On an absolutely beautiful and carefree Arizona autumn day in October , my wife and I spent the day hiking. While hiking, we happened upon a large band of coatimundi mothers and babies foraging and playing among the cottonwood and sycamore trees.
The experience can only be described as magical as we watched the mothers and young coatis romp around in the trees and grass. It was a sight straight out of a nature documentary. It was another grand adventure, just like so many others we had shared during our nearly 40 years of marriage. And we shared ideas for trips to the national parks we would like to visit and volunteer at. Mostly, there was talk about just living the good and simple life as we grew older together.
A couple weeks later we were sitting in a breast clinic examination room together. In my hand was a gene sequencing report that I had just received from a relative of my wife. For seven years, that report sat unshared with my wife and her siblings.
Or at least encourage honest and open communication about the mutation. After seeing the report, my wife was immediately referred for genetic testing by her doctor. A short time after that, our year-old daughter tested positive for the same mutation as well.
In early December, my wife began chemotherapy for stage 3 triple-negative breast cancer. But not long after starting treatment, she developed severe back pain. An MRI revealed that the cancer had already metastasized to her spine. On Christmas Eve she was told she had stage 4 cancer and that treatment was now just palliative. In a span of only two months, we had gone from the hopes and dreams of a bright future to just hoping for a miracle.
