Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post):The season of grief continues. Another aunt passed away from stage IV ovarian cancer on Wednesday. I will be flying out with my dad on Tuesday to Sioux Falls, South Dakota for the funeral and to see family. I haven’t been since I was 4 years old! I will be back Saturday evening late, just in times for daylight savings time and radiation on Monday. Funny how time works.

TO THE LONG VERSION!

Sometimes we want things to make sense and have meaning because it removes the ambiguity and anxiety from things we don’t understand. But sometimes things don’t make sense. Sometimes things mean nothing. Sometimes things just suck. Like cancer.

Cancer sucks. Cancer sucks so hard.

I can sit here in my head all day on the hamster wheel of meaning trying to make sense of why things have happened the way they have happened and those explanations will never be enough to replace the grief, anger, pain, and senseless rage. Cancer doesn’t have to teach us lessons or show everyone how strong (or not) we are. Cancer isn’t inspirational or the fire that ignites bravery. No. Cancer sometimes is just cancer, fucking around and finding out without permission in our bodies, murdering people, and leaving holes in families.

Our family lost another loved one on Wednesday, senselessly murdered by stage IV ovarian, thanks to the BRCA1 mutation. This mutation gives zero fucks. BRCA1 genes are meant to help fight cancer and mutations (deletions in our hereditary case) in the genetic code make those genes fuck up and cause cancer instead. How fucking stupid is that? Being a multicellular organism is so fucking stressful. I just want to know what all my autonomous cells are doing at all times and yet sometimes you don’t know until things have gone too far out of control.

We knew my aunt was not doing well. Two weeks ago today we learned that they were stopping her chemotherapy. If I remember correctly, she was doing some experimental trials. I found out last Tuesday that my dad was planning a trip to see her and my intuition told me that I needed to go. Wednesday morning around 10 am we booked tickets to fly out November 1 and return November 5. By 3 pm, my dad had called and told me that my aunt was entering hospice and we may not make it in time but if they could get her pain under control she might have a few days left. At 4 pm, my dad called me and told me she was gone.

Fuck you, cancer.

Cancer invokes a strange PTSD for me. Similar to my other aunt in August, the death felt sudden and left no time to prepare. I guess that is the trick of death; you’re never prepared. What makes it more intense for me is the common cancer thread and BRCA1 mutation. I am back to thinking I am going to die. I again don’t want to make this about me but I cannot ignore the guilt that has built up. Why did they die? Why couldn’t we control the division of cancerous cells with radiation, with chemotherapy, with surgery? Why am I still alive?

That is the curse of cancer and most chronic illnesses: the question of why. In the darkest moments of despair it taunts you and makes you feel like you are going mad, as if knowing why would solve your problems. It probably wouldn’t but it makes you think otherwise.

The grief is heavy and the guilt is something I will continue to work through. I am grateful to be here alive but I also wonder at what cost? It is clear that sometimes all the poison in the world isn’t enough to kill the things killing us. We are all just buying time with the sacrifice of our mortal vessels.

Of course the timing is interesting. Every year I run the Día de los Muertos 5k in downtown Pasco. “DIA DE LOS MUERTOS (Day of the Dead) RUN WANTS YOU TO RUN THIS YEAR’S RACE IN REMEMBRANCE OF A PASSED LOVED ONE. IT IS THROUGH YOUR HEALTH AND WELLBEING THAT YOU CAN HONOR THE LIFE AND DEATH OF A FRIEND OR FAMILY MEMBER,” reads the website. It has not been in-person since 2019 so I was really excited at the thought of running it this year. Honestly I really questioned if I would be able to run it at all given the intensity of this year but I knew I wanted to try and the cause is great. All proceeds benefit scholarships for students in higher education. Love that.

I summoned some of my friends to join me at this event yesterday. One of the things we received during sign up was a paper bag with a candle inside of it. It was meant for folks to write the names of loved ones who have passed away. Candles are really important for Día de los Muertos because they guide the souls home and light their way back. I wrote my dog’s and my aunt’s names on the bag, all who have passed this year from cancer. the bags lined the middle of the street leading up to the beginning and end of the race.

My intention was to purely enjoy myself, test my strength, and try not to stop running if I could help it. I made it to the 2.5 mile mark before I took a small walk before pressing on. When I ran last year (virtually), my time was 28 minutes so I knew I would be nothing near that this year. I had spent most of last summer training. I thought I would be happy to not only finish the race but also finish under 40 minutes.

I ended up finishing with a time of 35 minutes and 26 seconds. I placed 15th in my gender category and 32nd overall. I cried at the end, while my friend who is the director of the event held me and told me how proud he was of me. I was amazed my body did what it did. I am so grateful to have survived what I have endured. I wish my family I have lost this year was still here. Cancer just isn’t fair, but I ran for them and I honor and carry their memory with me and will do my best to continue to honor them for years to come.

Two of my friends ended up placing first overall in their gender categories. We were most proud of them! My friend Gina ended up gifting me her skull which was her award for finishing first. It was such a beautiful and emotional gesture.

PHOTO INTERMISSION / ENDING

I am preparing for departure. My dad and I will leave Tuesday at 4 am from the Tri-Cities to drive up to Spokane. From there we will fly to Seattle and them to Omaha, Nebraska and drive three hours north to Sioux City, South Dakota. The last time I was there was for my aunt’s wedding when I was 4 years old. I was the flower girl. I only remember that I refused to go down the aisle alone and was crying the whole time. This time I will be crying for a different reason at a different version of a celebration of life. Funny how time works.

Today’s song lyrics of the day are brought to you by Daft Punk.

“Touch, I remember touch
Pictures came with touch
A painter in my mind
Tell me what you see
A tourist in a dream
A visitor, it seems
A half-forgotten song
Where do I belong?
Tell me what you see
I need something more”

– Touch (feat. Paul Williams), Daft Punk

Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): I met with the radiologist on Friday. We basically checked in to see how I was doing and see if I had any final questions about radiation. After, I had a simulation which turned out to be a CT (without contrast) followed by the tattooing of tiny black dots to guide where I will be radiated each time. Then, I got a quick little intro on radiation and how to get ready for each appointment. I will start radiation on November 7!

TO THE LONG VERSION!

Halloween is one of my absolute favorite times of the year. Could I be the queen of spooky? Probably not. I am not into being scared or scaring others. Laughing is more my speed. I also fancy anything pumpkin spice flavored and this time a year that flavor is in abundance. Call me basic but Dairy Queen’s pumpkin spice blizzard has my heart. However, I tried the pumpkin spice Frappuccino from Starbucks this fall and did not enjoy it. I guess not everything is meant to be pumpkin flavored.

Things that are not pumpkin spice flavored: my costume choices. I love the thrill of being someone else. Perhaps it is the Gemini in me? Just kidding. That is not how my sun sign works. I love the creative opportunities that come with Halloween. Somehow I delved into the world of costuming on an amateur level about five years ago. It is fun transforming into different characters and pushing myself to learn new skills. Last year as Poison Ivy I learned how to sew. I sewed every single ivy leaf onto my costume. It took HOURS, but the effort and result was worth it. I first tried to glue them on, but that was a huge fail. Once the vision has been created, I honor my hard work (and that of those who help me) with a photoshoot. What’s the point of putting so much effort into something so magnificent if you can’t share with it everyone?

I wish I could take all the credit for putting my costumes together, but I am not THAT good. I have some wonderful friends who have skills in costuming and photography. Oh, and I lean pretty heavily on Pinterest and Etsy for ideas and additional details that I simply cannot fulfill. In the end, it all comes down to a vision seen and realized and for that I am most grateful. Here are my iconic ~lewks~ from the last five years. PHOTO INTERMISSION!

This year I have not been able to put as much personal effort into my costume given my diagnosis, but I knew who I wanted to be since November 1 of last year. Despite my little tangle with cancer, it kind of has added to the character a bit I have selected for this year and I am excited to share with you all this week the complete vision! Yesterday was my shoot and now I anxiously wait for the edits. I love that I still get to celebrate this year despite all the stupid shit going on.

I also love carving pumpkins. I am not the best at it but it does bring me a lot of joy. This year I recycled one of my previous pumpkin designs (tiny pumpkin home) and tried to do a ghost, but I messed up the ghost. Thank goodness for tooth picks!

Friday I met with the radiologist and got squared away for the next leg of treatment. I will complete 28 rounds of daily radiation starting November 7 and my last treatment will land on December 21. I won’t have treatment Thanksgiving day or the day after and I also will not have radiation December 9 and 12 since I will be in California for my chemomoon!!! What is chemomoon you may ask? Well well well… you know how people go on honeymoons when they get married? I mean, I didn’t but I know people do I think? Well chemomoon is a celebratory vacation to commemorate the poison I consumed this year and the shit I endured. I was hoping I would be done with radiation as well, but it is what it is. Also life is short and I deserve to go somewhere!

Chemomoon will take place December 8-12. Jose and I will leave Thursday after my appointments and drive down to Portland to enjoy an evening drinking beer and watching his favorite comedian. Friday morning we fly out to Los Angeles, and I hope to consume many delicious things this day. Saturday, we will be going to see two of our favorite DJs: Deadmau5 and Kaskade! And of course chemomoon would not be complete without a full day at Disneyland! *Insert 90s “I’M GOING TO DISNEYWORLD” scream here*

The funny thing about chemomoon is that Jose and I have never gone on vacation together… like a real vacation that involves a plane and going away for more than a day or two. I think that is what also makes this trip so special. Also he has never been to Disneyland!!! I’ve also never gone during Christmas time so I think this trip will be one for the books.

Okay back to radiation! My spine radiation will be separate from the radiation to my lymph nodes and chest. The radiologist ordered an MRI that will guide radiation on my spine. I will have 3-5 treatments there after I complete the first 28 rounds.

I wish I could say that the simulation was painless and it mostly was except for the stick-and-poke tattoos I received. Look, I have five tattoos and we all know I fucking hate needles but I seriously thought that a little poke was going to be no biggie. WRONG. I was laying in the CT scanner bed thingy with my hands overhead and the tech comes back and she starts talking to me about what she is going to do next. She lifts her hand into my view and there it was: a massively long weirdly shaped needle with a vessel of black ink at the top. I raised my voice and said, “I wish you hadn’t shown that to me… I really hate needles.” And then she felt bad and said she hates needles, too but gets tattoos. We started our conversation there and as she painfully poked my sternum, two dots on both of my sides, and one towards my belly button, I tried to care about her tattoo stories but couldn’t. The sternum was the worst part (I may or may not have yelled “Fuck” when she poked me there) and the pain matched the blood that mixed with the black ink. She sat there with a gauze and soaked it up for a minute or two, talking to me about her tattoo artist in Hawaii. I just wanted the appointment to end. Nothing I hate more than surprise needles.

And that is the tale of how your girl ended up with four new tattoos, courtesy of the local cancer center. Granted they are just tiny black dots, but they are powerful dots with purpose and a story and I sure do love when my tattoos mean something.

Today’s song lyrics of the day are brought to you by Jordin Sparks.

“You’re on my heart just like a tattoo
Just like a tattoo I’ll always have you
I’ll always have you
I’ll always have you”

– Tattoo, Jordin Sparks

Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): I know, I know. I did not write when I said I would write. I have noticed that as I continue to gain energy and mobility in my chest, the more I seem to add to my social calendar, the more I realize that adding more makes me tired. I am on the hamster wheel of exhaustion! Last Thursday I met with my oncologist and had labs. That was an interesting appointment, one that I wish I had not gone alone. Friday, I met with my surgeon to do the four week post op appointment. Today, I had a call from radiation. Friday I have a follow up appointment followed by a simulation test. Not sure what that means? Me either! Let’s dig in!

TO THE LONG VERSION!

Since losing my hair, I’ve had this pre-planned speech in my head of what I would say if anyone dared to make a comment about me that I didn’t know or that was negative. It would be something to this effect: “First off, that is RUDE for you to comment on anyone’s physical appearance in a negative way. Period. Secondly, I have FUCKING BREAST CANCER YOU IDIOT.” Okay, depending how angry I am I might drop the idiot part since it is not nice to call people names but I figured I could use the cancer card here. I am sure it is a better name than some of the other ones I might be thinking of in that moment of rage. Now, this speech is something I’ve always fantasized about and have been pretty thankful I have not needed to use it but today… today was the day.

I was walking with my co-worker in the park. Lunch was out for the Kennewick High School students and they were doing dumb high schooler things: clogging the pathways, creating smoke clouds with their black market joints, and laughing at each other. Normal park day. We were almost back to the library and were passing a four way intersection pathway. I saw high schoolers pass us from behind but I was too busy talking to my co-worker about whatever we were talking about. Suddenly, she whips around and yells, “Well that is really rude. Seriously?!” I stop talking and asked her what she was talking about. I didn’t hear what they said, but I had a dark feeling that my speech was about to be activated.

“They were talking shit about your hair,” she said. There was anger in her eyes. I turned around and looked at who was behind us: three boys. One had a really dumb looking mullet. “Really? I HAVE FUCKING BREAST CANCER,” I yelled. Then my co-worker kept talking and told them to grow up as they walked away. I kind of was stunned. I was already having a tough emotional day and that was just the cherry on top. I didn’t know what they had said about me. She wouldn’t tell me, but it hurt all the same. I had to release the speech I had hoped I would never have to do. Granted, it was half the speech but still. I was grateful she was there with me but it hurt. She hugged me and told me she loved me. It was a bandaid on my broken cancer heart.

I wish I could have said, “You wouldn’t be talking shit about me if you could feel how soft my hair is or if you knew how much poison has been pumped into my body.” Who knows if it would have mattered to them as much as it mattered to me. I feel so vulnerable walking around with my short awkward hair and my breastless chest. I feel exposed. They are my cancer scars for everyone to see, even if they don’t know it was cancer. People can make up their own narrative and sometimes that bugs me. I want them to know that my spring chicken hair is new and growing in dorky because I refuse to trim it. I want to see the chaos. My shirt sits weird on my chest because my genetics are strong and the cancer came early. It left me feeling raw in the strangest of ways. It didn’t matter that I didn’t hear what they said. They said something loud enough and mean enough that my friend defended me and my honor. She gets a friend of the month award.

I started the day not feeling well and that just tipped me over the edge so I left work early but I love Wednesdays because I have a new routine: restorative yoga at Lifted Lotus! A friend invited me a couple weeks ago and now I am addicted. This class is aimed to restore your mind and body through gentle practices like Restorative yoga, Mayo-Fascial Release, Pranayama/Breathwork, Sound therapy, Yoga Nidra and Meditation. It is a full hour dedicated to healing in a way that is nearly impossible for me to do at home. And it is by donation, so that is really great too! I look forward to my hour of peace and healing every Wednesday from 6-7 pm. If you’d like to join, click the underlined name link above. I promise it will be the highlight of your day, if not your week. After an emotional day, I feel a lot better and less intensely raging against the idiots who dared to comment on my virgin hairs. Assholes.

Okay, but you might also want to know why I am not feeling well. Last Thursday I had my Zoladex injection and visit with my oncologist. First off, Harry Porter and the Prisoner of the Cancerban would not give up the goods for my labs. I was flushed I don’t know how many times… at least 30 if not more. I was THIS CLOSE for having to walk across the hallway to give labs out of my arm, but luckily my nurse called my oncologist and asked her if they could TPA my port (give it a special “medicine” to dissolve anything blocking the blood flow) and try before my injection. We got the okay, in went the medicine, and off I went.

Note to self: I should always bring a person with me to my appointments because you literally never know what kind of news you are going to get. I was excited to see my oncologist and we did our normal small talk: hello’s, going over meds, and asking if I have any questions. I requested some gabapentin to help with my hot flashes and night sweats (and let me tell you I finally can sleep through the night without waking up sweaty and confused.) After the pleasantries she got very serious, more serious than normal.

“You only had a partial response to chemotherapy and I gave you the most aggressive chemo I could. This means you will need to be on the PARP inhibitor for at least 5 years, if not longer. I am worried if I let you stop taking it to get pregnant, your cancer will return.”

So reminder that my cancer is ER+, meaning estrogen fuels cancer growth. Because I am BRCA1 positive, this mutation dramatically increases my risk for breast and ovarian cancers. Our conversations have always been that I would be on the PARP inhibitor for at least 3 years, a small window to get pregnant if I wanted to have children, and then hysterectomy by the time I am 40. The older I get, the higher risk I have of ovarian cancer, especially if I am off the PARP inhibitor. That window of time has gotten smaller, so small that she mentioned that I should talk with my loved ones about me possibly never having children.

Deep breaths.

Okay, so I do not know if I want to have biological children but having the choice taken away is enough to set me off. Add that to the fact we do not know the state of my fertility after chemo and that just leaves me as a sad potato. I cried leaving her office. It is just another painful reminder of the sacrifices I have to make to save my life and at this point I really hope those sacrifices mean I get to live and are not in vain. I will save this conversation for another post since I am still struggling with it and need more time with it.

After the appointment, I went to have my Zoladex injection and try to give labs again. The TPA normally takes an hour to kick in and this time it took me two hours! Meanwhile, I ate chemocuterie and rejoiced because they finally had hummus and pretzels!!! Oh and I got to see so many of my favorite nurses. The hugs comforted my bad news and it made me realize how much I missed chemo. I don’t miss the poison, but I do miss the routine and support and love. *Sigh*

The next day I saw my surgeon and he said I was doing 90% better than most mastectomy patients four weeks post op. He was pleased with the healing and the people pleaser in me was pleased to have been pleasing. I am such a nerd. Now I won’t see him until reconstruction which won’t be until winter 2023 / spring 2024. I am a little sad about that since I really like him, but I guess it is nice to cross one more thing off my list of “things to do to defeat cancer” list.

Next up in the never-ending list is radiation. Friday I will meet with my radiologist to do a follow-up and a simulation. I heard this is when I will get my dope radiation tattoos. Yup! We get tattoos! They are just little dots that look like black heads for targeted therapy. Fancy. I wonder how many I will get… I am guessing I will start radiation next week or the week after. It will be 28 days of daily radiation. Bring on the sun burns, suckers!

Today’s song lyrics of the day are brought to you by The Killers.

“I wanna stand up, I wanna let go
You know, you know; no, you don’t, you don’t
I wanna shine on in the hearts of man
I want a meaning from the back of my broken hand”

– All These Things I’ve Done, The Killers

Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): I know it has been a hot minute since I have written a blog post. Let me just tell you that I look fine on the outside but functioning as a normal adult right now is incredibly draining on my body. Clearly there is some healing happening internally that I am not promoting by working full time and resuming exercise. I need to slow the fuck down. But why slow down when my life has been at a stand still for so long? I want to be full steam ahead!!!

I need to slow down.

Tomorrow I meet with my oncologist. I have an injection that was supposed to be at the end of the month but it is now tomorrow. I also see my surgeon Friday for another follow up. I sadly won’t get to write until Friday night since I have an author event tomorrow evening I have to work until like 10 pm. My poor body is going to hate me. Rip.

I am switching up the format for this blog post. Thought to keep it spicy since readership is low and nothing cool is happening in my life right now. Enjoy.

Short story #1 – Werewolves in bathrooms

I remember the day I started losing my hair. It didn’t start like I thought it would. I had cut my hair short hours after my first red devil infusion, a mistake given I was insanely sick at my appointment. Three weeks later, after my second infusion, hair was falling out everywhere. It started with my pubic hair (which was weird) and then slowly the hairlessness moved up my body. And then one day I was hairless and that is how I was for months. Then, one day I noticed little wirey hairs sticking up on my head. Before I knew it, hair erupted on my body like weeds in a freshly planted garden. What I did not expect was hair appearing in spots I normally did not have hair.

I was at work washing my hands in the bathroom when I leaned into the mirror to inspect my face. I was mainly looking for blackheads (we have really great zit picking lighting… you know the type) when I noticed hair all over my cheeks. I looked like I had unkempt sideburns! The hair was wispy and long, like peach hairs but more ticklish and soft. Where the fuck did all of this hair come from?!

That night, as I brushed my teeth I grabbed a razor that was given to me when I got my eyebrows microbladed a couple years ago. I gently ran it against my cheek skin and tufts of hair fell into my sink. I shed my werewolf self and a naked face looked blankly back at me in the mirror.

Short story #2 – Things not to say to a cancer patient

I try to give a lot of grace to people when they say weird things to me about my cancer. I have realized that some folks have never encountered medical trauma before, are still gaining and growing their emotional intelligence, and/or simply do not know what to say so the first thing that comes into their brain just sometimes comes out. But then there are some people that I know have been through medical trauma, have emotional intelligence, and do know what to say and they still say the wrong things. I still give grace… until one day I realized I don’t have to if I really don’t want to.

Crumbl Cookies is running some sort of promo for Breast Cancer Awareness Month with pink cookies this week. I sent the list of cookies to two of my friends in the same group message on social media. “Give me a free cookie. I have cancer,” I wrote. One friend responded, “You don’t have cancer anymore though. Right?? They cut that shit outta you.” In the moment, I realized logically how that would be true. My tumors were removed. But what about my spine? What about radical cells left behind? I still have cancer. I am still being treated as such. And I think I deserve a free cookie. I responded and moved on.

This morning I woke up and I was angry about it. For the record, I still have cancer until my oncologist says I don’t. My journey isn’t over just because I had surgery. I don’t know why I had a delayed response to the conversation but I started the morning sour and hurt. Why am I so hurt?

Short story #3 – “How are you doing?” “FUCK YOU!”

Two weeks ago, a close friend invited me to go to an hour long restorative yoga class. You basically get to lay down for an hour and breathe and listen to nice calming music. I really loved the class. I was not able to do the light stretching move but I basically stretched out my chest while I got lost in my thoughts. It was so nice to be in a quiet room and dedicating time to myself. No cats. No checking my phone for messages. No Jose. Just thoughts.

I couldn’t go last week since I had the radio interview, so I made plans to go again tonight. I have been excited to go all week. We walked in and the class was really full, so we were in the front. No biggie. We set up our mats and got our blankets and yoga blocks and began the session. Tonight was all about resting poses. Sweet! I can just lay here and drift in and out of thoughts and dreamscapes and focus on my chest.

Wrong.

No matter how many times I tried to let my mind rest, I just couldn’t tonight. Everyone in the class was so noisy. The person behind me kept running their toenails against their mat, people kept sneezing and coughing, someone’s phone went off, a train passed by in the near distance, and someone let out a weird little toot. My anxiety was all over the place as the instructor kept telling us to trust ourselves, release control, and invite vulnerability into the space. I mean, someone was vulnerable tonight when their fart escaped into the room. But I was not. I just could not center myself enough.

What should have been a pleasant time in my brain turned into anxiety and annoyance. The sounds led me down the rabbit hole of how upset I am lately with people asking me how I am feeling ALL THE TIME. I am seriously overstimulated with how many people want to know how I am. How the fuck do you think I am feeling?? I am 30 years old with breast cancer and just got my boobs chopped off and now my chest just hurts all the time. Please stop asking me how I am feeling. If I tell you I am great, will you leave me alone??

And then someone tooted and I wanted to laugh. I came out of my angry cloud (toot pun!) for a moment and was reminded of my humanity. But damn, I am fucking exhausted. I tried once more to focus on the hour to myself and realized I would just have to try again next Wednesday.

Today’s song lyrics of the day are brought to you by Lizzo.

“Girl, I’m ’bout to have a panic attack

I did the work, it didn’t work, ah, ah (mm, mm)
That truth, it hurts, goddamn, it hurts, ah, ah (goddamn, it hurts)”

– 2 Be Loved, Lizzo

Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): Today I had the honor and privilege to speak as a breast cancer patient at the flag raising event for Breast Cancer Awareness Month for Kadlec / Tri-Cities Cancer Center. This week seems to be a week crammed full with opportunities for me to share with our community my experience and hopefully inspire and motivate others to focus on their health as it relates to breast cancer awareness. Tomorrow I have an interview with the radio, there is a pending article about my story being written for an org based in New York (more on that this week!), and I am attending a dinner at the cancer center on Thursday!

TO THE LONG VERSION!

I wanted to share my speech with you all in today’s post along with some photos that my friend took at the event today. I have a request for me to do a post on the BRCA1 mutation, so that is on my to-do list this week. I covered it earlier on when I was initially diagnosed, but I wonder if I can expand upon it. Of course, it is October so it is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I will be giving you all some tips this month on how to conduct self breast exams and other information to stay vigilant about your health!

I don’t mind public speaking. I think I sometimes have a knack for it if I am prepared enough. I do require more scripted content these days due to chemo brain. My thoughts stop and wander more than usual and it is really hard for me to center my thoughts.

I was pleased to discover that my anxiety meds don’t completely erase my ~extreme~ anxiety. I felt a couple pangs before I spoke. Ah. It was so nice to feel the anxiousness run through my veins! I spoke after my breast surgeon which was a hard act to follow. The first speaker (I forgot what her title was) but she works with a lot of the staff at Kadlec and she introduced three staff who also had fought breast cancer. As act one, she was the perfect dose of facts and emotions. Then my breast surgeon spoke and he was all facts, but the good kind. And he is a great public speaker and insanely smart. My potato ass had to follow him and I brought it home with more feelings.

After the speeches, there was a countdown to raise the flag. However, once the flag was up, of course it was a day where we were all sweaty and there was no wind, so the flag did not move. Very anticlimactic. All of this was followed by a toast with apple cider, some custom pink sprinkled Spudnuts (MY FAVORITE KIND OF SPUDNUT!), and awkwardly fun conversation amongst one another. Speaking of awkwardness, my breast surgeon gave me a very funny side hug and I loved it. Why am I such a nerd? It was a great day.

SPEECH! SPEECH! SPEECH!

My name is Madison and I have stage III breast cancer. It’s a hard thing to say, but it’s easier than keeping it to myself. On Friday, February 11 of this year, I discovered a lump in my right breast while I was at work. Ten days later, after an ultrasound, mammogram, and biopsy, I got the call on February 21 that I had breast cancer. It was a day that my life changed forever. After that day, everything moved quickly and in a blur. I was in and out of appointments and meeting with my treatment team, and trying to come to terms with what was happening in my body. For someone who likes to be in control, I had never felt more out of control. 

On March 17, I started chemo. 21 weeks later on August 4, I celebrated my last chemo and got to ring the bell. And on September 15, I had a double mastectomy. Soon, I will begin 28 rounds of daily radiation. Time has moved so quickly, yet there were days it was a struggle to feel like I was going to survive for minutes at a time. Some days still feel like that, but I am still here and that is something I am extremely grateful for and don’t take for granted. 

Even when cancer feels improbable, it’s still very possible. Cancer doesn’t discriminate. I was 29, four months shy of turning thirty when I received my diagnosis and learned my family’s history with breast, ovarian, and prostate cancers. Because of my diagnosis, I learned I have the BRCA1 mutation, a mutation responsible for an increased risk of these particular cancers. I am one of four in our family who currently have cancer and I am the youngest in my family currently going through active treatment. It’s been my mission to get as many of my relatives tested and start a conversation with others on how they can be proactive with their health. 

It is a personal choice to share my journey, but sharing it makes cancer feel almost purposeful. If I can convince any of my friends, family, or even strangers to self-examine on a regular basis, self-advocate always, and to prioritize their health over their busy schedules, then this will have meant something. 

In honor of Breast Cancer Awareness Month, in honor of the thousands of individuals who will be diagnosed this year, for those fighting, and for those we have lost, this is my ask: Take the time to start a conversation with your loved ones about your family’s history with cancer. Take the time to do a self examination. And if you are in a position to do so, support patients locally by donating or getting involved with the Kadlec Foundation or the Tri-Cities Cancer Center. Thank you.  

Written by yours truly, the cancerous potato.

Shout out to my friend Joel for being my emotional support human today and capturing some great photos. I wonder if I could use these on LinkedIn? Just kidding.

The highlight of the event was the communications director (or at least I think that was her title) from Kadlec said that this was the first time she has ever had an event and the news did not do follow up interviews with the speakers. This means that we all did a great job and they want to use our speeches as-is. I thought that was a great compliment for all of us. Nailed it!

Oh and the news covered the event too! You can see me mentioned here and here.

Today’s song lyrics of the day are brought to you by P!nk.

“So raise your glass if you are wrong
In all the right ways
All my underdogs
We will never be never be, anything but loud
And nitty gritty dirty little freaks
Won’t you come on and come on and raise your glass
Just come on and come on and raise your glass”

– Raise Your Glass, P!nk

Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): I am on the mend and healing nicely from surgery. I met with my surgeon on Friday and was cleared for physical therapy and exercise. I will meet again with my surgeon on October 14 to check in and see how everything is going. I meet with my oncologist on October 28. It will be a month dedicated to healing before walking into 28 rounds of daily radiation. Oh, also my treatment team will be sharing my case at an upcoming tumor board conference to discuss future treatment and get additional input from other doctors. They also did this at the beginning of my treatment. Neato!

TO THE LONG VERSION!

This week I was reminded that grief and healing are not linear. I finally had the “big cry,” a moment of wailing sobs, tears that stop and go for a duration of time, and pity. Lots and lots of pity. I’ve only thrown myself one other pity party during treatment and it seemed like I was overdue for another one. All I could think about was Mr. T’s “I pity the fool” line and found myself cracking up between gulps of air. Once the tears dried up, I got up and finally went to the bathroom to confront my incisions and then began crying again.

I don’t mind looking at my chest incisions. I mean, they are an ugly and brutal truth, but what triggers me is when I touch them. The glue is still crusty, holding the two halves of skin together. I still have some sort of purple permanent marker outlining the horizontal lines. I feel very monster of Frankenstein-esque. But the worst part is when I run my finger across the incisions or above them. One moment I have a sensation and it feels strange to the touch (partly because my fingers are also numb from chemo still) and then the next I feel nothing. I can look down and see my finger grazing my skin and know that I am touching myself, but feel absolutely nothing. The distance between feeling and not feeling is incredibly small and they melt into one another. It is a mind fuck and that is what makes me upset.

Parts of my chest are permanently numb from the removal of the tissues and nerves. My right armpit is completely numb. My chest is fiery and raw. Wearing anything right now is incredibly uncomfortable. I am constantly itchy. I asked the surgeon about this at my post op on Friday and he said it was normal from all the nerves that have been disrupted and are figuring things out. Like fuck. This is almost as irritating as drains.

Almost, but not quite.

Speaking of wearing things… let me tell you that having your breasts removed and trying to wear women’s clothing is kind of awful. Like 60% of my closet doesn’t fit right anymore because of how women’s clothes are designed. T-shirts cling to my chest and dresses fit awkwardly. Combine that with my weight gain and 80% of my closet no longer fits me. I unfortunately held another pity party for myself Saturday as I tried to dress up nicely for a friend’s birthday gathering. What I wanted to wear did not fit and I tried on several pieces to no avail before settling on a dress that barely fit. Cue cancer rage.

Okay let’s move away from my pity parties. They suck. Ah, post op! The good news is that I am healing nicely! I have been cleared for physical therapy and returning to exercising as I am feeling up to it. Every day I get a little more mobility in my upper body. My right side is still tight and I cannot fully lift my arm above my head, but I can on my left side. I was told to stretch several times a day and move my arms around to help increase mobility.

According to the pathology report, 14 lymph nodes were removed from my right arm pit. Of those removed, 11 were cancerous. Pathology also confirmed that I am stage III, but that is not new information. It was noted that my tumors had a partial response to chemotherapy. I asked my surgeon about this and he said that this was due to the tumor type I had (invasive lobular carcinoma) and mitotic rate score which was 1 of 3. Mitotic rate describes how quickly the cancer cells are multiplying or dividing using a 1 to 3 scale: 1 being the slowest, 3 the quickest. I guess faster growing tumors respond better to chemotherapy than slow growing. I also learned that my type of cancer is not very common in women my age. Here is what wast listed in my pathology report for my histologial grade (Nottingham histologic score):

• Tubular formation score: 3 of 3 (This score represents the percent of cancer cells that are formed into tubules. A score of 3 is used when less than 10% of cells are in tubule formation.)
• Nuclear pleomorphism score: 3 of 3 (A score is given from 1 to 3, based on what the nucleus of the cancer cells looks like compared to normal cells. 3 is the least like normal cells.)
• Mitotic rate score: 1 of 3 (Describes how quickly the cancer cells are multiplying or dividing using a 1 to 3 scale: 1 being the slowest, 3 the quickest.)
• Overall grade: II/III – total score 7/9, intermediate grade. The three scores (nuclear grade, mitotic rate, and tubule formation) are combined for a total score between 3 (1+1+1) and 9 (3+3+3). This score makes up the histological grade.

He also noted that all the cancer was removed! I had clear margins. According to OncoLink, “Margins are the edges of the surgical cuts the surgeon made. The report will tell you how close the tumor comes to the edge. During cancer surgery, the surgeon tries to remove the whole tumor and some normal tissue around it. This area of “normal tissue” is important because cancer cells may be in this tissue too.” Yay!

On October 14 I will see the breast surgeon one more time to make sure everything is going to plan. He will probably give me the down low of what is coming next for treatment. It sounds like immunotherapy might be back on the table, but not sure. I know for sure I will be put on an oral chemo pill, the PARP inhibitor, and an estrogen blocker in pill form in addition to the monthly injections. And of course radiation. We will see what he says and what my oncologist says. For now, I will just keep stretching and picking at the glue on my incisions.

Oh! One cool thing… on Tuesday morning at 10 am on the fifth floor of the parking garage at Kadlec, I will be there as a guest speaker for the flag raising event for Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I get 3-5 minutes to speak…. I need to stop blogging and go figure out what I am going to say because I have no fucking clue. What do I say? “Breast cancer sucks. Trust me. Check your boobs.” I am the last to talk and I talk right after my surgeon. Like fuck. How do I follow that act? That man is insanely smart and well-spoken. Anyway, if you don’t work, you should come.

Today’s song lyrics of the day are brought to you by PattyCake. Welcome to spooky month!

“I put a spell on you
And now you’re mine”

– I Put a Spell on You (In The Style of Hocus Pocus), PattyCake

Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): I am fast approaching the two week mark of post surgery this Thursday. I got my blood grenades removed today, which is earlier than expected and thank goodness because they were turning into a nightmare. I meet with the surgeon this Friday to go over pathology results and my healing progress. Checking off boxes!

TO THE LONG VERSION!

There were moments during chemo that I truly believed were as low as I could get. Chemo was the worst. I thought I had met my personal hell laying on the couch in agony, discomfort, and fatigue. But no. There is a step further down into hell that I can experience and it involves two drains attached to my sides. Like I imagine chemo as the rocky ground and it separating like two halves of a grilled cheese being pulled apart. Under the rocky terrain emerges a pool and you only have to dip your toe in to realize it is a pool of acid.

Drains suck that bad.

I know my writing style can be a flare for the dramatic at times, but I am serious. There were points over the course of the past couple of days that I had felt that chemo was easier than having two swinging blood grenades and a useless upper body. The first couple of days after surgery I felt okay because opioids, duh. I floated through those days thinking that this was a piece of cake. But the opioids ran out (well, almost since I chose not to consume the last one because I valued pooping more) and even then I felt like it was manageable discomfort. I could take Tylenol if I really needed help. Something changed though and my left drain decided it was angry around Monday of last week. My drain notes said that if I produced less than 30 cc of fluid in 24 hours I could contact the office to schedule to get the drain removed early, so the countdown began.

I began willing the drain to stop producing fluid. Seriously, I would sit there and milk the drain (clear the fluid lines into the blood grenade) and monitor them every couple of hours for new fluid. I wanted the left drain out so badly. That drain radiated pain at a constant 6 on a scale of 1 to 10 pain. Tylenol would take the edge off, but that pesky hole was big mad. My mom would put bandaids with antibiotics on the holes to help, but nothing soothed the spicy hole. I could do nothing to get comfortable. Sitting hurt. Laying on my back hurt. The only glimpse of relief was the brief moments in the shower. Even then showering was a bitch. I had to stuff my blood grenades into a lanyard cloth pocket that hung around my neck. It was useful, but annoying. My mom and sister had to shower me most days because I could barely lift my arms to rub soap all over myself. Things were… dark.

Last Thursday, I finally hit less than 30 cc of fluid output in my left drain in 24 hours, so I messaged the surgeon’s office to let them know. To my sad surprise, I was informed my surgeon liked patients to go three days with less than 30 cc, so I needed to take a chill pill. Fuck. I was mad. I wanted that angry drain gone. That same day, I began to worry that it was on a path of infection. I didn’t want to be a sucker like I once was with the infection on the back of my head and end up in the ER, so I told the nurse that the drain hole area was red and it was painful, but she told me it was normal. If you say so…

Friday rolled around and my left drain continued to be a pain and looked really sketchy, so I contacted the office once more and reported my symptoms. Again I was told it was normal but the nurse made an appointment for Monday morning at 9 am to get my drains out, which was today. Literally the whole weekend I just kept begging for time to sail by quickly. I wanted them out so badly. I took them to a wedding Saturday and they did okay, but I was on Tylenol and hanging with my friends so it was a perfect distraction to my pain. But Sunday I spent the day on the couch, ruminating in my pain. At that point, I knew both drains were ready to leave. The right drain was hardly producing anything. Sweet success.

This morning felt like Christmas day. I had a hard time sleeping last night and excitement danced in my bones. ADIOS DRAINOS! Now, something I did not consider was how these drains were going to be removed. There is only one way out and unfortunately that is through the hole. The nurse evaluated my tracking of fluid and approved for both drains to be removed. She turned and started prepping the spicy left hole and then as I felt her grip onto the drain line, she asked me to take a big deep breath in and out. As I inhaled, I could feel the drain line slowly leaving my body. I could FEEL THE DRAIN LINE INSIDE OF ME MOVING.

“FUCK,” I yelped and then instantly apologized for my poor language. The line kept coming out. I took eight breaths (according to my mother) before the drain was completely out. It was incredibly painful. I can’t remember who said I could look at the drain, but I just had no interest in that point. I felt like I was going to faint. A few seconds later, the pain was gone and just as I began to settle down emotionally, it was time for the other drain. Luckily, this one did not hurt nearly as bad as the first drain, but I could feel almost every inch of it release and pull out of my body. I mostly felt it in my empty breast area. It was the most unusual and disturbing internal sensation I have experienced to date. 0/10 do not recommend.

I am now happily drain-free and looking forward to healing in less pain. I feel more free and functional and less restricted. Being in a constant state of pain is depressing and a real damper on your mood. I mean, I feel like I have a pretty decent pain tolerance but that was just fucking torture. I do not look forward to having drains again when I have reconstruction. That is my new personal hell I am sad I will have to experience at least once more.

And that is the tale of two drains. The end.

Today’s song lyrics of the day are brought to you by Sam Cooke.

“Oh, there been times that I thought
I couldn’t last for long
But now I think I’m able, to carry on

It’s been a long
A long time coming
But I know a change gonna come
Oh, yes it will”

– A Change Is Gonna Come, Sam Cooke

Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): I am five days post double mastectomy surgery. Time flies when you’re stuck at home! I have a post op appointment on September 30. Until then, I am left to my own devices to heal and eat everything pumpkin spice.

TO THE LONG VERSION!

This is my first post without boobs.

I have no boobs. So fucking weird.

I am so used to typing with those floppy blobs acting as a table for my snack crumbs. Now the crumbs fall and my stomach is the new table, catching on my quilt. I am flat-ish and both sides of my chest look different. Long stitched lines have replaced my nipples. There are holes in my body for the drains to slither out of me. Blood and other fluids collect in little plastic containers I have fondly coined “blood grenades.” They are my best indicator of healing. My drains are scheduled to be removed on September 30 unless I produce less than 30 cc of fluid within a 24 hour period. If that happens, I can call the office and get them removed earlier. My left drain (the largest breast but the one with no disease) most likely will get removed first and hopefully this week. Fluid has been looking pretty good and decreasing daily. Fingers crossed!

Drains SUCK. SUCK SUCK SUCK. They hurt. The actual breast incisions don’t really hurt, but the drains literally hang on by two pieces of string? Stitches? Some sort of material. If you accidentally tug on the drain when you are taking off your pants to use the restroom, you are paralyzed for at least 20 seconds in fear and pain. I have to sleep on my back again so I don’t roll over onto them. They are the bane of my recovery existence. They are necessary but evil.

My chest doesn’t really hurt. Probably because I cannot feel half of my chest anymore. I don’t know how many lymph nodes were sacrificed to the breast cancer gods. I hope to find that out this week when I get the pathology back. I wonder how many were infected? My chest does feel tight though. When I try to lift my right side, my arm feels like it is sticky as it pulls away. I looked to see if there was adhesive there but I quickly realized the sensation I am experiencing is numbness. I have no feeling. It is the strangest fucking thing. But I try not to lift my arms too much because I am a human t-rex, with my hands required to stay by my side. I cannot lift heavy things, push, pull, or do anything useful really. The most I can do is pull down my pants. Am I capable of more? Yes. Should I do more? No.

Despite the pain, I am mostly fine, I think? I am not a restful person, so being prescribed endless amounts of Netflix and chill with my cats is really fucking hard. Combine that with needing someone to do things for me and I feel like a useless blob of tissue. I am VERY grateful to have so many people in my life who are willing to do the most basic of tasks for me like cooking and cleaning and rubbing lotion on my legs, but it is heartbreaking. This is all because of some chaotic DNA and the necessary act of saving my life. I have to constantly remind myself when I look down at my chest that this was all so I could save my life. What would you do to save your life? What would you do for a Klondike bar? I guess we know now that I would cut off my boobs for both. Still waiting on the Klondike bar, though.

Surgery feels like eons ago. I don’t remember much and I cannot figure out if it is because of anesthesia, chemo brain, or a coping mechanism. I remember before surgery that the nurse put the IV in my right hand and the surgeon said it was the wrong hand so the anesthesiologist said she would move it to the left hand during surgery. (Hand IV’s hurt so bad, so I was glad I would not be awake to get re-poked.) I woke up and the IV was in my left foot. How about that for a plot twist! And when I woke up I remember the nurses yelling at me to breathe. Oh and I remember the anesthesia burning in my arm as it entered my blood stream. Like it really hurt. I asked the nurses if it was supposed to hurt so much and they said yes and I was out like a light. Sweet little memories.

I woke up with a bandage covering my incisions and Friday we removed it for my first shower. I cried when I saw my body. I look like a chicken cutlet. It was jarring for a few moments and then I was fascinated by what had taken place. This resilient vessel has endured so much. The tears were a mix of sadness and relief that I had hiked my Everest and made it to the top and I could come down now. The anxiety and pain and the fear of the unknown were burdens I have carried with me for so long. You can know everything (about what is to happen) and still know nothing at all. The last 7 months have been incredibly difficult. I had spent this time “training” and “preparing” for this surgery, or at least that is what I told myself. And now it is over. I can tell you that there is not a lot you can do to train or prepare for this kind of journey. You can talk to every survivor and hear their stories and it may not be enough to be a comfort in your nightmare. Cancer is a hell like that. But I can finally let the burdens go. I can breathe. I can mourn. I can begin to heal.

Well, assuming there is not cancer in my spine. For now, we operate as if there is not.

PHOTO INTERMISSION!

I appreciate the endless love texts and offers to drop off food. I am so grateful that I don’t have to do much right now so I can focus on healing and resting. You all have created that space with me with your generosity. Small note: I have noticed I am getting a little overwhelmed, so if I don’t respond, it is not personal. I just am having a hard time and need time alone to process and play Animal Crossing.

Today’s song lyrics of the day are brought to you by Tom Odell.

“Take my mind
And take my pain
Like an empty bottle takes the rain
And heal, heal, heal, heal

And take my past
And take my sins
Like an empty sail takes the wind
And heal, heal, heal, heal”

– Heal, Tom Odell

Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): Tomorrow is chop chop day! I am expected to arrive at 7:30 am at the surgery center. Surgery itself will last approximately two to two and a half hours. I walk in with breasts and leave with scars. My life forever changes once more tomorrow.

TO THE LONG VERSION!

On February 22, 2022, a day after my diagnosis call, I met with my breast surgeon. He told me following treatment I would need my right breast and lymph nodes removed and asked if my family had a history of BRCA mutation and if I would consider removing both breasts. Before knowing I was BRCA1 positive, I had already decided that I would choose a double mastectomy because of the recurrence rate. I wanted to eliminate any opportunity I could from breast cancer returning.

I reflect on the version of me in February who confidently made that decision before knowing anything else. It was a decision based in survival. Chemo and radiation are one part of the equation. The other is to physically remove as much of the disease as possible. It was easier to say those words 7 months ago than 16 hours away from life changing surgery. I stand by the decision to remove both breasts, despite knowing that decision wasn’t even a decision I really made for myself, but rather a requirement of treatment.

There is no bravery here. This is something I have to do to live and continue living what I hope is a long, cancer-free life. I am scared out of my mind. I am back in my glass box in hell, waiting for the next beating. Everyone watches on, cheering me from afar, but their screams and chants are muffled noises. It is just me and the cancer. I have to keep fighting.

I will wake up at 5 am tomorrow, take my final shower with boobs, and scrub them down with the antibacterial soap I was given. I will arrive at the surgery center a few minutes before 7:30 am, say goodbye to Jose, and walk alone into the building. Tomorrow my life forever changes once more.

I continue to grieve the person I once was before diagnosis. Now I will grieve the version of myself I had to become during the last seven months. And soon a new version of me will emerge from the scars on my body. I just hope she can forgive the decisions that had to be made along the way to save her life.

Thank you to everyone who has chosen to show up for me in the ways they felt they could during this unimaginable period of my life. It is not an easy journey. I’ve felt so loved and I carry that love with me everywhere I go.

See you all on the other side.

Today’s song lyrics of the day are brought to you by Lykke Li.

“I know places we can go babe
I know places we can go babe
Where the highs won’t bring you down babe
No, the highs won’t hurt you there babe
Don’t ask me when, but ask me why
Don’t ask me how, but ask me where
There is a road, there is a way
There is a place, there is a place”

– I Know Places, Lykke Li

Fast facts (if you don’t have time to read the full post): The clock has reset and we are three days away from the latest chop chop date. In a cruel twist, I am also scheduled for a Zoladex injection on Thursday. If I have to be tortured, we might as well go all the way. I am supposed to be at the cancer center at 9:30 for labs, 10:30 meeting with my oncologist, and 11 am injection. We will see what time I have surgery when the schedulers call on Wednesday.

TO THE LONG VERSION!

“I’m feeling reckless,” I exclaimed to my best friend Sue when she picked me up Sunday. We made plans to check out the monthly art walk at the Uptown together. I didn’t tell her that I saw online that my favorite tattoo shop was offering walk-in appointments that day until I got in the car. I had developed this little fantasy that I would get a new tattoo. It has been three years since my last one and I figured if I was cleared for surgery, I could probably get a tattoo. Logic! And for someone who hates needles, sometimes being spontaneous is the best way for me to approach the art of tattoos. My body is a canvas I want to decorate with permanent art. I just have to muster everything in me to get over the whole needle thing. But also tattoos are way different than needles used for medical stuff. One is by choice; often the other one is against your will. In my case, all medical needles are against my will and my worst fucking nightmare. Tattoos do hurt, but more in a weird way that makes you want to keep doing it. If only I felt that way about blood work… Despite my need to plan and be in control, this is the one thing I allow for breathing room and fulfill the urge as it arises.

I got my first tattoo the day I turned 18. That was in 2010. Needle phobic Madison walked into the tattoo shop in downtown Kennewick with her dad and older sister in tow and briefly met with an artist to describe what I was hoping to get. I thought it would be a few days before I would get my tattoo, allowing plenty of time for me to chicken out, but the artist said come back in two hours and I will have something ready for you. Cue anxiety! That day was one of the many days I now refer to as a “destiny day.” I wanted a peacock feather with my cousin’s initials who had passed two months prior. Simple enough. And I had a very unique opportunity to face my fear of needles head on! How bold of fresh 18 year old me!

Two hours later, we came back, approved the design, and sat down for an adventure. I was riddled with anxiety and excitement. I somehow managed to pack the entire tattoo shop with family members who happened to be in town for my graduation (oh yeah I graduated two days prior to turning 18.) If I remember right, over 20 people were in the shop watching me get tatted up (as the youths would say… or probably not say.) Luke, the artist, joked that I had set a new record in the shop for people watching a single person get a tattoo. (I enjoy creating obscure records. Makes me quite memorable.) I walked out of the shop accomplished, tatted, and never imagined that life was set in motion in ways I would not understand until much later.

That would not be the first time I would get a tattoo from Luke. Our paths crossed once more when he began dating my mentor and friend Heather (they are the most perfect little pair and now engaged!) We reconnected because of my solo art show and book, which featured a dear friend we had all in common who ended their life earlier that year in 2016, another unique connection and one with so much meaning.

In 2018, he gave me my ojito (eye) on the back of my arm, another tattoo that I had mulled about only for a short while before deciding to pull the trigger. I got it hours before another art show that my art was being highlighted in. Are we seeing a common thread here?

And finally, my third tattoo by Luke was gifted to me this weekend. I walked into the shop and requested a tiny pink ribbon on my right wrist, the side of my body where breast cancer has called home. I literally had woken up that morning mulling about the idea in my brain. When I had started treatment, I knew I would want to get a tattoo at some point to commemorate this experience, but I was set hard against getting anything obviously affiliated with breast cancer (like the pink ribbon.) I just felt it was overplayed and not something I identified with. But here I am, entering round two of the hardest part of treatment and the tiny symbol felt right. Funny how things can change. But I think it was me who changed. I had to redefine things for myself.

I told Sue about my plan in the car as we drove to the Uptown and she said she would get one in my honor too. We both left the shop with matching pink ribbon tattoos, a unique thread connecting me once again to Luke and now to Sue. I don’t think every tattoo has to be meaningful. I think we should feel free to decorate and honor our bodies as we see fit. But I am grateful to have three of the five tattoos on my body that have intense connections to various seasons and memories in my life. That is a pretty beautiful thing.

The tattoo doesn’t make me feel stronger or make me feel more prepared for my double mastectomy on Thursday. It doesn’t feel proud or beautiful. Cancer is none of that. It kind of is a dark reminder of the fucked upness that this year has been. It is in such a visible spot that it is hard to ignore, but that is my cancer. It is a grave marker on my body, one that I can look at and remember the version of me before everything changed. I miss the old me, but I also know that this is the best version of myself to date. I hate that cancer has shown me and everyone else how resilient I can be. I didn’t want to find out how resilient I could be. I didn’t want to understand this kind of pain that I have seen in others. But I do. And I sure as hell did not ask for my breasts to be removed, but they will be.

My ribbon is a white flag in the storm, surrendering to the fight and moving forward. The war rages on, but I am winning, despite so much that has been lost.

Less than three days until chop chop. This version of me will die and a new one will emerge from the scarred incisions on my chest. She will be more resilient, stronger, and most likely will still enjoy eating potatoes. Not everything has to be so serious and dark you know!

Today’s song lyrics of the day are brought to you by Evan Giia.

“Water, it falls
Just like it’s supposed to do
Erasing your thoughts
Dwell on the shit you lose
You wish it was better
Oh, yeah, ah fuck it, we just run it back”

– WHAT U NEED?, Evan Giia