The end of "A pink ribbon race, years long"

In January 2011, New York Times reporter, Roni Caryn Rabin, wrote about the compelling story of Suzanne Hebert, entitled "A Pink Ribbon Race, Years Long." A young mother of 40 discovers a lump while nursing her new baby. Doctors tell her it's nothing to worry about and wait months later to biopsy it, but it's already too late. It's stage IV metastatic breast cancer and has spread to her bones and liver.

Suzanne Hebert, wife, mother of two, optometrist, friend, colleague, mbc advocate and vice president of the Metastatic Breast Cancer Network (MBCN), died on May 30 after living with mbc for over seven years.

The Times article was not the first or the last time that Suzanne shared her story, speaking out for all of us with mbc, advocating for more treatments and more research on metastases.
"People like the pretty story with the happy ending,” she said. “We don’t have the happy ending.

You always hear stories about women who ‘battled it’ and ‘how courageous’ they were. Cancer doesn’t care if you’re courageous. It’s an injustice to all of us who have this. There are women who are no less strong and no less determined to be here, and they’ll be dead in two years.”

In December 2011 Suzanne appeared on ABC Nightly News and talked about the clinical trial for Afinitor that she was on, traveling from her home in Connecticut to M.D. Anderson Cancer Center in Texas once a month."I never thought my liver would be a national TV star," she quipped to me, referring to the 'before' and 'after' scans of her liver tumors broadcast that evening.

But the initial reduction in tumors did not last and soon after that, Suzanne stepped back from her involvement with MBCN, wanting to spend more time with her family. I was surprised in April to read about her again in Cancer Today magazine, but her previous optimism and unflagging hope were gone, replaced by the cold, hard facts of reality and the grim statistics of this disease.

 Asked about some new research, she expressed 'guarded' optimism. “After more than eight years of living with this, I’ve seen so many things that sound like the next great thing,” she says. “You never hear anything else.” In reality, hope arrives “in very tiny increments,” says Suzanne. On the release of the newest 'successful' metastatic cancer drug, which extends life by 2 and a half months, Suzanne said: “That’s not really something to bring the trumpets out about, but that’s the best that we get,” she says. Still, it’s better than nothing. “I’m 46 and the mother of two,” says Hebert. “I’ll take it.”

Sobering words, especially from Suzanne, who lived and breathed lightness and hope. Was it succumbing to despair and frustration or was it resignation and final acceptance of the cruelty of this disease?  I reread the article and felt the sadness settle upon me.

The last time I spoke with Suzanne, she was in hospice. We laughed a little, cried a little and she said "You know you're going to get to this point, but it seems unreal. And all the work we did doesn't matter anymore."
"I know, I know," I replied, although I didn't really know or didn't want to understand and accept it.

I'm a better person for knowing Suzanne, working with her and living in her light. Her race should have been longer, much longer, but it did matter, Suzanne, and we thank you for that.