And I will try to fix you...

I haven’t been able to find time to write an update the last few days. Kara’s care has been incredibly hands-on, and I’ve been squeezing in work between ice chip duty.

I’ll tell you one thing—I’ve never felt so goddamn inadequate. I can recall moments of frustration when Kara was younger, trying to meet needs that she couldn’t communicate. It took time (and a lot of patience), but we built a deep understanding and special relationship. I’ve always known what she needed. I take so much pride in being her person—her rock, her advocate, and sometimes her voice. I rarely get it wrong. But this week, I’ve felt nothing but doubt.

Her breathless episodes have lessened, but they haven’t gone away. Of all the challenges we’ve faced, those are the scariest. She’s had some accidents and feels confusion and shame. She’s getting feisty. She’s brought back mannerisms that I haven’t seen since she was little. And then there’s the whining, the crying, the wailing.

She never has cried. It’s just not her thing. She has a high pain tolerance—I can’t even remember a time when I’ve seen her cry because she was sick or hurting. And now? She’s crying for hours. Sometimes like a baby. And I have no idea how to bring her comfort.

I’ve used every tool in my toolbox. She gets so worked up, and nothing calms her. I feel guilty because a couple of days ago, we canceled her oncologist appointment, thinking time off would help ease her anxiety. But as these episodes continue, I question that decision and wonder how I got it so wrong.

We talked to her nurse Mary today and adjusted her medications—starting tonight, we’ll see if it helps. We also moved her appointment from next Thursday to Tuesday. It doesn’t feel like a huge accomplishment, but the thought of managing this at home for another week feels impossible. I appreciate any bit of support in adjusting her care sooner.

Bedtime and mornings have been the worst. As the darkness sets in, she gets more anxious. She fights sleep, which is so unlike her—this girl loves routine, and sleep has always been automatic at 7:30 p.m. Tonight, we’ll increase her Clonazepam and try Norco, hoping it gives her some relief.

I don’t even know what to pray for anymore. It’s hard not to spiral, wondering how we’ll get through this rough patch, let alone if we’ll ever get Kara back. I’ve never felt so disheartened, so sad, so perplexed. We’ve always just been in sync and nothing brings me more joy than coming to her rescue. And now? I don’t know what she needs at all.

But nevertheless, we persist. We’ll keep loving on her. We’ll keep searching for answers.

Thanks for following along. 💛

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If You're New Here

Hi, I’m Alisha, Kara’s sister and biggest advocate. Kara was diagnosed with Stage 4 Triple-Negative Invasive Ductal Carcinoma (TNBC) in December 2024. Her cancer has spread to her bones, liver, and other areas, making this an incredibly difficult and uncertain journey.

Despite it all, Kara’s light still shines so brightly—she’s full of love, giggles, and endless positivity. This blog is where I share updates on her fight, the highs and lows, and the incredible community rallying around her.

Thank you for being here, for your love, support, and prayers. We need them more than ever. 💛 And of course, Go Hawks!