Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): Welcome to Scan Friday! I had a CT scan, a bone scan, and an echo on my heart. Results are in and I need to discuss with my doctor some things I saw in my chart that seem a bit concerning (unrelated to my cancer diagnosis) but I got the call and I start chemo on Thursday, March 17 in the morning, around 9 am ish. I will meet with a nurse on Tuesday, March 15 to discuss my treatment and go over final details.

TO THE LONG VERSION!

For the record, I hate QR codes. If you’re my friend, you’ve seen my rants on Twitter and Instagram. You saw my rage during the Superbowl when the QR code bounced across the screen in that dumb commercial. If you’re my lucky co-workers, you’ve seen me rage quit at my desk over them. The technology is amazing but the implementation and lack of understanding by every day citizens (I would include myself in this category) on the functionality of QR codes is rampant. But I digress. You’re not here for that. I just felt like a QR code today when I was getting my scans, but a QR code that I like and feel is useful. Technology was reading my body to inform my medical team. I was both anxious and amazed at the experience.

The morning started with a visit to the nuclear medicine ward for my injection of tracers for my bone scan. The moment I heard “injection,” I offered up Harry Porter and the Prisoner of Cancerban aka my port! (Yes! I settled on a name!) I really tried to joke with the nurses but they weren’t really interested in my humor today. I was sad. I didn’t get to tell anyone the name of my port except for my emotional support human I brought with me. She laughed. She likes my dumb puns. My first Capri Sun stabbing into my port was a success!!! I made sure to numb it up real good with my lidocaine cream and I literally felt nothing as the little needle made contact. I also got special numbing spray. I felt VIP.

After my injection, I was escorted to my CT scan. They kept the needle in my port so I could receive contrast for that scan and potentially something different for the echo. CT scans are way shorter than MRI’s which is great. I got to experience the contrast injection that makes you feel like you’re peeing yourself. I didn’t actually get that sensation. It felt more like a first shot of tequila on a completely empty stomach. You feel the warmth rush to your head and then it spreads all of your body. Then they flushed my port and for a small second my mouth tasted like the essence of a plastic beach ball. Like you know when you are blowing it up? The salt is in the air and your toes are in the sand. And that ball is in your mouth and it is weirdly gross and nostalgic. I am going to be tasting that a lot I think. Gross.

I got a small break between my CT and heart echo. I spent almost an hour with the echo dude talking about prostate cancer and great restaurants to eat in Spokane and how he believes Putin has a terminal illness. The echo itself (essentially an ultrasound) was actually rather uncomfortable. He really was digging around my left breast to get the best images of my heart. I know he was doing his job and he did it well, but fuck that was probably the most uncomfortable I have been during all of my procedures! That includes my biopsy! Wait, scratch that. My first mammogram was a bitch. My poor cancer boob got crushed hard. Oof. Echo comes second. The breast biopsy and specifically the MRI IV are tied for third. Just in case we are keeping track.

We ended the day back in nuclear medicine for my bone scan. Essentially I was on a bed thing that went into a large cylindrical type machine and got pushed out slowly, almost like a pizza on a conveyor belt. I was hot and ready! Well I was cold but I was ready to be done. At that point, it was almost 4 pm and I was super hungry since I hadn’t eaten since 10 am and imagining myself like a pizza was the only way I could get through my last appointment. Luckily it was painless and I got my needle removed and off I went to the Red Robin to reward myself for surviving Scan Day.

I have to say I have loved meeting all of my nurses and techs and doctors during this process to prepare me for treatment. I wish I could photograph everyone I am meeting on this journey. I have to constantly remind myself of their humanity in a profession that is viewed so God like. The conversations sometimes bring me down to earth with them. They also calm me. I feel less like a specimen and more like a normal human when I can just have a small conversation about my life beyond my cancer diagnosis.

Initially, I was under the impression that my chemotherapy would start the week of March 21. I thought this because I had scans all day today and I wasn’t meeting with my oncologist until March 17 to review my scans. Imagine my surprise getting a call from the cancer center 40 minutes after my last appointment telling me I have chemo on March 17. I kept my tears out of my burger I was eating but I felt my world crashing down. I felt time warping into itself. I thought I had more time. I need more time. The trouble is, you think you have time.

The pro in all of this is that we are moving to treat this cancerous mess as soon as possible. That I am grateful for. The urgency is daunting. I am still grappling with my diagnosis. I went from thinking I had 13 days to 6 days to prepare. In 6 days my body will begin it’s transformation. In 6 days I will begin to lose my hair. In 6 days I will have poisons in my body. In 6 days everything changes.

T-minus six days until the first round of chemo. Ready or not, here I go.

Today’s song lyric of the day is brought to you by Calvin Harris. This is dedicated to one of my favorite nurses in California if he reads this since we used to blare this leaving WSU Tri-Cities on Friday’s. 2009 Calvin Harris is my favorite Calvin Harris. Here’s to my last weekend before chemo.

“You get a feeling, that’s what you choose
And I was told there was not a minute to lose
So if you’re waiting, jump out your skin
To find a cure for whatever state you’re in”

– Ready For The Weekend, Calvin Harris

Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): We are a week post port installation and today is the first day that I finally feel ~mostly~ normal, or at least whatever the new normal is. I will attempt to exercise tomorrow. I’ve been super crampy and my anxiety is VERY high for tomorrow’s CT scan, bone scan, and echo. I really hope there are no other cancers floating all nimbly bimbly in my body. FYI today’s blog is about periods and birth control. This is a safe space to learn more about bodies!

TO THE LONG VERSION!

I’ve been on birth control since I was 15 years old. That is half of my life! Being on birth control was initially out of requirement because I was taking Acutane. My acne was out of control and wouldn’t respond to anything to clear it. My zits were NUTS. They were swollen and gross and painful. I tried every cleanser at the store. I tried Proactive, which was being pushed as the acne savior in the early 2000’s. I tried more water. I tried EVERYTHING and nothing would help the hellish bubbling zits and deep black heads that my body was an expert at producing. WHY IS MY BODY SO GOOD AT PRODUCING BAD THINGS!?

I was called pizza face a lot in middle school. Brace Face. Fatty Madi. Uggo. I was bullied throughout my middle school and high school experiences. I used to call myself the perfect person to be bullied because I had the trifecta of things kids love to make fun of: bad acne, braces, and overweight. I was also introverted and weird, but I guess not in the cool way according to 11-18 year olds?? Those years of my youth were full of magic but also full of depression and the deep need to be loved and accepted for who I was. I started my first round of Acutane my sophomore year. Taking birth control is mandatory because if I were to get pregnant while taking that drug, there would be severe consequences to the fetus to the point that the label warns you that you will be asked to terminate the pregnancy. Now, I didn’t picture myself having sex at all (I wasn’t), but the doctors still put you on it just in case you did or if you are a victim of sexual assault. How is that for some added trauma to an already traumatic drug?

I ended up doing two rounds of Acutane: once in high school and once in college. Acutane Fucks. You. Up. My hair and skin were so brittle. You get so incredibly dry. I was flakier than a French croissant. My lips have never recovered from those treatments. I am constantly applying chapstick as an adult. I still attribute it to those intense treatments changing my body. Depression was rampant, another devastatingly huge side effect of that drug. You also cannot drink while taking it (not a problem until I did my round in college.) I am acne free for the most part now (such a blessing) but sometimes I relish in finding a good black head to destroy now that I see them less often. Ah, the simple joys in life. Pro tip: TJ Maxx has the best lighting for finding lonely black heads while scoring a great deal on designer clothing. They really should hire me for an ad. Wanna sport your zits in style? Shop at TJ Maxx! And this is why I work in marketing for a living. *cackles*

I stayed on birth control following both rounds. It didn’t make sense to roll off. I am one of the lucky ones who has had no real side effects taking the pill. No issues. I was caught off guard when I was asked to immediately stop taking them when I was diagnosed with breast cancer since it could make my situation worse. So I stopped. But what has come AFTER stopping has blown my mind.

I was sitting on the couch last night writing my blog and the moment I got up, I felt intense cramping. I stopped walking and was insanely confused. My period is not due for another two weeks, but I figured I might not get to visit another menstrual cycle because I am going to receive a shot to make my ovaries temporarily go to sleep to protect them during chemotherapy. Immediately I thought like fuck I have cancerous ovaries. Of course! Any pain is now cancer. I am fucked! Cue panic.

I messaged my friends and told them what was happening. I was crying thinking my cancer has spread (because honestly this is a very real fear for me right now!) It did not take much investigative work on their end to realize I was ovulating and that is why I was cramping.

I WAS SHOOK.

You cramp during ovulation, I guess….? I have gone most of my life experiencing menstruation never having this experience because of being on birth control. Honestly, my experience with birth control has been fortunately quite blissful. Periods are often times a breeze for me. I was BLOWN AWAY. Honestly, I still am. And now I am fully understanding and respecting the power of my body in a brand new way. I also seem to know very little about menstruating so I feel like an idiot. What the hell.

Tomorrow I will take my crampy body to outpatient imaging. I will get lit up with tracers to show any other possible cancerous places in my body. I will get my heart checked out to prepare for a battle that will damage my heart. I will cry. I will eat lunch. I will survive the day.

Today’s song lyric of the day is brought to you by Evan Giia.

“I can’t keep up with my emotions
But I need ’em
Yeah, I’m happy
On the weekend
But then the week hits
Now I’m cryin’ for no reason”

– Mood Swings, Evan Giia

Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): Yesterday, I requested my genetic counselor to send me my results through the portal and today it updated and said that results would be shared April 7… so I hope she calls me before then? I felt emotionally numb for most the day. I am also having random pain in my right lymph node biopsy area.

TO THE LONG VERSION!

I wish I was able to talk about some of the things I am experiencing emotionally right now. Part of it is that it is incredibly hard for me to articulate how I am feeling because I am finding that the language I am using is not strong enough to match the feelings I am experiencing. I wonder if anyone can understand the magnitude of what I feel with just words alone without being personally subjected to the category five hurricane in my brain? The pressure feels relentless. Even small moments I try to give myself to breathe and be present in life don’t provide much relief right now. Yesterday I cried a lot. Today didn’t cry at all. I felt numb.

The other part of this has to do with some of the complex relationships in my life and how those are impacting my processing. I wish I could talk about them freely in this forum, but I can’t. Those weigh heavy on my heart.

I don’t really drink but sometimes I wish I could just be drunk so I wouldn’t care for a moment about what is happening. I haven’t been drunk in years… maybe at least six years? I remember during lock down I was on a Zoom call on a Friday night with my college friends and we were all drinking, but even then I couldn’t get myself to dip beyond two glasses of wine. I definitely was buzzed and being the goofier version of myself. Like I was literally at home, nowhere to go, and I had a shit ton of wine (the good shit from my mom… if you know you know!) and I couldn’t get myself to drink more than I should! I am laughing at myself right now because this is really funny for me to type out for you all to read. I am glad that drinking isn’t my vice, but I keep looking around and wondering what my vices are. Cats and plants and tough gym sessions??? Are those even vices???

I picked up the lidocaine cream to numb my skin for Friday’s scans. This will be the first time we use the port! I am not excited to be stabbed like a Capri Sun multiple times over the course of the next however many months, but it is better than messing with my sneaky arm veins. I get super squeamish with bruised arms. My friend at work is super brave and takes needles like a champ and is always wanting to show me her arms after she gets blood drawn and I always want to throw up. There is a bruise fading on my right hand from the IV last Thursday. I’ve been avoiding contact with my hand at work. Sorry, hand. You scare me.

I did want to note for anyone that cares that I have been having some incredible sleeps lately according to my Fitbit. Like I am hardcore in REM and normally most of my sleep is spent in light sleep so this is a random life improvement! I have had pretty great consistent energy lately since my surgery and you would think that would be the opposite given the circumstances. Maybe because I am not waking up at 5:30 am to exercise??? I haven’t exercised since last week so I really hope this weekend I feel well enough to do a light leg day or something. Maybe hit up BodyPump if I feel extra spicy. Today Jose saw a dumbbell set at Costco on sale for a killer price and I told him he had to get it for me. I am super stoked to have a heavier weight set at home and can’t wait to use them. For anyone who is looking to do some amazing at-home workouts, I follow this girl on YouTube named Sydney Cummings. Her workouts are FANTASTIC and great for any fitness journey. I’ve been doing her workouts for the last couple of months at home. 10/10 recommend.

I just really want to feel like myself again. I so desperately miss me. I miss my routines and a sense of normalcy in my life, but I digress. This seems like a good time to stop rambling and a great segue into today’s song lyric!

Today’s song lyric of the day is brought to you by Adele.

“When will I begin to feel like me again?
I’m hanging by a thread
My skin’s paper thin, I can’t stop wavering
I’ve never been more scared”

– Cry Your Heart Out, Adele

Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): Happy International Women’s Day! I had five very significant cry sessions today and two very intense but invigorating Zoom sessions for work. One was our quarterly DEI training and the other was for the Tri-Cities Latino Community Network. We hosted a panel of inspiring women in our community to share their stories and wisdom with us all. My soul both feels both tired and nourished. I also saw that my genetic results are back and being reviewed by my genetic counselor. I should know ~very soon~ my BRCA fate.

TO THE LONG VERSION!

I love celebrating International Women’s Day. It is a statement of fact that I am surrounded by so many empowering women who nourish my soul, who inspire me to be more, who are changing the world simply by existing and #BreakingTheBias. What power they have. I wish I had the energy to text every single woman today in my life to tell them how much they mean to me and how much they have changed and shaped me. If there is a woman (or women!!!) in your life you admire deeply, please text them right now. Don’t wait until after this blog post because you might forget. Stop. Grab your phone. Send the texts. Tell them how much you love them.

Welcome back!

Did you know about 1 in 8 U.S. women (about 13%) will develop invasive breast cancer over the course of her lifetime? Yup! I guess I am now that one friend you know in that statistic. According to Breastcancer.org, “Breast cancer is the most commonly diagnosed cancer among American women. In 2021, it’s estimated that about 30% of newly diagnosed cancers in women will be breast cancers.” A little fun fact for you. That site has tons of facts! Some make me really sad and some are inspiring me to write a whole ass blog post about the disparities and racial inequities in our healthcare system. That is going to be something I need more time to research and digest and will save that for later but just wanted to warn you all. It is coming. If you have not taken the time to consider how people of color experience healthcare differently than white folks, I urge you to maybe start a Google search on your own and then you can deep dive with me when I share that future post. There are inequities in the healthcare system as it relates to women in general don’t get me wrong, but how a woman of color or even how a trans woman experiences healthcare is something that everyone needs to be aware of. If this paragraph makes you uncomfortable, please sit with that for a second and try to ask yourself why. I want to call you into this conversation, not call you out. All learning levels are welcome here. Click here for a great jumping off point to learn more about a future post I have yet to write!

Speaking of women and things that make me uncomfortable, I had a really touching comment this morning from a wonderful friend who read yesterday’s “The Helper” blog post and I wanted to share a portion of it with you all because I figured if it helped me reframe how I think about accepting help, then it might help one of you, too! I know I have lots of helper type friends (aka the enneagram 2!) so here are some words of wisdom from a very wise woman (shared with permission):

“The hardest thing for helpers to do is to receive help. I hope you can realize that you are helping all of us by giving us stuff to do for you. You help us feel useful. You help us feel like we are needed and wanted. You help us know that we matter and make some sort of difference in this whole fucking mess of things! (See, the Mormon girl is cussing!) So help us by telling us how to help you. Help us by letting us show up for you in ANY way that you need or want.”

That was my first cry of the day. It was not a bad cry but a cry of release. I wrote that post yesterday from a very selfish perspective. It is selfish in a way to deny friends and family the opportunity to support me on this journey because ultimately I am the one that has to take this beating of a treatment. I am the one that will be injected with poison and roasted by the lasers. Everyone will watch and stand by and wish that pain could be taken away from me. The only gift I can give others during this time is the opportunity to maybe do something for me that in effort is small but large in impact. And I love giving gifts! So here is my moment to reframe and adjust my approach and realize that giving you the ability to give to me is a two way street and we all what we need and give what we want.

The other four cries of the day were a bit more intense. Right now I am measuring the success of my day in my tears. Let me clarify and say that there is NOTHING WRONG with crying. Crying is my new metric for evaluating how emotional my day was and today I had a hard day. I am on this emotional roller coaster in my body. I am also off birth control for the first time in 14 years so my body is probably like WTF!? I miss the regularity that birth control pills gifted me. I was really lucky in that regard.

My other cries are of things out of my control at this time. I am scared of receiving treatment. I am scared that my genetic results could come back as BRCA1 and 2 positive, making me feel extra fucked. (Note: I am okay with being BRCA1 or BRCA2 positive because this would explain my cancer diagnosis and inform treatment, but I am NOT okay with being both lol.) I am paranoid that every ache and pain that is located beyond my port or my right breast means the cancer has spread. My anxiety is off the charts. Cue deep breaths. I had my coworker examine my collar bone and my port today to make sure things felt and looked okay. I mean, she is no doctor but she knows some shit. This is a torturous week for me as I wait to take my CT scan and bone scan on Friday. Those scans will either clear me of cancer elsewhere in my body or it will show my deepest darkest fears of cancer fucking shit up. To find out what is happening internally, I get injected with some stuff to make me light up like a Christmas tree. I am going to be lit af, just not off rum which is how I prefer to be lit. Side note, I Googled “What do you get injected with for a CT scan?” and I found a very scientific answer and then someone had also asked if you could see poop in a CT scan. There’s no such thing as a stupid question. Google is so great.

Today’s song lyric of the day is brought to you by Emmy Meli in honor of International Women’s Day. ❤

“I am woman, I am fearless
I am sexy, I’m divine
I’m unbeatable, I’m creative
Honey, you can get in line”

– I Am Woman, Emmy Meli

Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): Two people came up with names for my SuperPort: Party Port and Harry Porter. I love my friends so much. I have no idea which one to pick. Both are excellent. My port feels a bit more settled today. Breathing doesn’t hurt anymore. I was able to go for TWO WALKS today! Hooray! I am leaning into things that make me uncomfortable because I am going to be very uncomfortable for a long time.

TO THE LONG VERSION!

“Are you resisting closeness? Today, there’s a little voice in your head telling you that it is selfish to get what you need. It’s not. You just need to learn that you need to listen when people express uncomfortable feelings and needs. Take it slow. Don’t put your finger in every pie.” Ooof. This is my horoscope today on the Co-Star app. I am dying at the accuracy. I also do enjoy sticking my finger in every pie, both figuratively and literally. Who doesn’t love pie????

Having cancer is the ultimate test as an enneagram 2. I am a helper. I don’t ask for help, despite acts of service being my receiving love language. I am a walking contradiction. Helping and serving others makes me feel loved and valued in every way. I love being dependable and the friend you can call when you’re in need. What I hate is NOT being available or helpful to others. Cancer is literally making me unavailable for like the next six months. That is like two of my worst nightmares at once! Being in this situation has put me in an uncomfortable position with family and friends. So many want to give to ME, to help ME, to clean my cat boxes for ME. The urge to resist and say, “No worries, I am fine” is VERY strong for me. I am still working through why I view me needing help as a weakness because when I know others need help I never see them as weak. They just need a little help. So why do I feel weak?

“There’s a little voice in your head telling you that it is selfish to get what you need. It’s not.” Again, this app is not wrong but everything in me is competing against this. It feels selfish to call upon my community of loved ones because I recognize so many of you (including myself) have been tapped out by the pandemic, by life, by the never ending social injustices in the world, by simply trying to survive in this world. Things have been tough for so many and then now things are about to get a gazillion times harder for me and I just don’t want to put people in a position where they have to give more than they have. Cancer feels like a burden and I hate that it feels like I am giving it away when I talk about it or ask for help. I don’t want to burden anyone. And yet… I think about last winter when my mom was going through her cancer treatment. It was the burden I wanted to hold when my mom was struggling so she wouldn’t carry it alone. I didn’t even want her to have to carry it if it meant I could. I keep trying to think about that for me since I am now on the other side, but it doesn’t make any of this emotional processing easier.

On Saturday night, I was alone and in a ton of discomfort and pain from my surgery. I pushed myself too hard during the day and I came home to being completely out of dry cat food and the cats were very hangry. I didn’t want my cats to plot my death in the night so I was like shit I gotta get some food! It was almost 9 pm at night and I knew if I left I would be disoriented. I was torn between laying on the floor of Fred Meyers or asking a friend if she could get some dry food for the cats and sending money over Venmo. I literally agonized over this decision for like 15 minutes before I texted my friend for help. WHY IS MAKING A CHOICE LIKE THAT SO HARD FOR ME? My friend wanted to help me before I knew it, she was at my house with the cat food and she saved the day. I lived another day and was not eaten alive by my cats. And the help didn’t kill me, just my pride a little bit. My ego will recovery, I think.

I tried to sit with that discomfort on Saturday. People around me care about me and want me to win. They want me to live. And sometimes in moments like this (with this dumb cancer thing) there is nothing to do for me other than help me buy cat food. I have to be okay with that. I am trying to be okay with that. I hate that I might lose some of my autonomy for a short amount of time. The care giver in me that I use for others will be trying to care for me. I can’t help others if I am in the ground, right? But I bet if I did die, I would be a really helpful ghost. I would show you signs and symbols and life secrets. I might even visit you in your dreams or haunt the houses of your enemies for you. I would be an excellent ghosty friend.

BUT. I cannot die. I don’t feel like being a ghost right now so let’s not even go there.

On a lighter note, only two of you commented about naming my SuperPort. It’s okay, I know some of you are social media shy. It has come down to “Harry Porter” and “Party Port.” Super Porty Bros? Harry Porter and the Party Port? Harry Party Porter? Party Porter? Harry Porter and the Prisoner of Cancerban? We have options people! Let’s try to sort this out this week. I have to use this device on Friday for my CT scan and I think the nurses will really think I am extra annoying if I have a name for it and only refer to my port by that name. “Excuse me, sorry, you are hurting ________________.” I will cackle, cry, and choke on my tears as I am injected with glowing tracers.

Today’s song lyric of the day is brought to you by Cher. I had no idea that Sunday was daylight savings and now my whole week feels so off but I am loving the Cher themed memes. Here is a reminder to set your clocks back on Sunday, especially your annoying stove clock.

“If I could turn back time
If I could find a way
I’d take back those words that have hurt you
And you’d stay”

– If I Could Turn Back Time, Cher

Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): My port seems to be healing well with no signs of infection but I am in a ton of discomfort and weird pain. It hurts to breathe really BIG breaths. I refreshed my hair colors one final time on Friday and went to Spokane on Saturday with two of my close friends to try to enjoy a day out. I am just trying to fucking live but I feel so fucked.

TO THE LONG VERSION!

Anticipating cancer treatment feels like staring down the barrel of a gun. I know I am living in a moment in history where cancer treatments are “great” (aka they get the job done but it will cost you your soul lol) but there is no comfort in that thought. Survival rates are high for many forms of cancer and I am grateful that in a shitty situation you can have some hope. However, I cannot shake the feeling of the grim reaper following me around as I attempt to live these final full moments in my life before I take a swim in the underworld. I feel like I will be like Hercules when he jumps into the underworld to save Meg’s soul. I know this experience is temporary. I know it is a small blip in my timeline of what I hope is a long and fruitful life, but my life will never be the same again. Ever. What is happening now changes the course I was on and any other course I want to be on. My life feels like a fucking shit show right now and I am the lead fucking actress. I am going to do an Oscar-worthy performance of attempting to survive cells that are trying to kill me. I better fucking win.

I walk into spaces and feel different now. I am a stranger in my own body. When I go out, nobody can see the cancer, but I am acutely aware it is in me and that just makes me feel like I don’t belong. People think I am (physically) normal with my rainbow hair and mom jeans, or I guess as normal as one gets with rainbow hair in a sea of blondes and brunettes. I am not normal. Cancer at 29 is not normal. This is not the body I have been nurturing and setting up for success the last 29 years. I exercise six days a week. I limit my alcohol intake. I go to therapy. I try to eat well. I love on my friends and family. I try my best to be a decent fucking human being. It is hard not to feel like my body has betrayed me for all I have invested into it. I have cancer??? I have breast cancer??? What the actual fuck??????

I am dreadfully counting down the days until treatment starts and I keep looking for adventures and opportunities that fill my cup with joy right now because joy just doesn’t seem to be something I will really experience while poison is pumped into my body to save my life. I refreshed my hair color one last time. I went out for a cocktail with a friend. I went to Spokane with two of my best friends. I spent my whole morning talking to a new friend who went through breast cancer, wishing that this was not how I made new friends now. I keep searching for a sliver of normalcy in all of this chaos in hope that these moments and memories will be a life preserver for me in my darkest moments. I am holding on to these things for dear life and wonder how fast 20 weeks can really go while you feel like you are dying.

I cannot tell you how many times this weekend I got complimented on my hair. My hair is fucking amazing. I belong in a Skittles commercial. I am the rainbow! My hair dresser makes me feel like I am the coolest person on the planet. Walking out of that hair appointment for the last time on Friday crushed both of us. We parted in tears. It is another door closing in my life that I don’t know when will open again. Every compliment I got on my hair this weekend felt like a stab to the heart. I love being complimented on my hair. It makes me feel beautiful and seen for the most authentic version of myself that I am able to offer. I wanted to tell every stranger that I had cancer and my hair was my final act of defiance, but I can’t obviously tell every stranger that. That would be really weird, probably. I actually did tell one stranger at Lush while she helped me pick out a cleanser for my face. I told her I didn’t know what kind of skin I would have this spring and then I unloaded my heavy secret on her. “I am sorry to be emo right now…” is how I told her. My anxiety is still annoyed at me that I did that. Why was it not enough to take a hair compliment, joke about dry skin in the spring, and just leave with my fucking cleanser? I don’t want to traumatize people. I just really wanted to not ignore this new fact about me that makes decision making with already crippling anxiety a nightmare. She was gracious and gave me the best recommendation possible based on the information I provided and touched my arm in solidarity. But fuck. I hate that I told her. Who knew that cancer would give you word vomit?

So here I am on a Sunday evening. I am typing with a cat on my lap. My hair looks sensational and I am mourning my final moments looking like a rock star. Soon I will be a naked mole rat. A random stranger in Spokane knows I have the cancer. My port is uncomfortable as it settles into my left jugular. There is a massive knot in my back from sleeping upright on the couch the night before. My port is not infected, but my body is in pain. My neck hurts. I feel like I am falling apart today. I wish this was all over already. I am trying my hardest to count my blessings, to be thankful that this scenario should have an end but I can’t. Not today. I just want this to be over already. Can this be over already?

Today’s song lyric of the day is brought to you by Donkong.

“I never thought I that would end up here
But don’t you tell me where did I go wrong
At this moment, I face my fears
I’ll be gone, I’ll be gone, gone gone”

– Gone, Donkong and Karol Tip

Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): Today at 6:26 am, I walked into the surgery center for my first “major” surgery as an adult and I am now the proud (temporary) owner of something called a PowerPort! Let’s call this a consensual lease agreement with an eviction notice at some point. I am resting at home for the day and my surgery was a success. If you stay here long enough, you can see some neat pics at the end. I promise they are not gory, but do want to give you a potential trigger warning if you are easily scared off by incisions. One is a general installation photograph and the other two are some artistic interpretations by two very talented good friends. I is art.

TO THE LONG VERSION!

“FUCK! This feels weird.”

Those were my last words as the anesthesia kicked in. I am glad none of the nurses or doctors I have encountered have been put off by my dirty sailor’s mouth. I hope they laughed at my final sentence as I drifted off to sleepy land. They warned me that they were giving me the meds and told me to look for signs of numbness and tingling. I have a vague memory of what that felt like. It was weirdly uncomfortable and my last internal thought was really focused on feeling that feeling. As the blackness grabbed hold of me, I imparted the world with my vulgar emotional feedback and I feel good knowing that if those happened to be my last words, they would make a decent gravestone or at least a memorable sticker.

“Fuck” is one of my favorite words, even when I am not sick. I love the versatility of the word. The versatility is almost at the level of potatoes. Fucking potatoes. I love potatoes. I enjoy that “fuck” can be a noun, a verb, a person, even an object! A word for any mood and any scenario. I don’t need to be angry to use it. I use it when I am happy. I also use it when I am confused and that seems to happen a lot. It’s a good word and I hope you can get comfy reading me use it because sorry folks it is my word of the year.

Let’s rewind to 5 am this morning when I woke up. I had dreams ALL night about my surgery. They were all the same. I would walk into surgery confident, I would black out in my dreams, and then “wake” up in my dream knowing it was over. I love that sometimes my brain does it’s job in protecting me as it battles my anxiety. I also know this mechanism is intentional because I chose not to research what this surgery would entail. For some folks, knowing what is about to happen to you eases the anxiety of what is to come. In my case, the less I know the better (as it relates to my medical care!) because I won’t obsess over something I literally have no information about.

I chose to wear my hot pink “Fuck Cancer” socks that feature a very cute cat graphic and rainbows, my Lady Gaga “Joanne” long sleeve t-shirt, and astrology themed joggers. For me, this outfit was intentional and a statement so that who I am and what I value are very clear and I felt confident. But literally I was only in this outfit for like 5 minutes before I had to swap it for some 80’s inspired hospital wear. Oh well. I made my nurses look at my socks before they put me under. They laughed.

Every nurse I encountered was AMAZING! I really have to give props to all of my many nurse friends serving in healthcare right now. I looked at my nurses and saw my friends in them and I know for a fact that my friends are giving excellent care to patients like me and I was so thankful. I was grateful for their patience and willingness to help me cope with my needle phobia and talk to me about my life. I felt like I was more than just a patient in their day. There is no better feeling than that right now for me to feel loved and valued by strangers who are caring for me.

Also, we are another needle down! I think my arm needle count might be standing at two needles. I do want to clarify that I will continue to encounter needles via my port site, so that doesn’t mean my needle days are over. I am just beginning my needle journey, but the insert location is less frightening and I will tell you why. But first, you need to know what the heck is in my body!

Today, I had a vascular access port implantation. This surgery was to install it under my skin. For vascular access, it is placed into a vein and the port allows medications or nutrition to be sent straight into my bloodstream. Blood can also be taken or given through this device. (Note: I am not linking to a YouTube video of this install because I prefer not to look, but at this time you could opt to Google this if you’re a visual learner/are not scared or keep reading for the written education component.)

During the procedure, a long, thin tube (a catheter) is threaded into one of my large veins. In my case, it was my left jugular. The tube is then attached to the port. Because it sits under my skin, there is a bump there now. To use the port, a special needle is passed through the skin and into the port. Fun fact: the needle can stay in the skin for up to 7 days, if needed. A port can stay in place for weeks or months or longer. This port is going to be used for my chemo treatment, making for less pokes in my arms. I have temporarily named my port “Porty Port the Port” but I think we could do a competition to name it something more clever. You can leave suggestions in the comments section if you’d like after you see what we are working with in the photographs.

Right now I am hyper aware of the port in my chest. My chest feels very tight and weird. Like if I slightly lean froward, I can feel it pressing against my skin. It is such a weird feeling! I am a mod now! This port I wear with honor as it is my armor. In ports we trust!!!

Although I am relieved I have crossed a big hurdle in my pre-treatment care, I recognize I am getting closer to my chemotherapy. This is starting to feel very real for me. I have a CT scan, bone scan, and an echo next Friday to make sure my cancer has not spread. Please send energy into the world that my cancer has not spread. That is my new biggest fear. I hope it has stuck to my breast and lymph nodes. We do know my left breast is cancer free based on my MRI results, so that is promising. Once those are done, I have an oncology appointment on March 17 and then off I go to kick some major cancer ass.

Today’s song lyric of the day is brought to you by Panic! At The Disco.

“Mama said
Fulfill the prophecy
Be something greater
Go make a legacy
Manifest destiny
Back in the days
We wanted everything, wanted everything”

– High Hopes, Panic! At The Disco

Here is your reward for making it this far! CHECK OUT MY SWEET MOD! And if you know where these captions are coming from, then this makes sense why we are friends.

Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): I will kick off day 10 of my journey tomorrow bright and early at 6:30 am for my port install! I am going to be a mod, minus the biker gang street cred obviously, but I definitely have some book cred. I am book smart, not street smart. *me cackling to myself at my own jokes*

TO THE LONG VERSION!

I am a chronic planner. If you’re remotely in my life, you know I value my Google calendar, lists, and detailed plans. You want to hang out Friday night and you’re asking me 10 am same day? Good lucky, buddy. You want to talk on the phone? We better schedule a time. “Spontaneous” is not a word I use in my world. I enjoy routine and structure. It keeps my anxiety under control and it gives me the illusion of being in control. I enjoy control. Not in a “I need to rule the world!” kind of way since I am definitely not Type A or have any interest in leading anything major, but I do love to know what is going on and have a say in what is happening.

Cancer has not surprisingly thrown that all out of the window. My only structure left is my treatment plan. My world is free falling at several WHAT THE FUCKS person second. My anxiety is off the charts. I am really struggling to grab hold of the reins of my new life. I don’t even know if there are reins to grab, but my arms are out stretched looking for something that will make me feel stable again.

I crave who I was a month ago. I was making eggs benedict for breakfast. I was making plans to visit my friends in Idaho, in Chicago, in Florida. I was finally looking forward to life again because the last two years for so many of us has been spent in survival mode. I didn’t know there was a lump in my boob. I didn’t know I have cancer. I am so pissed I still need to operate in survival mode. So so pissed. It is so draining.

Despite this shit show, I am giving off the appearance that I am taking this well. I want to clear the air and say that I am not and that is okay. Both parts of me are welcome here: the part of feeling shitty and the part of projecting something more positive, less doom cloud. My emotions are on a roller coaster. I have moments during the day where I am distracted and I am just plugging away at work and then I go feed the squirrels outside and I see Squirrely Dan and I cry because I don’t get to be present in her life as much this summer because I have cancer.

So far, cancer has just felt like an idea. I haven’t had to do anything really hard yet, so it has been super easy for me to project that I am okay because I somewhat am. I feel the lump in my breast, so I am not in denial but something about this whole thing just feels unreal. I have done some uncomfortable things so far like confronting needles in my boobs and my arm and making challenging decisions about my healthcare, but I haven’t made it to the part where I get injected with poisons to cure me. I still have my hair and my breasts and a sense of femininity as a cis woman. But I would be lying if I didn’t admit to you all that I am still wrapping my brain around the immense loss I am about to face. I still think I am in a nightmare and I will wake up not as a lumpy potato, but a happy little potato.

Tomorrow I have a feeling the nightmare will become my reality after my port is installed. I am pretty grateful that it is so early in the morning though. I get the whole day to rest! And I don’t have to fast or not drink water all day. I was super stressed that my surgery would be at 3 pm and I would be curled up on the floor at work wishing for water. I will leave surgery, loopy and weird and there will be a device above my heart that will make receiving my chemo and other drugs or drawing blood a lot easier, but that also means this is very real. The idea is now a concept turning into a long term project. I am just glad it is not a group project because those can get pretty iffy, amirite??? Hahaha. College jokes. I guess this is technically a group project because I have doctors treating me, but they seem less sketchy than some of my past group project participants. I think I can count on them to pull their weight.

My port is going to be a weird addition on my body. Tonight is my last night that I will see my chest like this. Everything from here on out will be a modification: my port, the removal of my breasts, and the reconstruction of my new breasts. It is hard not to be a little sad because I don’t think I understand fully yet what is to come. However, I think I might look badass with my port. You don’t want to fuck with someone with a mod, you know? You don’t want to underestimate how strong they are because honestly I am stronger than you think. I am stronger than I think.

Today’s song lyric of the day is brought to you by Simple Plan. You knew this song would come up at some point, right?

“I’m just a kid
And life is a nightmare
I’m just a kid
I know that it’s not fair
Nobody cares
‘Cause I’m alone and the world is having more fun than me tonight”

– I’m Just A Kid, Simple Plan

Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): Lol. This is turning out to NOT be a light week at all. I now have surgery to install my chemo port on Thursday (time unknown) and my referral was processed with the folks who will be handling my reconstruction surgery today. I lightly reviewed the clinical trial information and still am on the fence.

TO THE LONG VERSION!

When I was younger, I wanted to be an astronomer. Yup. I think I got that confused with an astrologer to be honest. We grew up behind the library on Union and I checked out countless amounts of books about the universe and natural disasters. I also read a lot of Lois Duncan books and was low key interested in astral projection for a hot minute. Okay, I still am. I really cannot say what drew me to those topics. I just was really weird and introverted and liked all sorts of things. I still do. And I am still weird.

When I started college, I realized astronomy was not in my stars. *ba dun tss* I am just really bad at math and that involved A LOT of math. So I studied what I was good at: people. I know a lot of folks know me as a creative and my day job as a designer, but one of my two majors is in psychology (the other digital technology and culture.) Like many cliche psych majors, I love the way people think, but where my psych major led me was unexpected. I did bridge a lot of my two majors together through various art projects and my internship in the communications department on campus, but some of the work I did related to data collection and my undergrad project was fascinating.

One of the professors on campus was running a study looking at patients with BPD (borderline personality disorder) and mediating factors that increase or decrease risk for opioid misuse. My psych undergrad capstone project focused on the effects of violent and sexual advertisements on product recall. Although I realize math is not my strong suit, the research I was analyzing and collecting took my education to a whole new level! I learned and valued the power of what studies can do for advancements in education.

When my oncologist mentioned the opportunity to participate in research, my little heart jumped with excitement with the opportunity to contribute. So much of what we know in medicine has come out of studies and I see so much value in that work. However, reading over the research study information has me all sorts of unsure because it actually involves my health.

This particular research study would be a randomized, double blind study that is currently in its third stage. It would be examining the safety of the study drug pembrolizumab (MK-3475) with certain types of chemotherapy and endocrine therapy and see how well that drug works when combined with chemo and endocrine therapy compared to treatment alone. This drug has been FDA approved with other types of cancer, but not breast cancer specifically. This study would last approximately 12 years.

There is a one in two chance of me receiving this drug or the placebo. It would be administered every three weeks during my chemo treatments. My oncologist and I would both not know if I am receiving the drug or the placebo unless I have a medical emergency. Like many things, there are side effects. I don’t want to get too deep in the weeds right now, but the main side effect I am most concerned about is that there is a 10% chance that I could develop an autoimmune disorder if I receive the treatment. I have no idea if that means ANY disorder or if it is limited to just some disorders. Questions I need to ask, I guess. I honestly wish I could just share the study with so many of you because it is really fascinating and there is a lot of information included in my packet that I have not included in this post for brevity. The opportunity to give back in such a meaningful way intrigues me, the same way I loved conducting and analyzing the data in college. I just wonder if my life is worth the risk for science right now. Deep thoughts.

Meanwhile, my week has gone from being chill AF to lit AF, and not in a fun way. I got a call today about the installation of my port! This port would allow me to receive chemo treatments and endure other needle events through a singular location on the left side of my chest. This is great because that means no more poking my arms and major anxiety attacks induced by needles! The sad news is I have to endure one final big boss needle and go night night for surgery to get it installed. I mean, no biggie in the grand scheme of things but it is just another hurdle I need to cross to even get to the beginning of the race. And it means this is really happening. I am going to be starting chemo soon. I have cancer.

Fuck.

On top of the medical tornado I am still in, I got a call from the folks who will be in charge of my reconstruction surgery. They are based in Spokane, so I see a couple Trader Joe’s trips in my future! Yay more plants! Just kidding. This is great, but honestly I felt myself overwhelmed with three new appointments scheduled out in May and June. The lady on the phone was BY FAR the sweetest human I have encountered on this breast cancer journey to date. She told me to call her if I ever wanted to cry or talk because she is a breast cancer survivor. The empathy and love I felt over the phone from a woman who only knows my date of birth and my cancer diagnosis was like eating warm bread pudding for breakfast. It was so sweet, so comforting, and yet made you sad because you wish you could feel that way all the time.

So, to recap what is left on my to-do list before chemo: get my port installed Thursday; submit my FMLA paperwork to the state; final CT and bone scans along with an echo of my heart; finish reviewing the research study; cry; sleep.

Are we there yet?

Today’s song lyric of the day is brought to you by Kaskade. One of my lovely friends texted me this morning and said this song made her think of me.

“Floating on the water
Staring in tonight
Soaking up the magic
Specks of tiny light”

– Floating,Kaskade

Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): I had my first blood draw as an adult! One needle down and three to go. This week is a light week in terms of appointments related to preparing myself for treatment. I worked today. I ate cheese.

TO THE LONG VERSION!

One week ago today, it rained. Well, it also snowed. And sleeted. The weather was really awkward. One week ago I also got the cancer diagnosis and today it also rained. The coincidence is important to me because when it rains, you should look for rainbows. I met my mom at 12:30 pm today at the cancer center to get my blood drawn for the first time as an adult. It rained on the way in and the sun was beaming bright on our way out. I have decided that this is my omen for what’s to come.

Whenever I bring my mom with me somewhere, someone is bound to know her. If you know my mom, she is probably the rainbow in your life. Shit, she might even be the sun and you revolve around her that is how gravitatingly wonderful my mom is. It is an honor to be a moon in her orbit. Asking her to go with me to the cancer center to get my blood drawn so she can hold my hand and show me where to go could easily be the most important part of my journey to date because my mom was only here herself a year ago. In true fashion, one of the staff members in the patient center remembered her while we waited to submit some paperwork. I held back tears as she introduced me as her daughter who was now here on her own journey. The pain I felt in that moment was almost unbearable.

My mom was diagnosed with stage three HPV throat cancer three days before Thanksgiving in 2020. Her cancer journey was swift and fucking hard. Hard is not even the best word to use. Whatever word that is harder than hard is the word I need to express what happened. And I know it is still hard for her. She has been been cancer free since March 2021. Her journey has been remarkable and I count every day as a blessing to still have my mom and even have her for my own cancer journey. I know she will read this and probably cry. Mom, just know I am crying as I write this and you are my hero and I cannot wait to be cancer free with you. Like mother, like daughter.

So, my mom held my hand. I told her she was my best friend. The needle slipped into my squirmy little vein and seconds later I walked away with my rainbow and saw the sunshine.

One needle down and three to go (I think.) I am still 110% impressed with the magic of accessing your medical records through KChart. I literally got my blood results back when I got back to work! My results so far look great. I have nice healthy blood. A vampire would approve, probably. Drink me up, you late night creep. I am healthy and delicious! I only had two reports in my account, so I am curious if more will appear soon and I can learn more about my inner health. Honestly, I have been concerned about my body because of my parosmia, but I am impressed so far that I am an okay potato. Clearly I was not that concerned because I haven’t had blood work done until now, but the needle phobia is very real despite the tattoos and piercings on my body that may try to convince you otherwise.

The sad part is none of my tests I had done today can tell me my blood type! LIKE EFF. Now that I am on this very science based journey, inquiring minds want to know. I am doing some major soul searching tonight. Am I desperate enough to ask for more blood work right now? The mystery is haunting me. I am tempted. I feel brave.

Speaking of mysteries, the mystery gift giver has stepped forward. Of course it is none other than one of my amazing friends from Chicago! Cheeky little gift giver. One less thing for me to be anxious about.

Today’s song lyric of the day is brought to you by Calvin Harris.

“I would be nothing
Without you holding me up
Now I’m strong enough for both of us
Both of us, both of us, both of us”

– Giant (with Rag’n’Bone Man), Calvin Harris