Celebrating five years cancer-free, I felt truly unstoppable. I had come to see breast cancer not as a death sentence, but as a profound teacher.
Embracing it with a mindset rooted in healing, gratitude, and perspective, I rebuilt my life. In those five years, everything changed—I ended a 12-year relationship, left Texas for the mountains of Colorado, published my book My Guru Cancer, and found the love of my life through online dating.
Then, nine months into our relationship, in October 2020, I brought him to Florida to meet my family, and while doing handstands with my nieces, I developed unexpected, extreme back pain. I figured I had just overdone it. But as the pain worsened, I contacted my oncologist. They assured me it was likely just an injury—not cancer.
But something didn’t sit right.
I kept pushing for answers. The pain became so intense that, some days, I struggled to walk. Still, no one ordered imaging. It took eight months—and a visit to a spine specialist along with physical therapy—before someone finally scanned me.
Two hours after that scan, my phone rang.
“Are you sitting down?” the doctor asked.
My breath was instantly taken away, and it felt like time had frozen. I sat down quickly for the news I never wanted to hear.
“There are lesions all over your spine,” he said. “It looks like the cancer is back. You need to call your oncologist immediately.”
Just like that, my world shifted again.
The diagnosis hit hard: stage 4 incurable metastatic breast cancer. It had spread throughout my bones, liver, and lymph nodes. I had already been through this once before—diagnosed at 34 with stage two breast cancer, while working as a yoga therapist and living an organic, health-conscious lifestyle with no family history of cancer.
I had done everything “right.” I’d embraced an integrative approach to chemotherapy, a double mastectomy, and years of emotional healing. But this time, at age 39, I was angry. I had been the perfect patient—the advocate who dedicated her career to supporting the cancer community. The one who turned her pain into purpose. This felt like a personal attack.
But once again, I chose to focus on living.
I underwent palliative radiation to ease the back pain. I entered menopause from hormone therapy. Chemotherapy brought things under control. Eventually, I transitioned to a daily pill regimen and monthly bone-strengthening infusions. I reached what we call “NED”—no evidence of disease.
In 2023, Tim and I got engaged and began planning our summer wedding. But cancer wasn’t done with us yet. One month before the wedding, the cancer progressed again. The pain in my hip was all too familiar. While I sat in hospital waiting rooms for biopsies, I was also ordering wedding decorations. It felt like I was living a double life.
Two weeks before the wedding last June, I started a new treatment that was, thankfully, gentle. I kept my hair. I walked down the aisle. I danced. The day was perfect—because I made it through.
Five months later, the cancer moved again—to my lung, and progressed in my liver, bones, and chest lymph nodes. It was crushing my pelvis—without pain medication, I wouldn’t have been able to walk. It was the worst progression I have ever had. The tumor blocked my ureter, the tube that connects the kidney to the bladder. I needed surgery to place a stent.
Thanksgiving was the first time I really wondered if this would be my last. The first time I was well and truly scared for my health. I feared that in 2025, I would be in a wheelchair.
On December 6, I began a new (to me) targeted chemotherapy called Enhertu, which is an infusion every three weeks.
After just one dose, something miraculous happened: I was out of pain. I got off pain medication.
On Christmas Day, I went skiing with Tim. We both cried. We couldn’t believe we were there—moving, laughing, living.
In February, my scans showed remarkable improvement. My tumor markers returned to the normal range for the first time in years.
My word for 2025 was “stability.” After a year of wild ups and downs—progression, healing, recurrence—I was craving calm. But I never got stability.
I got something even better. I’m describing what is happening in my body as a miracle.
On May 28, I received great news: Enhertu is still rocking the cancer, and everything is stable, shrinking, and disappearing. Five years ago, I celebrated being cancer-free, and today, I can celebrate so much more. My tumor markers are back to normal, treatment is doing its job, and I have shared my story on stage at the American Society of Clinical Oncology in Chicago—a company that changed my life.
Cancer has taken much from me. But it’s also gifted me a sense of presence I never knew before. I don’t take anything for granted. I get to hike, ski, and spend time with my family. I get to wake up next to the love of my life.
And I keep going—oversharing my journey on Instagram @mygurucancer, where I hope to offer strength, spark hope, and remind others facing cancer that they’re not alone.
Bethany Adair is a 43-year-old mindset coach and author based in Boulder, Colorado.
The post I Was Celebrating 5 Years Cancer Free Then Came a Shocking Diagnosis appeared first on Newsweek.
