Shumanay Starshine's Last Cancer Battle

(Shumanay Starshine [me] - before diagnosis)

Last week when I learned that I have Stage IV (terminal) Triple Negative Breast Cancer (TNBC), I began a predictable routine: call someone I love, tell them the news, and listen to their heart break a little (or a lot) while the space in my heart that they occupy breaks with them upon hearing their pain. The hardest people to tell were my three sons (16, 13, and 12), because my own father died when I was young and I know the ongoing heartbreak of growing up without a parent.

Imagining my boys going through pain upon pain as they potentially feel what I did - the empty space and constant tinge of sadness at celebrations where my mom would tell me my dad was smiling down on me; my tears at my college graduation when she, holding my hand as we walked across my college campus toward the ceremony, leaned over and said, “Your dad would be so proud of you right now;” the lump in my throat when I lit the candle for him at my wedding reception, when he wasn’t there to dance with - is the most gut-wrenching torment of this process.


(Me - the baldening)

I can’t do anything about the absence that me dying will leave. But as I look back to the financial strain that both the solid year of cancer treatment I received upon initial diagnosis and having to leave work (that I had aggressively lobbied for a quick return to so I could help our family recover financially - only to discover a tumor the size of a peach in my liver and several tumors slightly smaller than M&Ms in my lungs after one month back), I see that we’re starting another expensive journey in a depleted position. These unusual circumstances are what have compelled me to the audacious, unorthodox creation of a fundraiser for my own death.

The road ahead includes: $7200 testing of my new tumors to determine which clinical trials I’m eligible for (I won’t pursue clinical trials out of a desperate desire to cling to life, because I am firm in my faith and confident in my eternal life [John 3:16]; I will pursue them because sometimes they work, and I want my boys to know that I did everything I could to not leave them to my own fate of a life without a parent), clinical trials that, once admitted to, may require relocating our family of five for months, and all the expenses that entails; $1000 per month to rent the Ohana unit (for those not in Hawaii, a detached mother-in-law unit) on our home's property to provide a place to stay for the loved ones who want to see me a last time (many came to visit when I was diagnosed with the aggressive [yet still curable] TNBC last year and I want to ease the financial burden of returning so quickly - many others don’t have the funds for a last-minute trip to Hawaii [I may have as little as two months left]. My friend [email redacted] is collecting donations of frequent flier miles to help with airfare.); the thousands of dollars I’ll need to spend until I reach my out of pocket maximum for the year; additional food budget for the family on the days I don’t feel up for meal planning and preparation (I’m on chemo until I die at this point); and other expenses I haven't realized we'll have yet. (We have applied for medical assistance for these costs when such assistance is available.)

(Flowers picked by loved ones - the best accessories a bald girl ever had)

I don’t share these costs because we’re desperate and won’t survive without help; I’ve already seen my husband cash in retirement funds  to ease the financial burden of the last year. He will do what it takes to give me the best chance of survival (some trials see a small percentage of women respond very well to the drug protocol and survive for years - years that at this stage of my boys’ lives would be priceless to me), and I hate to think that ‘what it takes’ means draining his retirement and negatively impacting his ability to help our boys with college.

(Husband and me - making the best of a hard 44th birthday)

I’m sharing these costs because I know the emotional toll my death will take, and if there’s anything reasonable that I can do to mitigate the financial toll, I will do it shamelessly for the love of my family.


My current journey is not the only story of suffering on earth - I am in a TNBC Stage IV group with 786 other ladies who are all in similar shoes, for example - not to mention people around the city, state, country, and world who are living with horrific other instances of pain, suffering, and disease. However, many people have asked how they can help, and as much as I am proud and have resisted offers of donations to this point, helping to cushion the financial blow the path to my last days takes on my family is my biggest desire - right behind more time and a miracle.

(Me and husband - making the most of one last date night before chemo starts for the final time)

Speaking of miracles, if you are the praying type, please join me in praying for the miracle of complete healing. Barring that, please pray that I would have as much time as possible with my family. I’m in the process of teaching my 16 year-old to drive, and I’d love to finish.

(Me and husband - making the most of a last date night before the whole journey started)