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Gratitude is not a given. Not for anyone and especially not for those living with late stage cancer. Gratitude is a practice. A way of looking at the world. Dan recently read a book  that asked what do you count each day? Challenges or blessings? We are choosing to count blessings as even with cancer in our lives we have so much for which we are grateful, including:

• The New York Times Spelling Bee
• Pickleball
• Six wonderful nieces and nephews (and one more on the way!)
• Vaccines
• Our remarkable and remarkably present friends
• Good wine
• The Inspector Gamache mystery series (thanks Kate!)
• Antidepressants 
• Renewed travel
• Morning coffee
• Grassroots Solutions evolution
• Support for caregivers
• Walks
• Those fighting for racial and social justice
• Doc the Basset Hound
• Gin rummy and cribbage
• Good health care
• Our Sether
• Peloton (especially Ally Love, Emma Lovewell and Andy Speer)
• Cassie parents and Dan’s stepmom
• Premade Thanksgiving dinner from Kowalski’s
• The latest season of Succession
• Winona
• A new therapist
• Tennis
• President Biden
• Our siblings
• Minimal cancer progression
• Enduring love
• And most of all this Thanksgiving season, being able to be TOGETHER with our family and friends 

Happy Thanksgiving. 

Love, Cassie and Dan

Last week we selected a burial plot. It’s in a beautiful and peaceful location in a non-denominational cemetery that overlooks our beloved Mississippi River. It’s just five minutes from our house and has great views of the downtown Minneapolis skyline. Best of all, for us, is that it’s dog-friendly and monument free (only in-ground grave markers allowed ) so it feels much more like a park than a cemetery. Did we mention it’s peaceful?

This marks the culmination of what’s been a long, and for Dan in particular, an emotionally arduous journey. Shortly after her diagnosis, Cassie announced that she wanted to go cemetery “shopping” so we did. It was raw and super heavy at first and we struggled to find a place that felt right to both of us (note many places that claim to be non-denominational really mean non-denominational Christian). But then, by pure happenstance, Cassie got lost on her way to our dentist and stumbled on this lovely cemetery established by the Masons in the 1920’s. She brought Dan over that same day and it felt more right to both of us than anything we had previously seen. 

At that point, we decided to slow our roll and visit it across all of the seasons. Each time we went it felt more and more like the place. We also appreciated learning that a founding Mason’s belief is that “everybody is equal in death” which is why they banned upright burial markers to avoid the trappings of wealth. We love that! We also loved the fact that the cemetery is now it’s own non-denominational nonprofit AND that it’s an Audubon bird sanctuary to boot. The fact that two MN governors (LeVander and Stassen) are buried there felt like a final positive sign given our active levels of political engagement as a couple. 

So we’ve known for some time that this is where we wanted to end up. The final step though was picking our specific gravesite which involved multiple visits, lots of walking around, jotting down the names of nearby graves and then looking at maps in consultation with the cemetery staff. It’s a lot. A lot of time. A lot of effort. A lot of emotional expense. A lot of sadness. It feels strange to be picking your final resting place when you’re in your early 50’s but it somehow also felt right. Maybe that’s because we gave ourselves the gift of time and didn’t force a decision while remaining focused on the overall goal. Maybe it’s because, since Cassie’s diagnosis, we’ve become used to talking about dying and death. Maybe it’s because it actually makes sense to do this when you are younger and not immediately before or after one of you dies. Or maybe it just feels right because we both feel at peace with where we landed (pun intended). 

Yes we both felt a little extra sad last week (especially Cassie). But we also feel a sense of closure and an ability to now let this part of the journey go. We are both grateful that Cassie has created her “death plan” and that this part of her plan is now complete (for more details on that topic see 8/24/2020 blog post and this template Death Plan Work Sheet.August 2020). Dan is still promising to finish (well honestly to start) his own death plan and seeing the sense of peace that Cassie has achieved is inspiring and motivating.

Honestly, the hardest and most beautiful part of this whole finding your burial site experience has been doing it together. Hard because it forces you to actively contemplate the death of the person you love most. Beautiful because you get to hold hands and be scared, vulnerable and connected with each other. 

At the beginning of the pandemic, there was lots of talk about having to adjust to a “new” normal. It makes all the sense in the world as many of our lives were turned upside down and we had to learn to adjust on the fly. It’s been hard, exhausting and unrelenting as the Delta variant continues to spread and too many people remain unvaccinated. Our societal sense of the new normal continues to evolve.

As a couple confronting Metastatic Breast Cancer, it’s pretty much the same thing but with a twist. We had to change our lives with little warning. It’s scary, exhausting and unrelenting. We’ve talked a lot since Cassie’s diagnosis about our new normal. Here’s the twist though. It’s not one new normal, it’s many. How Cassie feels is constantly changing and it’s so unpredictable. At the beginning, when she first started treatment we assumed that how Cassie felt would track her medicine cycle of three weeks on and one week off. Unfortunately it’s not that simple. Sometimes her best week is indeed week four when she is off her meds but not always. Other times she actually feels the worst on week one and pretty good on week three. Huh? It makes it hard to predict and plan. 

We’ve come to realize that for us normal is an illusion. Our normal is always new, always changing and the only certain thing about our normal is that it’s filled with uncertainty. It can be a tough way to live but we are also coming to see that you gain some freedom when you give up on the idea of “normal” and instead just embrace the day or week however it unfolds. 

It is so amazing to be back out in the world! Being fully vaccinated for Covid-19 is allowing us to once again see friends close up, dine out (carefully), entertain and even travel.

In mid-May we went to Florida to visit friends in their brand new home on the ocean. The setting was spectacular, the house so comfortable, the wine delicious and the pool and the views were stunning. 

One afternoon Dan and our friend went to the beach and did some boogie boarding. The waves were big. Rough. Intimidating. They came back to the house a little beat up (and with pockets full of seaweed) but also exhilarated. Dan said, “You just have to catch the right wave and ride it as long as you can.” Cassie immediately responded: “Just like living with metastatic cancer.”

Living with MBC is a wild ride. Some “waves” are bigger than others – you hit a rough patch of not feeling well or you get bad scan results and all you can do is just try not to drown in how scary and overwhelming it all feels. Other “waves” are more easily managed. You find yourself in a spot where you can comfortably ride it out. Your head stays above water and you can even catch an occasional feeling of joy and lightness.

Right now, we are riding a good wave. Trying to enjoy this period which we have come to think of as the “in-between” time. Cassie’s back is recovering from her major November surgery just as the doctor had hoped. She still has six more months of not bending over and being very careful with lifting and twisting but that’s totally doable and overall we are feeling like we are close to the end of that journey. On the MBC front, Cassie has a scan at the end of summer to check if the lung tumors are continuing to grow (as they have three scans in a row) and to see if the cancer has found its way to any other part of the body. But, that scan isn’t until the end of summer.

Our challenge now is to enjoy this in-between time. To appreciate the wave we are on. To ride it as long as we can. To not spend a minute worrying about what may or may not be found in the upcoming scan. To not speculate about side effects of new medications. To just be in the here and now and soak up all that’s currently good in our lives.

Ride the wave. 

We’ve never really been big fighters in our marriage. Of course we have regular disagreements and sometimes Cassie will inform Dan that “we’re fighting” only to let him know a while later that the fight is over. Other than that, fighting between us is not particularly commonplace.

A few weeks ago though we had a fight. It was a pretty run-of-the mill, typical long-time couples fight, that covered well worn ground. We don’t say that to minimize either of our perspectives but rather to simply note that this wasn’t remotely the first time in our almost 23 year marriage that we’d had this particular disagreement. Cassie felt Dan was ignoring her. Dan felt Cassie wasn’t giving him space. A lot of couples can probably relate and, in normal times, we might not even have categorized it as a fight.

Not in these times though. This time it felt like World War III. We were both angry, hurt and hurtful. We exchanged stinging retorts and retreated to different rooms. It felt really intense and heavy. We were both agitated and pissed off. Neither of us wanted to give an inch. Neither of us had an “I’m sorry” in us. It felt overwhelming like there was almost no way to resolve it.

That’s when it hit us — we weren’t angry about the fight, we were angry about our lives. About Cassie’s continued back pain and slow recovery. About the pandemic. About the impending start of the Derek Chauvin murder trial (thank goodness that turned out OK). We were both angry about all of that and as we came to realize, we were especially angry about Cassie’s cancer. It never goes away. It’s there every day. Constant and unrelenting. It makes everything harder and heavier. And for things like a “typical” couple’s fight, the cancer acts as an accelerant. It can easily blow the simplest most basic things out of proportion and it’s hard to see that when it’s happening. 

The other thing about fighting when one of you has a serious cancer diagnosis is that you frequently ignore little things that are annoying you because they can feel petty. Cassie knows Dan is doing so much as a caregiver so she often stops herself from raising small things that are bothering her. Similarly, Dan sees how much Cassie is suffering so he too often holds onto issues rather than communicating openly and directly. Left unsaid, these small things simmer, fester and grow. Then they blow up into something that feels much bigger than the underlying issue. It’s yet another way cancer acts as an accelerant. 

Once we realized what was happening it was easier to let go of our mutual resentments. To apologize to each other, hug (gently) and make up. It was a lightbulb moment for both of us. Cassie’s cancer impacts everything so we will often have to pause and ask: “What are we really reacting to in the moment?” How much is about the issue of the day and how much is about the overriding issue in our lives?  How much are we holding onto and not saying because we don’t want to “bother” the other, risking simmering resentment. That’s a whole lot of intentionality to be sure and we will most definitely miss the mark with some frequency. That said, in the years ahead as we have other arguments, gaining some clarity about what might really be driving our anger is helpful to both of us.

Ding-dong the brace is gone. Which old brace? The horrible brace. Ding-dong the horrible old brace is gone!

You’ll hopefully excuse us a moment of frivolity (and a massacring of that Wizard of Oz classic) as we are still riding a high from Cassie’s newly discovered brace freedom! The days since have been some of our best in a long, long while — maybe since her cancer diagnosis.  We have both been luxuriating in how much easier our lives are without the brace and the accompanying restrictions. Cassie can do things on her own. She can drive again. See her own feet. Walk with friends. Help with dishes and dinner prep (though her grabber is still in play) and sit in more than one chair in our house.

And it’s not just what she can do, it’s also how she can be.

The other morning Cassie was sitting on the couch, in front of the fire, drinking coffee and reading the news. Doc jumped up and joined her putting his head and front paws squarely in her laps for the first time in a LONG time. Cassie gave a huge sigh of contentment and said: “This is a dream come true.” And it was. 

Whether quiet moments with Doc. An unencumbered hug. Taking walks on her own in the unexpected spring weather or the ability to easily hold a book, it’s the little things that we’ve noticed most. Maybe that’s because these are the things that are so easy to take for granted and overlook in our day-to-day lives? But they bring such joy and are SO restorative. We didn’t understand how much they mattered until they weren’t possible. 

Sure there are hard things ahead. We have another scan coming up to see if the cancer is still growing (there always seems to be another scan). But we are not jumping ahead. We are waking up with smiles and lightness for the first time in what seems like forever. We are basking in new found freedom. We are hugging each other a lot. Mostly we are appreciating the little things and hopefully remembering to never again take them for granted.

It’s hard to mix optimism and Metastatic Breast Cancer.

Even for people who are more naturally optimistic like Dan.

Today we head back to the Mayo Clinic to find out if Cassie gets to lose the horrible back brace she has been in for ELEVEN weeks! It’s been a particularly tough stretch that has made us feel like our already condensed lives were even smaller. The brace has a huge negative impact on Cassie’s quality of life — both of ours actually — and we’ve grown to loathe it with a passion.

As this day approached, Cassie said “I don’t think we should get our hopes up.” To which Dan immediately replied” “That train has long since left the station.” We are both hoping so much that today is the day. As we’ve noted before, our home is filled with a lot  of dark humor and we’ve both recently taken to joking about how much we want to get back to the “good old days” when all we were dealing with was a terminal cancer diagnosis. So we hope and pray that the brace comes off.

But we are not optimistic. How can we be when it seems like most visits to the doctor brings a different form of bad or hard news? You have MBC. You might be paralyzed. You need to wear a brace. Your cancer is growing again. Optimism is in short supply. Even cautious optimism. But that doesn’t mean we’ve lost hope. It just means that our hope now comes with a generous dollop of pessimism. 

So here’s hoping that in a few hours we are in Winona for the first time in months and cracking open a good bottle of wine to toast a return to life without the brace. We are not counting on it, or expecting it but we sure are hoping for it. 

It’s easy to be cynical about Valentine’s Day. The price of flowers go up. It’s almost impossible to get a restaurant reservation (in normal times) and when you do the meals usually disappoint. Presents. Cards. Bubbly. It can be a lot. And all of that is of course on top of thinking about what the day might feel like for people who don’t have someone special. So yes, cynicism on and around St. Valentine’s Day is perfectly understandable.

We choose the opposite though. Embrace over cynicism. Not for the commercial aspects but for a day that intentionally and unabashedly is about embracing love. So on this February 14, as we get ready to celebrate with Cassie’s parents. As Dan dons his traditional Valentine’s Day socks and as we look forward to a multi-course, Italian-inspired feast, we wanted to share 14 things we are feeling special love for in THIS moment.

• Ted Lasso
• Our nieces and nephews. We heart you Slv, Hank, Mal, Evie, Mimi & Ari!
• Wine
• Heat that works and pipes that haven’t (yet) burst.
• Plans for future travel
• Love songs (if you want our Spotify VD playlist just ask)
• Online poker
• Joe Biden and Kamala Harris 
• Cassie’s parents
• Our new treadmill
• The Frozen River Film Festival
• Cancer meds that didn’t even exist five years ago
• Chocolate delights from our dear friends the Richmans

And of course each other. We first celebrated Valentine’s Day together in 1992. Some break-ups followed and it wasn’t close to a straight line from then until now. But our love is strong and enduring and full of joy, strength and laughter and for that, above all else, we are grateful. Today on THIS Valentine’s Day, we choose to put aside the hard shit that surrounds us and celebrate all the love in our life. 

Tell someone you love them. Don’t wait. Happy Valentine’s Day.

We’ve gotten into smoothies. Thanks to a recently acquired Ninja Blender (blatant product plug: it’s great and not all that expensive at Costco), and recipe guidance from our good friend Sherry, we have been churning out delicious concoctions to start many days. 

So the other morning we were cleaning up after a delightful mixed-berry smoothie and we couldn’t find the top of the milk container ANYWHERE. We knew it had to be there. We had JUST used it for goodness sake but it was nowhere to be found. Both of us kept moving in circles, opening drawers, lifting cutting boards, looking down the disposal and in the fridge but nope it wasn’t in any of those places. It had completely disappeared. But of course it hadn’t. After about ten minutes of futile searching and eye rolling, it turned up stuck under the top of the blender. We both laughed but we also sighed in virtual unison because this wasn’t close to the first time that we found ourselves feeling more scattered, disorganized and generally unmoored since Cassie’s diagnosis.

There were those times (many, many times) immediately post diagnosis, when Dan went to pay for something only to find that he had none of his credit cards, having left them scattered at different restaurants all across town. Or that time we nearly ran out of gas driving to a doctor’s appointment (thank God we noticed at literally the last moment). Or when we recently lost our checkbook for over three weeks only to find it in the same backpack we had already checked a dozen times. Cassie backed out of the driveway and smashed into our handyman’s car which she had just passed pulling in five minutes earlier. Dan went to get something out of the freezer only to leave a really good box of Sitka salmon (there’s a another product placement for you) out to spoil. The front door is often left open — that’s mostly Dan truth be told — and the degree to which we misplace our phones or get lost driving somewhere we know can’t be overstated.

Now some of this is of course normal (everyone loses their keys and phones right?) and even more so in the midst of a disorienting pandemic. That said, we are both pretty organized people and the frequency that we are losing, forgetting, misplacing and not remembering things is not typical for us. Or rather it is not typical to who we were pre-Metastatic Breast Cancer diagnosis. We sometimes refer to it as “cancer” brain and it impacts us both. It’s so easy to get frustrated and to channel the larger anxieties in our lives on to these smaller lapses. We  yell out of exasperation and beat up on ourselves with some regularity and one of us is constantly having to remind the other that this all makes sense. That of course we are going to lose and forget shit because our brains are otherwise consumed with big issues, concerns and fears. It’s requiring us to practice patience, gentleness and self-compassion (none of which come naturally to either of us) and to accept that this is just part of our “now” normal. It’s not a huge deal, especially compared to other challenges, but it’s a pretty constant pain in the ass and just one more reminder of how our lives have changed, in ways big and small, and how we have to practice changing (or at least better accepting ourselves) in response. 

P.S. The secret to Sherry’s smoothies is frozen bananas.