soon as possible.

“Maybe you’re right.”

“I can call down to Human Resources and tell them I’m taking you out of work right now. They can get someone from the ER to cover the rest of your shift,” Brent offers.

“Grace, take him up on this. I think we both need some time to absorb everything we just heard,” Blake requests. “Kyle knows about your breast cancer. He overheard you talking to Leigh. He needs to know about this too. Our family needs this time, babe.”

“Okay, yes. Whatever you think.” I need to let go of the reins and allow Blake to take control. I’m only hanging on to my stability by a thread as it is, and there’s nothing I can do to stop that strand from unraveling.

Brent picks up the phone on his desk and calls HR himself, without delegating the task to his staff to handle. Blake and I stare at each other wordlessly as Brent stresses the importance of approving my immediate leave. When he hangs up, I’ve been approved for leave through my next treatment, a month away. He says he’ll have them extend it if I need additional time.

Blake and I thank Brent for his help and leave the office, both of us steeped in a heavy fog. After I grab my purse from the nurses’ station and promise to call Leigh later, Blake and I leave together. I can’t voice the words at the moment, but I’m so glad he drove me to work and was here with me when I received this terrible news. He doesn’t have to say or do anything to console me—just having him by my side makes all the difference.

Blake doesn’t release my hand until we arrive at home and he’s forced to let go so I can get out of the car. Once we’re inside, I make it as far as the kitchen before he grabs me, turns me to face him, then buries me in his embrace. My cheek is flat against his chest, my arms are around his waist, and I feel safe and protected in his arms. We stand like this for several minutes, not moving, not talking, just feeling—exuding our own unspoken fears and uncertainties while trying to soothe the other’s. The usual yin and yang, give and take, and push and pull any couple experiences…multiplied by a thousand.

Though we’re reluctant to, we finally release each other so we can face what lies ahead. I step to the sliding glass door, watching the snow fall, and rest my forehead against the cool glass. The fire pit in the backyard has been cleared of all the recent snow, and a sharp pang hits my chest. But the pain isn’t from the cancer, it’s from a broken heart. The pavers and fire pit were a gift for Blake, something I knew he’d wanted for a long time, but there was more behind my decision.

“You can call me crazy if you want, but I can feel your feelings, Grace. It’s like they’re shooting out of you and straight into me. Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking. Don’t hold it all in and carry this alone anymore.”

I can’t face him when I say this. I’m just not ready yet. “Okay, but you won’t like it.”

“I can take it.”

“I was just thinking about when I had the fire pit installed for your Christmas present. That was the primary reason I did it. But I had another reason too.”

“And what was that reason?”

“Triple negative breast cancer has a higher recurrence rate than the other types, over time. I thought the patio would be a good selling feature for the house if the cancer returned later, but you’d be able to enjoy it until then. I just never considered this turn of events. I thought I had more time.”

“Mom? What’s going on?” The confusion and concern in Kyle’s voice rip my heart to shreds.

I don’t want to have this conversation.

But it can’t wait any longer.

Time is an unknown commodity I can’t take for granted anymore.

I turn to face them, no longer hiding my emotions. “You two have a seat. We need to have a family meeting.”

My nerves are completely shot, and I anxiously run my hands up my face and through my hair. My fingers come out with clusters of my hair wrapped around them. While shaking uncontrollably, I walk to the garbage can and watch the tufts of hair slip through my fingers. When I turn toward Blake and Kyle, I find their eyes are still transfixed on the garbage can, though the lid is closed.

“We’ll all have to get used to seeing that over the next few days,” I say as I sit. “Kyle, your dad told me you know some of what’s going on. But I’m afraid I have more bad news to share with you. A few months ago, I found out that I have breast cancer. Alone, that diagnosis was bad enough, but manageable through a course of chemotherapy and probably several weeks of radiation therapy. But, it turns out I was originally misdiagnosed.

“The cancer isn’t only in my breast, it’s also in my lung. Since it has already spread, my condition is more advanced than we first thought. There’s something you both have to understand about this change in diagnosis, and I can’t sugarcoat it because we all have to face the terrible truth about it. There’s more to it than just extending my chemotherapy and making it go away. There is no cure for metastatic breast cancer.”

Kyle stares blankly at me for several heartbeats. I know how he feels. Absorbing this is harder than I ever imagined. For a seventeen-year-old to understand the implications is asking a lot.

“There’s no cure? What does that mean, Grace?”

When my tears spill over onto my cheeks, Blake leans back in his chair and releases a haggard gasp.

“It means, at some point, this cancer will kill me.”

“How long are we talking, Mom?” Kyle’s question is asked on a whisper, as if he’s afraid to speak the words aloud.

“Some women live two to three years with it. Some women have lived more than five years with it. Others have lived anywhere from ten to twenty years. There are so many variables with metastasis, it’s impossible to even guess right now.”

The silence around the table is deafening. They don’t know what to say, and I can appreciate that. Platitudes are not what any of us needs right now. This subject is depressing. The outlook is grim. And my ability to maintain my composure is waning.

“Guys, I know this is a lot to take in. Frankly, I need some time to try to process what all of it means myself. I’m going upstairs to be alone for a while.”

“You promised you wouldn’t give up,” Blake reminds me.

“I’m not giving up. I’m just…regrouping. When I come back down, we’re all going to go about our day as usual.”

Kyle stands and wraps his arms around me.

My big, strong boy is crying like a baby.

Dear God, please help me be strong. For my son’s sake, don’t let me fall apart in front of him.

“Hey,” I say softly. “I’m not giving up, so you’re not giving up. No matter what happens, everything will be okay, baby.”

He squeezes me tighter and nods his head. Before he releases me, he kisses me on the cheek. I know he’s saying he loves me through his gesture because speaking the words would release the fears he’s trying to hold at bay. I return the notion with a kiss on his cheek then walk upstairs to have my breakdown in private.