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In her last post, Cassie mentioned our nightly tradition of writing in our gratitude journals. What she didn’t know was that I stopped journaling the day she was diagnosed.

I wasn’t feeling grateful. I was pissed. Angry at the world. Not understanding why something like this would happen to such a good person. Why had the cancer come back? Why didn’t the doctors catch all of it 16 years ago when it first appeared? Why couldn’t they cure it now? Why, why, why? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.  That’s how I felt. Not grateful, rageful.

Then, in my first appointment following Cassie’s diagnosis, my therapist Craig said: “The most important thing right now is gratitude.” I told him right away that I didn’t see it. I mean yes, I was grateful we had health insurance and flexibility around work and for our supportive community, but that was it. I was too angry and scared to be deeply grateful.

He looked at me and said. “You’re really hurting. You’re in a ton of pain. And you’re really terrified, right?” Yes to all three, I affirmed. Well he went on to say: “Maybe the reason it hurts so much, and is so painful, is because those things are in direct proportion to how much you love Cassie and that’s what you should be grateful for.”

I looked at him and took it in. Started to speak then stopped and thought some more. He was right. Cassie and I are blessed with a great love and that is why this hurts so much and is so scary — because the love of my life is sick and I hate everything about that. But I am grateful for our love, now more than ever.

I told Craig he had earned his therapist gold star that day. That night I shared all this with Cassie and we both embraced the idea that pain and gratitude might now be intertwined in ways we didn’t previously understand. Then I took out my gratitude journal and started writing again. The thing I was most grateful for that day, and every day since: “Time left with Cassie.”

I can see how a cancer diagnosis can tear a couple apart. The fear, the insecurity and the stress could easily become insurmountable. One of the things we’ve found helpful is to maintain old habits and develop new ones that keep us connected. In fact, one of our new life “buckets” (see our last post for more on those) that we try to practice daily is connection.

For the last three years, Dan has been writing in a gratitude journal every night. I joined him in the nightly ritual about two years ago. Now, each night before bed we take time to write, independently, in our gratitude journals. Just two or three or ten things from the day for which we are grateful. Neither of us goes to sleep before asking the other “did you write in your book?” This shared practice of gratitude keeps us grounded in the positive. (Although, on my dark days I can struggle. And, I admit to a few less than grateful entries.)

A new habit we developed is taking a little time each morning to randomly choose and then read together an Affirminator card. Our dear friend, Beth, gave a deck of these cards to Cassie a while back (you can find them on Amazon). The cards have fun, affirming messages that connect us and get us in the right frame of mind to start our days.

These simple habits have been helping us maintain a closeness and shared perspective.

Here is our Affirminator from today –

“No Need To Do:  I am exactly where I need to be, exactly when I need to be. There’s nothing more I need to do. I mean, yes, there will always be laundry and taxes – but in terms of my life’s path, I don’t need to do anything because I am already here. I take a deep breath, relax, and trust (and then do laundry).”

In the weeks following Cassie’s diagnosis we got lots of advice. We weren’t in a position to hear most of it as we were just trying to come to grips with the situation in which we suddenly found ourselves. Brief aside: if you wind up knowing other people who receive a similar late-stage cancer diagnosis hold onto your advice for a while. It’s not that its unwelcome, it’s that you can’t process much of anything those first few weeks.

One thing that did break through though was a breakfast conversation that Dan had with his friend Paul who shared an insight from another friend who had an advanced cancer. That friend advised “don’t make a bucket list because if you do then you are living to die.” This was super interesting to us because we had, in fact, just started a bucket list of things we wanted to do in the time we had left together. But instead we paused and thought about it some more.

On the one hand we totally understood why so many people make a bucket list — it makes all the sense in the world. At the same time, the advice resonated because what happens when you have checked off everything on the list? What then? We found that neither of us wanted to face that question so instead we asked ourselves some other questions. If we don’t want to live to die then what does it look like to live fully right now? How do we spend our time? What matters most? What’s our purpose?

So, one day with all these questions in mind, we sat down at our dining room table with a big piece of paper and together made a list of all of the things that “feed our souls.” The things that make us happy and the things that now seem most important. It was a long list (which was nice) so since both of us are strategists at heart we decided to “bucket” it into categories.

We came up with 13 buckets (something symbolic there since Cassie was diagnosed on Friday the 13th). They included things like time with family and friends, reading, movies and games, food, cooking and wine, exploring new things, and travel. They are not all “buckets of fun” because we included other things like house projects and end of life planning. Some are more important to Cassie, some to Dan, but all of them reflect what feels most nurturing and essential to us as a couple.

And we’ve started to use the buckets. To plan our weeks. To make decisions about what we want to do. To help us prioritize and say no to things. We look at them all the time. We talk about them. Refer to them by name. We fill them up with specific activities. Three of them (connection, health and reflection) we try — with limited success — to do every day. We’ve refined them. Added some and lost others. The point isn’t to have a list but rather to have a better sense of what matters most to each of us and to both of us.

Even before Cassie was diagnosed, we were trying to be more intentional about using our time. That probably made our bucket exercise easier because we weren’t starting from scratch. Our challenge before, though, was that we frequently found ourselves so busy that we lost sight of what mattered most. We don’t have that luxury anymore because every day really matters. That’s why we love our buckets and don’t have a bucket list.

We walked into the oncologist’s office knowing that Cassie had cancer again. Our care coordinator had told us that the appointment, scheduled for a few days after the biopsy, would be cancelled if cancer wasn’t found. The cancellation call never came as much as we had jumped up every time the phone rang. So we knew.  But we still hoped that things would be ok.

That had long been our mantra whenever one of us was facing a tough day or week or a particular life crisis. The one of us who was struggling would turn to the other and say: “Everything is going to be ok, right?” And it usually was. Even when Cassie was first diagnosed with early stage breast cancer 16 years ago. We would work or fight through the situation together. Support each other. Remain optimistic. Remind each other that things were going to turn out ok.

Then, on Friday, July 13 2018, the doctor told us that Cassie has metastatic breast cancer. We had different understandings of what that meant but Dr. Leach clarified it succinctly. Metastatic means that it has spread. It’s automatically “Stage IV” (Dan naively or hopefully asked if there was another stage after that but the doctor just shook his head). It’s “treatable but not curable.” And finally, we probably shouldn’t plan on more than five or six years though he naturally caveated the shit out of that prognosis.

There we were. In shock. Looking at each other dumbstruck. Cassie had to go have more tests. Dan had to call our families. And then as we drove home Cassie said it: “Honey, things are not going to be ok.”

She’s right of course. Unless things change there is no good outcome for women with MBC. So what we are now trying to figure out is how do you live fully and full of love when you know things aren’t ok? That our time together is going to end way sooner than we want, that our days, weeks and years will likely be filled with sadness, grief and trauma, and all of that is on top of Cassie feeling exhausted and crappy. How do we live like this? How do we stay true to our values? Can we find joy in the sadness? What stays the same? What changes? All big questions and all emerged over the weeks that followed the diagnosis.

That day though we were consumed with only one question — how do we share this news and with whom? Cassie is super private. Dan not so much. Dan is on social media. Cassie not so much. Dan wanted to share with the world. Cassie with as few as people as possible. We resolved this by sending an email to our family and close friends and in subsequent weeks we shared a little more widely. Word got out. People now know — though we each still bump into friends whom, to our great chagrin, we forgot to tell. And, if you are one of them and reading this we are really sorry.

What became clear right away is that we had pretty different views on communicating about the cancer and its impact on our lives and that we had to reconcile those differences. Now on the one hand this is not a unique situation. All couples have to bridge disagreements and we’ve been doing that for twenty-plus years. On the other hand, a metastatic cancer diagnosis changes everything including how you communicate, solve problems and navigate differences. We think about the cancer differently. We think about life (and death) differently. We process Cassie being sick differently. And what we’ve found is that there are not a lot of resources to help us navigate all of this as a couple. There is a lot of support available for Cassie as a cancer patient and a lot of guidance for Dan as a caregiver but not a lot of help on how to do this together.

So we decided to start writing. To share our experiences. To get out of our heads. To help us process all this as a couple. We totally get that within the context of a horrible diagnosis we are fortunate to have time, space, resources and flexibility to reflect on all of this, talk it through, and try to find meaning where we can. We are grateful for that and we hope that by sharing some of what we are going through we can pay it forward.

Maybe that’s how we make today OK.