Marissa is a 40-something "flattie" in sunny SoCal living with metastatic breast cancer, her boyfriend (and high school sweetheart) and the memory of her not-so-mini schnauzer, Heidi, who was taken too soon by canine lymphoma. She enjoys reading, stress baking and roller skating. She hopes to inspire others with her stories about life with cancer.

Marissa Holzer

I’ve made it to another March, my month of milestones and anniversaries. Over the years there have been exciting milestones to celebrate, such as buying my first house and buying a new car. And there have been tough low points like when Heidi (my rescued mini schnauzer) was diagnosed with lymphoma and my own diagnosis of de novo metastatic breast cancer (MBC) at age 38 in March of 2014.

That week in March was one of the worst weeks of my life. I was admitted to the hospital with a blood clot and learned I had metastatic breast cancer with metastases to my liver and an adnexal mass. This happened at the same time my last living grandfather was dying in a different hospital in the same town and there wasn’t anything I could do.

My world was spinning out of control. I had no idea what a future with MBC would look like for me, let alone if I even had a future to look forward to. I didn’t know if I would survive the average life span of two to three years, but life continued on and today I am beating the odds as a 10-year survivor. 

Throughout the past 10 years, I have lost multiple body parts: my breasts, ovaries, uterus, cervix and fallopian tubes. I’ve lost my hair twice.I have acquired many scars and gained the “joys” that come with menopause. I’m talking to you, Hot Flashes and Dryness. I have lost my last grandfather and my only sister. It’s been a decade filled with losses in the metastatic community too numerous to count.

There are people throughout this past decade who deserve some recognition because I didn’t get here on my own.

To my first oncologist who planted seeds of hope by telling me I had years to live, and yet confused me with another patient and added inaccurate details in my chart which continue to follow me around to this day, I am still here. I still hold on to that hope.

To my first radiation oncologist who had me in tears at my first consultation by telling me radiation would not increase my survival, I am still here more than four years later, despite your prediction.

To my second radiation oncologist who told me he was going to “F me up” and questioned why I did not have reconstruction after my mastectomy, I am still here and I am still flat. Breasts are not necessary to feel feminine, regardless of what the patriarchy has taught society to believe.

To my second oncologist, who believed in me, listened to me and treated me as if I were his own daughter, thank you.

To my third oncologist, who came up with a new and successful plan for me, even when I didn’t qualify for her trial, thank you.

To my fourth oncologist, who is brilliant and feels more like a friend, thank you.

To all the nurses, techs and others who have touched my life, thank you.

To all of you involved in my care, support and friendship, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for this decade of living with incurable cancer. With many thanks to science, research and a bit of luck for getting me this far.

Without these challenging encounters, I wouldn’t have learned how to advocate for myself when I wasn’t feeling heard. I wouldn’t have discovered how resilient and stubborn I truly am. And I wouldn’t have had as much will and desire to overcome the hurdles inadvertently set before me.

If it weren’t for the negative experiences, I would never have had as much appreciation for those of you who make my life better on a daily basis. Our paths may not have crossed otherwise, and I may never have gotten to know any of you. I am more aware and prepared to take on whatever challenges may come my way, although try as I might, I may not always approach them with grace.

I have learned more about metastatic breast cancer over this past decade than I ever wanted to know. I have seen many new treatments become available that weren’t available when I was first diagnosed and have benefitted from them, with special thanks to Lynparza (olaparib) for keeping my cancer stable since March of 2020 after progression to my lungs.

There are days when I want to give up. There are days when I am sad beyond words. Most days, though, all I want to do is continue surviving, in spite of it all. It is my biggest hope to live many more decades and see a cure in my lifetime.

For more news on cancer updates, research and education, don’t forget to 

Articles

This March marks 10 years since my diagnosis of de novo metastatic breast cancer and four years since my cancer has been stable.

A Month of Milestones and My Cancer Anniversary

I know it’s coming from the grief within.

My thoughts are dark. I’ve lost my spark.

It’s hard to move on, As my motivation is gone.

Now I’m left here, With you nowhere near.

The emptiness and pain, They never seem to wane.

Do all the things.
We never know what our tomorrow brings.

Our last regrets Are the “haven’t yets.”

It’s been three months since my sister died. Three months of me trying to find my way out of this messy fog called grief. Three months since our final FaceTime conversation the day before she died.

Taken out of context in my sister’s last text message to me were these two simple words: “Haven’t yet.” Sometime later that night or early that next morning she would go on to take her own life. In my mind, those two words imply she wasn’t ready to go. She still had things to do. She just hadn’t done them yet. Maybe I’m trying to read too much into it as I seek out answers and try to make sense of what happened.

No one was prepared for this tragedy, even those closest to her. She was beautiful. She was vibrant. She was in clinical remission from her cancer. She was very much alive. She had two daughters and a husband. From the outside looking in everything appeared normal, whatever “normal” is. She masked her struggles well.

As someone living with incurable cancer, I’m often told how good I look or how I don’t look sick. Though kind and well-meaning, these comments just bring home the point that no one knows what’s truly going on inside another person. Outward appearances don’t always tell the full story. How we are perceived by others is often very different from how we perceive ourselves and our inner turmoil is not always evident by our actions.

I will never understand the thought process behind what she did. People have said to me when someone dies by suicide they were not in their right mind, or they didn’t know how to stop thepain and death was their only way out.

I am having the hardest time accepting her death. I’m not there yet. The tears just keep coming. She was my sister, my friend, my cheerleader. Three months without talking to her and all I want to do is call her.

As I suddenly found myself co-authoring my sister’s obituary – one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to write – I realized how difficult it is for another person to accurately describe someone else’s life in 400 words. No one knew what my sister’s final wishes were. With the knowledge that my own life will be cut short by metastatic breast cancer, I was inspired to write my own obituary to ease that burden on my family and for my peace of mind, knowing I’ve clearly stated my own wishes.

While everyone around me seems to have moved on and moved past her death, I’m stuck at the anger and acceptance phases of grief. This is still so raw and unreal to me. There are days I feel like I never really knew her. I look back at pictures and videos of her and see the person I thought I knew. I wish I could go back in time and fix whatever was going wrong, be more present or offer more support.

This quote by Robert Frost sums it up for me: “The best way out is always through.” I’m working my way through this dark time in my life. And as much of a struggle as my life has been, it’s my one and only life. I’m going to continue to live it. Perseverance is one of the greatest lessons cancer has taught me. Even when my world seems small and is spiraling out of my control, I have learned to keep on keeping on.

Life is short. I don’t want those “haven’t yets” to pass me by. I’m trying to remind myself to reach out to someone who might look okay on the outside but is hurting inside, to buy myself something special or splurge on extra dessert or to pour a touch more champagne when toasting to life or celebrating good scans. I’m working on doing all the things, as we never know what our tomorrow brings and our last regrets are always the “haven’t yets.”

I’m working through one of the toughest times of my life. Perserverance is one of the many things that cancer has taught me.  

Grief, Loss and ‘Haven’t Yets’

If you’ve been following me, you know that I recently participated in a breast cancer awareness walk with Stand Tall AFC to promote body positivity and 

On event day, I arrived a little bit early to get everything ready for my team. I had a large banner, some posters we would be carrying and flyers to distribute. I gathered my team before the walk began so we could take a team picture. It was the perfect day for a walk through the harbor, overcast skies created a comfortable temperature with plenty of marine life and a great view of the boats.

This is my second event like this, and it went as I expected. The walk consisted of the usual — pink tutus and boas, a pink truck, an oversized pink chair for photos, loud music and the general chaos that ensues. 

My incredible team showed up for me and we accomplished what we set out to do. We were visibly advocating for body positivity, wearing our matching white T-shirts adorned with the image of Dr. Wendy Sage, the breast cancer survivor on “The Simpsons.” 

Marissa Holzer and other members from Stand Tall AFC advocate for aesthetic flat closure at a breast cancer event. 

I had spoken to the event coordinator the day prior to the walk, and she mentioned to be sure to stop by the survivors’ booth. My metastatic Flattie friend, who I met in an online support group, accompanied me to the booth. We were asked by the woman in the booth if we were survivors. I answered for both of us and said we were “Metavivors.” The woman paused and then asked if she could give us a hug.

Along with a hug we were each given a survivor swag bag. It’s always fun to go home with free goodies and it’s a nice gesture to recognize the survivors. At that moment the walk was getting underway. So, we put the bags aside without looking at the contents and started our walk.

It was only later when I got home and unpacked everything in the survivors’ swag bag that the disappointment set in. Inside were several items: socks, a calendar, lip balm, a pin, a pink strand of Mardi Gras beads (slightly inappropriate, but I'll let it slide) and a bracelet. Now this bracelet is one of those stretchy wristband-type bracelets imprinted with the slogan “Save 2nd Base.”

Having had a mastectomy I no longer have “second base” to save and I am willing to bet I was not the only survivor there to have undergone a mastectomy. Also, breast cancer is not a disease that affects just women. Anyone who has a chest can get breast cancer.

I asked my friend if she had received one of these bracelets in her bag and she said she did and that her daughter took most of the items from the bag for herself. This is not the lesson we should be teaching to our next generation. This is not bringing awareness to the disease and it’s not finding a cure. It was as if this one bracelet undermined our whole purpose of walking.

At first, I thought it was just me being overly sensitive, but then I posed the question to breast cancer social media and the overwhelming response was that this is inappropriate. 

This bracelet trivializes our trauma. It is insensitive, thoughtless and insulting and has no place in a survivor swag bag. This slogan reduces us to body parts, sexualizing breast cancer. It objectifies breasts and minimizes the person and life attached to those breasts. It suggests we aren’t sexy post-mastectomy.

While the walk itself went great and we did what we intended to do — we were visible and we were promoting body positivity — the irony was not lost. There’s a time and a place for raunchy cancer humor, and this was not it. 

I left feedback on the email survey asking for my opinion on how things went. I understand wanting a catchy slogan to encourage people to get screened, but once you’re already a patient who has had your breasts removed it’s too late to “Save 2nd Base.”

It's hard for me to show up at events like this knowing I’m not a winner. Part of me feels like crawling under a rock for the month of Pinktober, but part of me also knows that this is precisely why we're advocating: to be body positive and to be accepted as we are after mastectomy.

We are not our boobs. We are so much more than that.

At an event where we are supposed to be making strides against breast cancer, this feels like we’ve taken a giant step backwards. The sentiment on this bracelet of saving second base hits the ball out of the park as to why we need to do better and continue to stand tall for body positivity after mastectomy.

I had a wonderful time at a recent breast cancer walk, until I got home and found a bracelet with a raunchy saying on it in my survivor’s gift bag.  

This Breast Cancer Awareness Slogan Really Stuck Out, and Not in a Good Way

The power of social media and its role regarding health insurance has blown my mind. 

What emails and countless hours on the phone with multiple people could not accomplish has been fixed by Twitter. One tweet calling out Covered California and Blue Shield of California about a problem with the termination date of my policy and my issue has been resolved.

 from Covered California Blue Shield, my state’s marketplace insurance. I have been stressing over this switch for a few months now and I have done everything in my power to ensure a smooth transition: making sure I have enough of my Lynparza (olaparib) on hand until I can get a refill, canceling the old plan and updating my new insurance information.

Alas, nothing is ever simple when it comes to health care and insurance. More specifically, nothing about living with metastatic breast cancer for over eight years has been simple.

My first mistake was waiting until the day my new Medicare policy took effect to call and cancel my old policy. Apparently, my commonsense approach in waiting until the new coverage began to cancel my previous policy is not how it’s done. Silly me. But in my mind, I can’t risk any lapse in coverage when living with cancer.

I started with a call to Blue Shield to cancel the policy only to be told I needed to cancel through the marketplace. So my next call was to Covered California. The person who I spoke with at Covered California informed me I was supposed to give them two weeks’ notice prior to canceling; I had waited too long and now they couldn’t terminate my plan until Sept. 30.

That seemed fine until I received a bill from Blue Shield two weeks later for a past-due premium for the month of September. I don’t need this Blue Shield policy anymore. I have Medicare now. I can’t have both policies simultaneously.

This is what I was trying to avoid. I had hoped one plan would end and the other would begin with no lapses, no overlapping, no income tax issues regarding subsidies, but it just was not to be. The termination date could not be changed because I called too late. Apparently, I was supposed to know this, but my common sense got in the way.

With this past-due bill in hand, I got on the phone and again called Covered California, who couldn’t help me. I then called Blue Shield, who couldn’t help me. Next, I called the insurance commissioner, who couldn’t help me, but kindly referred me to the Department of Managed Healthcare. The Department of Managed Healthcare suggested I file a complaint, which I did.

The message I received back from them was encrypted so I couldn’t open it, which wasn’t helpful. I filed a grievance with Blue Shield. Then I contacted my insurance agent and even he couldn’t help me.

In my frustration I sent out one tweet on Twitter. One tiny tweet, not even using all 280 allotted characters. The tweet said, “I hate health insurance billing issues. I’m talking to you @CoveredCA @BlueShieldCA That’s the tweet.”

I immediately received a response tweeted back from each entity telling me to send a direct message for further assistance. After all the phone calls, complaints and grievances filed I assumed they wouldn't be able to help me either.

After stewing over this for a day, I decided I had nothing to lose but more time at this point. I wasn't getting anywhere with my endless phone calls, with longer than average wait times, listening to the “soothing” hold music. I sent a direct message to Covered California, once again explaining my situation. Their automatic response appeared boilerplate, almost as if it came from a bot.

I messaged back with, “This is not helpful.” To my surprise they asked for my name, birth date and phone number and replied they would escalate my case to their resolution team.

Within five hours of the direct message, I received a phone call from Covered California. They were able to change my termination date to Aug. 31.

I should have started with social media instead of all those hours wasted on the phone. There I go, trying to use my common sense again.

We live in a virtual world these days. I will never again underestimate the power of social media and the one tweet that can possibly fix something no live customer service phone representative could.

I reported back to my insurance agent that my issue had been fixed. When he asked my secret, I happily replied, “Twitter.” So thank you, Twitter. It means the virtual world to this cancer patient to have this resolved.

For more news on cancer updates, research and education, don’t forget to 

The switch from private insurance to Medicare was a struggle — especially considering my need for cancer care — that was not solved by numerous phone calls, but by Twitter instead.  

Marissa Holzer

A Month of Milestones and My Cancer Anniversary

Grief, Loss and ‘Haven’t Yets’

This Breast Cancer Awareness Slogan Really Stuck Out, and Not in a Good Way

Twitter Solved My Health Insurance Woes When Common Sense Got in My Way

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