Life After ‘The Words’: Creating Memories
February 2019. A routine shower. My fingers found something that shouldn’t be there—a lump in my breast. Four weeks of tests later, sitting across from my doctor, I heard three words that split my life into “before” and “after”: “You have cancer.”
At that moment, I thought there had to be a mistake. I was healthy, strong, competing for Team Canada’s snowboarding team. I had never smoked, ate well, lived fully. My life was beautifully complicated—an incredible husband, two young children, two dogs, a new VP position, teaching at university, and halfway through my Masters at HEC Paris. I had everything to live for.
But cancer doesn’t read résumés, check fitness levels, or care about your age.
My oncologist delivered the reality: I have triple-positive breast cancer, one of the more aggressive types. Then came the words that changed everything: “Your breast cancer has spread to your bones.”
Stage 4. Metastatic. Incurable. Terminal.
Natalie Kwadrans, 2019
The statistics were stark—I had a 22% (now 23%) chance of seeing 2024. Most people with my diagnosis live 2 to 3 years. My estimated “expiry date” fell somewhere between February 2021 and February 2022.
But here I am, defying those odds, because of advancements in cancer research.
Life as a terminal cancer patient has been brutal—five months of aggressive chemo, mastectomy, radiation, daily hormone therapy. Combined with my pre-existing narcolepsy, I was bedridden for months. And then the cancer kept progressing—to my hip, my lungs, more lymph nodes. Radiation to the hip. But when it returned, it was too aggressive, so I underwent a full hip replacement surgery. More radiation. Another progression. New hormone therapy. Another progression. Emergency abdominal arthroplasty. Now on chemo for life. More radiation. More appointments.
This is the relentless dance I face as a terminal cancer patient, an endless cycle of treatments and progressions. I continue to meet each new challenge head-on, determined to make the most of the time I have left.
And here’s what I’ve learned: while I can’t control my diagnosis, I can control how I respond to it.
I’ve been handed some pretty rotten lemons, but I’m determined to make something beautiful with them. I refuse to let cancer steal the precious time I have left with my family. Every day is a choice to focus on what I can control—love, laughter, memories, and moments that matter.
This blog is my way of turning pain into purpose, fear into fight, and statistics into stories of hope.
Join me as I navigate this unexpected chapter, creating memories and proving that sometimes the most powerful thing you can say to cancer is simply: “Not today.”
Cancer can suck my lemons—I’m too busy making lemonade.
While my focus remains on cherishing precious moments with my family, the financial toll of this battle is immense. Between mounting medical expenses, the inability to work full-time, and a deep desire to provide my children with meaningful experiences and memories, I could use your support.
If you’ve found inspiration in my story and feel compelled to contribute towards helping to ease this burden, you can send me a gift by clicking here. Every donation, no matter the size, will make a profound difference as I navigate through my uncertain life.
Thank you for walking alongside me. Together, we can ensure I make the absolute most of the time I have left.
