By Izzy — Mojo and the Mess
When people hear Stage Four, they picture tragedy or triumph.
Either a miracle recovery or a sad ending.
They picture shaved heads and hospital beds. Tearful goodbyes and brave smiles.
They picture a headline.
But Stage Four doesn’t look like that most days.
It looks like me sitting on the bathroom floor at 3 a.m. because my stomach decided to turn inside out.
It looks like watching a show on mute because the sound hurts my head.
It looks like eating three bites of food and celebrating it like I just ran a marathon.
It’s not glamorous or noble or cinematic.
It’s real. And real is messy.
Sometimes it’s hospital gowns and IV poles, sure — but sometimes it’s pajamas that smell like peppermint oil and ginger tea, and me begging my body to just let me keep something down.
It’s my husband refilling my water again, pretending not to notice I haven’t showered in two days.
It’s Mojo sitting guard while I throw up, his little paw pressed against my ankle like he’s trying to hold me steady.
What the Headlines Miss
Stage Four isn’t a headline — it’s a hundred little moments that no one claps for.
It’s the part no one posts about because it’s not inspiring, it’s not pretty, and it doesn’t fit neatly under a hashtag.
The media loves the word “fight.”
They show smiling warriors in pink shirts and call it bravery.
But they don’t show what fighting really looks like — the days when there’s nothing left to give but you still exist anyway.
The kind of courage that doesn’t roar, it just quietly endures.
People ask how I stay so strong, but the truth is, sometimes I’m not.
Sometimes strength is just surviving the day.
Sometimes it’s letting myself cry until I can’t anymore.
Sometimes it’s laughing anyway, because if I don’t, I’ll break.
Stage Four Is Still Living
I wish people knew that Stage Four isn’t just dying slowly. It’s living differently.
It’s learning to find meaning in the smallest things — a quiet morning, a kind message, a dog who won’t leave your side.
It’s losing pieces of yourself but realizing there’s still so much love left.
So no, this isn’t a movie. There’s no dramatic music or perfect lighting.
It’s just me. Still here. Still trying.
Still finding something beautiful in the mess.
🐾 Mojo’s Note:
She’s still my favorite human. Even when she’s sick, even when she cries, even when she’s too weak to move. I just curl up against her side and wait for the world to slow down. Because no matter what they call it, Stage Four means she needs me — and that’s a job I take very seriously.
📦 Subscriber’s Note:
If you want to help make the hard days easier, here’s my Amazon Gift List. Every message, share, and bit of love means more than you know.
Leave a comment