I haven’t felt like writing in a while. My last post was written during my vacation, and I only recently went back and tweaked it.

Since then, I’ve been carrying more than I know how to name. I’ve had to make big decisions, the kind that require research, statistics, percentages, and weighing quality of life against risk. I’m still in that space, still trying to understand whether a small percentage should matter this much. It’s exhausting in a way that doesn’t always show on the outside.

I’ve kind of put my cancer journey on the back burner for now, but it hasn’t really left me. If I’m completely honest, what I’m feeling most lately is survivor’s guilt.

On paper, I have incredible news. My cancer was caught early. I don’t need chemotherapy. There’s no radiation needed either. It truly is the greatest news. It is night and day compared to last time.

I am one the lucky ones.

And somehow that feels heavier than I expected.

People ask how I’m doing, and I freeze. I don’t know how to answer them because I don’t really know the answer myself. I’m functioning. I’m showing up. I’m doing what needs to be done. But inside it feels foggy, like I’m living in a quiet daze and just getting through the days.

I feel fortunate. I feel grateful. I know how different this could have been.

And yet relief hasn’t come cleanly.

Because at the same time that I received good news, people I love are walking through devastating chapters. Real losses. Real diagnoses. Real heartbreak that doesn’t get softened by early detection or better outcomes. Their pain doesn’t sit somewhere separate from mine. It sits right beside it.

And I don’t know how to hold both without feeling guilty.

I don’t know how to feel relieved when someone I care about is terrified. I don’t know how to accept a lighter outcome when others are being asked to carry so much more. Sometimes I feel almost ashamed of my relief. Like I should quiet it. Minimize it. Tuck it away.

Why does this happen to people? Why do some lives seem marked by so much suffering?

I find myself absorbing their sadness and layering it on top of my own fear. And then I feel guilty for even allowing my fear to exist at all.

I understand, logically, that I’m allowed to feel relief and grief at the same time. I know there’s no quota on pain. I know I don’t owe anyone a performance of gratitude to justify my survival.

But knowing that doesn’t quiet the guilt. If anything, it makes it sharper, because then I feel like I have no reason to struggle. I was spared the worst this time. I should just be okay.

Even writing this makes me uneasy. There’s a part of me that feels afraid to admit I’m relieved. Afraid that if I say it too confidently, something will shift. Like the universe might notice and decide to correct itself. I know that isn’t rational. But fear rarely is.

I also feel this quiet but constant pressure to do something extraordinary with this second chance. To live bigger. Love harder. Be more present. Be more grateful. As if I need to prove I deserved this outcome.

And some days, I don’t feel like I’m doing enough. Not living enough. Not appreciating enough. Not being grateful enough. And then I feel guilty for that too.

I thought good news would feel lighter. Instead, it feels complicated and heavy in its own way. I am relieved, yes. But I am also deeply sad. And scared.

Scared of the what ifs.
Scared of the other shoe dropping.
Scared that I don’t know how to move forward without looking over my shoulder.

I know what’s expected of me. I know I’m supposed to plow forward, live fully, look ahead, and celebrate the outcome.

But I’m having trouble moving on.

I don’t know how to move on from something that ended well. I don’t know how to reconcile relief with heartbreak, mine and theirs. I don’t know how to answer when someone asks how I’m doing, because the truth is, I don’t really know.

All I know is that I am relieved. And I am grateful. And I am scared. And I am sad, for myself and for the people I love.

And right now, I’m just trying to sit in the truth of that… even if it’s uncomfortable.

I did something impulsive.

Like really impulsive.

I invited myself on my brother’s and sister’s family trip to Cuba. That’s not something I normally do. I’m usually the one who overthinks, hesitates, weighs every possible outcome until the moment has passed. But this time, I just tried.

My passport was expired. Instead of taking that as a sign to back out, I got my photo taken the next day, rushed the renewal, and somehow, miraculously, it arrived within a week. Less than a week before the trip. Everything lined up. It actually worked.

Go figure how things work out sometimes when you try, even when you’re convinced they won’t.

I know worrying isn’t healthy. I know it’s not productive. But if I’m honest, I don’t really imagine things going okay. My brain goes straight to how things could go tremendously wrong. I plan for the worst. Always. And I tell myself that if I expect disaster, I’ll either be pleasantly surprised or at least prepared.

That probably sounds negative. Maybe it is. But it’s how I’ve survived.

Lately, though, the worrying feels heavier.

I’ve written before about death, about dying, and I think that comes from being diagnosed with cancer again. It forces a reckoning you can’t ignore. It reminds you how fragile life is, how close we all are to not being here at all. One day. One diagnosis. One phone call.

When I was first diagnosed, a doctor once told me that if I ever got cancer again, no matter what, it would automatically be considered stage three. That terrified me. For years, I brushed it off. I told myself f*** them and pushed it out of my mind. I never really stopped to understand what that meant.

Now I do.

I keep telling myself I want to live in the moment. To appreciate every day. But the truth is it’s hard. It’s hard just to be. To exist without scanning for danger, without projecting forward, without rehearsing things before they happen.

Mindfulness sounds simple in theory. Separate the anxiety. Stop thinking about what might happen. Stop carrying the weight of the world. Just notice what is. Your friends. Your family. The people you love. The now.

In practice, it’s exhausting.

I work on it every day.

When I was on that trip, I wasn’t really alone, even though it sometimes felt that way. I was surrounded by my siblings and their families, people I love and feel safe with. And still, I felt a quiet discomfort. Not with them, but with myself.

I remember sitting there, looking around, noticing couples holding hands, laughing, leaning into each other. Vacation has a way of amplifying everything. It stirred something in me. A reminder of being alone. Of comparing. Of judging where I am versus where I think I should be.

And maybe that’s the lesson I’m still learning.

To let go.

To just be who I am.

To see things as they are, not as I interpret them.

Not through expectation.

Not through fear.

Not through comparison.

Just presence.

I don’t have this figured out. I don’t think anyone really does. But maybe trying, inviting yourself, renewing the passport, showing up even when you’re uncomfortable, is its own kind of living.

And maybe that was the point all along

This one is long, so bear with me while I overshare yet again.

Yesterday was quite a day. Lexi was up all night complaining of an earache, and neither of us got much sleep. By morning, I had to figure out what I was doing with my life (or at least with my child), and luckily I snagged her a doctor’s appointment. Even luckier, my sister swooped in like the hero she is to take her. Stressful morning? Absolutely. But I am so very grateful for the backup!

I tried not to stress too much about the surgery, but to be completely honest, I wasn’t entirely sure what I was getting myself into. The last discussion with Dr. Z left me… let’s say intellectually challenged. G and I even walked away with two totally different understandings of what the plan was. And then MyChart told me the procedure would take 15 minutes. Fifteen. As in “a quick coffee break.” How is anyone slicing anything open in 15 minutes besides maybe a bagel?

I told G I thought it was happening right in the procedure room, the little office where I have follow-ups. G, on the other hand, swore it would definitely be in an operating room because of “hygiene” and “sterility” and “this is a big procedure.” He joked that the doctor wouldn’t come in maskless with bare hands like some freestyle back-alley surgeon. Honestly, the image was so absurd it almost made more sense than the mystery of this 15-minute surgery. Dr. Z had said she would’ve done it last time if she’d had time… so who knows?

After waiting half an hour, I was brought in by a nurse who was very friendly but also slightly… off. He mentioned he hadn’t eaten and hadn’t had a break and was tired. I was like, oh perfect, we can be exhausted together, what a bonding moment. He gave me a gown and told me Dr. Z would be in soon. That’s when we realized: yup, she was doing it right there in the room. And yes, I was right… as per usual. 🙂

Dr. Z came in and examined me. She said I was healing nicely but unfortunately had to open me up again. She explained she’d be removing the tissue from underneath my nipple right up to the skin. She happily told me she’d be saving my nipple… again.

Side note: I don’t WANT my friggen nipple anymore. Truly. Deeply. Philosophically. I wish I’d ditched it from the start. So her acting like it was some precious artifact was… mildly annoying.

Then, yes…this is real life, not fiction…while examining my scar tissue she said, “Oh look, a hair!” as if I’d put it there as a prank. “Do you want me to pluck it?” It was longish and blonde, so I’m reasonably confident it came from my head and not… elsewhere (thankfully). But I did wonder if she remembered our conversation from the first surgery.

So she plucks it (!) says she’s going to fix up a little scar tissue, and then gives me a huge needle to numb my breast ummm all without gloves on (but did the little squirty misty thing with the needle in the air like I see on tv which was cool)  I don’t feel my nipple, but I definitely feel halfway up my breast, so that was fun. She said she’d be right back and left.

I lay there for a while. G asked if I wanted to film the surgery (no, thank you) and I was also mildly concerned he might faint. I told him to put both phones on mute because the only thing worse than being cut open in a procedure room would be startling your surgeon mid-slice.

After a bit, the nurse came in and said we were ready. He asked which side and then said, “Oh yes, the one covered in blood.” I laughed, assuming he was kidding, until I looked down (why didn’t I look down earlier??) and saw that my whole gown was soaked with blood. Like… what in the actual hell? He did not look impressed. I wasn’t either. He cleaned me up, and left me again, breast out, as one does.

Dr. Z returned…alone. I honestly expected at least one assistant. A surgical buddy. Someone to hand her things. But nope, she was a one-woman show. She moved around the room grabbing scalpels, gauze, whatever she needed, like she was starring in her own medical reality series. I didn’t watch. I couldn’t. The pressing, the sounds… no thank you. I did appreciate her calm even breathing though, very zen for someone slicing through my chest.

When she was almost done, she asked if I wanted to see the tissue. I did. Instant regret. It was gross. Bigger than I expected and very “this should stay inside a body forever.” She told me again how great it was that she saved my nipple and was quite confident all the cancer was gone. Woohoo indeed.

But when I looked at my breast, it looked…umm.. indented. A little scary. A touch “inverted areola nipple chic.” I’m so sorry for the TMI.. I really don’t want you all imagining my Frankenstein-boob every time you look at me but also, well… here we are. G thinks it won’t look as bad once the swelling goes down, and I’m hoping he’s right but I’m not sure or confident…He didn’t see what I saw.

After stitching me up, she told me to make a follow-up in two weeks and then just left. Like… left left. With all the equipment on me, bloody bandages, gauze, and my sad boob hanging out in the not so sterile breeze.

A few minutes later, the nurse walked in and was surprised she hadn’t told him she was done. He said it was lucky he checked on me or I might’ve been lying there indefinitely. Super. He cleaned me up, bandaged me, and then casually mentioned he’s ready for early retirement. Loves his job, but may have hit his limit. Honestly? Same, my guy. Same. I also get the vibe that Dr. Z isn’t exactly beloved among the staff.

So I left the hospital feeling… I still don’t know the right word. Optimistic. Apprehensive. Anxious. Tired. All of it layered like some emotional lasagna. I’ll have to wait for the results again, and if everything looks good, then it’s on to part two of this journey. What does that looks like? Not entirely sure. But I know my body is strong, and my support network is even stronger and for both, I am forever grateful.

It has been two weeks since my last doctor’s appointment and I feel like I’m living in a fog, just taking each day as it comes and hoping I don’t accidentally wander into traffic or the snack aisle in my pajamas. I’m trying hard to be positive, think good thoughts, and live happily, but honestly, I’m pretty depressed and don’t have much energy to write or do anything that requires more effort than finding the TV remote.

I keep telling myself I shouldn’t complain because some of my friends are going through absolute hell and it feels like I’ve lost the right to feel negative. Still, my brain didn’t get that memo, so here we are. Guilt and sadness really are the worst combo platter.

Going into my appointment with my plastic surgeon, Ms. Z, I was actually feeling fairly okay. I had accepted that there were cancerous cells under my nipple and that it needed to be removed, and I wasn’t particularly attached to it anyway, especially because I was already planning an awesome tattoo in its place. It was a cold day, and I was absolutely thrilled to discover that my nipple was hard (yes, TMI, but come on, it’s impressive at this point) even though I don’t have feeling there.

For a few glorious minutes I was ridiculously proud of this zombie superhero nipple that could still react to cold temperatures, and then it hit me: it was going to be removed. Instant mood crash. When Dr. Z examined everything, she was super impressed with how well I was healing and was ready to send me on my ‘merry way’ at which point I had to be the one to mention that my pathology report showed cancerous cells and the surgeon had recommended removing the nipple. She was surprised and asked for clarification, and I’m still a bit stunned that she didn’t already have that information.

After I repeated that yes, the nipple was on the chopping block, she told me there wasn’t enough skin and that removing it would look terrible and leave a huge wound that could take months to heal. Basically: it would be a horrible idea from a cosmetic and healing standpoint. Instead, she suggested a different plan: remove the nipple, scrape out the tissue underneath, send that to pathology, and then reattach the nipple using the same type of sutures as during the mastectomy so it’s much less invasive and should heal faster.

Of course, I had to ask the very important question: with this new “hard nipple” development (erect nipple? perky?) would it still behave like that afterward? She flatly said no, and I felt devastated all over again. She also stated that if there are still cancerous cells left after the scraping, then they’ll remove everything, no negotiation. It all felt so matter of fact, and honestly, it doesn’t feel like I have much of a choice: either go for a super invasive surgery that leaves me disfigured and in a ton of pain, or try the scraping and hope for the best.

So I’m going for the scraping. In my head, I keep picturing myself standing there while she yanks my nipple down and scrapes underneath it with one of those putty knives into a plastic Ziploc bag or maybe one of those little pee bottles. She said I’ll be awake the whole time, which is slightly terrifying, mostly because I’m worried I’ll never shut up, asking questions and trying not to sing…

So that’s where things are at. It is what it is, and I just have to get through it. I know things could be worse, but I don’t feel great about any of this. I’m scared. I miss my parents so much that it physically hurts, and I wish more than anything that they were still here to sit with me and let me fall apart a little. I’m really sad but trying so hard not to drown in it.

I really, truly hate cancer. I’m angry that my nipple currently holds this much power over my life. That stupid little diva. It’s a full-on love–hate relationship. My BFF Michelle nailed it in a message she sent: my nipple has had more plot twists than a soap opera, and if I want to hate it today, that’s fine. I can give it the silent treatment and let it think about what it’s done, and maybe one day, if it behaves and we both make it through this, I’ll look at it and think, “We’ve been through some serious stuff together, Nips, and I kind of love you for it.”

Maybe someday I’ll feel that way. Right now I’m still bitter, still scared, and still here, dragging myself forward, one foggy, sarcastic, nipple-obsessed day at a time.

Time is flying by, and I’m healing really well! For Halloween, I was going to go as Frankenstein’s Bride, it honestly felt like the perfect costume given how stitched up I’ve been lately. But nope! Lexi is obsessed with black cats, and the plan has been in motion forever, so a cat I shall be. Meow.

It took a little while, but all my drains are finally out, and that alone feels amazing, especially since I kept snagging them on absolutely everything. Nothing says “ouch” like getting your medical tubing caught on a doorknob. G played the role of nurse-extraordinaire and learned how to “milk” them, which was every bit as disgusting as it sounds. He said it reminded him of how he bleeds fuel lines  and I honestly can’t decide if that made it better or worse. Either way, he really stepped up, and I’m so thankful.

These weeks have been pretty uneventful on my end… well, except for the last few days, which I’ll get to. I’ve mostly been getting used to my new stomach and chest… My stomach is tighter than skinny jeans after Thanksgiving, and my breast and arm (where they nabbed my lymph nodes) alternate between feeling like a hot orange and a distant cousin to actual body parts. Eating can be uncomfortable, and my breast and arm still ache a lot, but I keep reminding myself that healing takes time.

When I saw my plastic surgeon for a follow-up, she came in announcing that all her patients were bleeding, and I happily reassured her that I wasn’t among them. She looked me over, declared I was healing beautifully, and began removing all my bandages. She told me my nipple was still “at risk” but looked promising. That’s been one of my biggest fears: how do you even know if it “takes”? Would it just… fall off one day? Would I wake up to find it on the bed sheets? G joked that he was worried the dogs might grab it—definitely not the kind of pet treat anyone wants to imagine.

The surgeon didn’t seem concerned though and said we’d know more at my next appointment. Before I left, I asked about caffeine and chocolate, and she told me she doesn’t believe in restricting them anymore. I nearly cried. You mean to tell me I could have had coffee this whole time?! I celebrated that night with a rich chocolate lava cake and a caffeinated coffee. Pure bliss and possibly my new definition of medicine.

Then came the harder part. I got my pathology report back from my oncology surgeon, and unfortunately there’s DCIS under my nipple, meaning it will have to be removed. The day before, we’d just celebrated it “taking” perfectly, so the disappointment hit hard. I’m sad about another surgery and wish I’d made different choices, but as they say, hindsight is (almost annoyingly) 20/20.

The bright side? I get to plan an amazing tattoo! G asked the surgeon where people even go for nipple tattoo…like, do they just walk into the same place as the guy getting a flaming skull on his arm? She explained that there are special medical tattooists for that. Still, part of me wouldn’t mind a big biker guy with a gentle touch and artistic flair.

I’ve honestly never talked as much about nipples as I have this month. It’s been both awkward and strangely liberating. The other day, while on the phone explaining everything to my brother, he casually mentioned, “Oh, by the way, you’re on speaker.” Cue my nephew’s voice saying, “I’m sorry to hear about your breast.” Poor guy, I felt bad but also glad that it normalized the conversation a bit. So yes, nipple, nipple, nipple. Let’s just keep it real.

Through everything, I’m beyond thankful for all the love, encouragement  and support that’s surrounded me.  I really am so lucky – and if you see a chocolate-fueled black cat limping down the street this Halloween, that’s just me, living my best stitched-up life.

First off, a huge thank you to everyone for the support, well wishes, and pure sunshine you’ve been sending my way during this slightly different kind of roller coaster. Your kindness has made me feel like I hit the jackpot in the “awesome people” lottery and honestly, it’s been powerful enough to supercharge my healing. Who knew that love and prayers could pack more punch than chicken soup?

Now, let’s talk about Surgery Day.

It kicked off bright and early at 6 a.m. because apparently, miracles and joy don’t believe in reasonable start times. The morning felt like a nostalgic trip down memory lane, flashing back to my previous lumpectomy and my dad’s mastectomy two years ago. Oddly comforting, really. I thought, “If Dad got through this with a smile, I can pretend to be a functioning adult after this too.” His pain-free recovery turned out to be the best parental pep talk I’ve ever received.

The day moved along quickly, thankfully. G was there with me and witnessed the moment I became “radioactive” aka, getting the tracer injection that lights up your lymph nodes like a tiny Christmas tree. I swear, that was the most pain I’ve felt in ages. Two needles right beside the nipple, boom, instant agony. I joked that my breast was just getting revenge for not keeping her (even though, let’s be honest, she started it).

Then came the “blocker” saga: an IV scavenger hunt to find a vein. After multiple tries, I was oddly proud to be part of the training hospital experience. Listening to med students debate the best method was a real highlight. They kept asking if I knew which side was my right, and I genuinely had to think about it. Dear brain, what’s more confusing, those med students or the doctor’s tattoo on my upper arm that looks like a graffiti tag?

Then the big moment: the spinal needle. I was wheeled into the operating room, where about 12 professionals introduced themselves like a very earnest party planning committee. The surgeons returned to explain the plan, and when they asked if I had any questions, all I could blurt out was, “Please, plastic surgeon, don’t harvest any pubic hair for my new breast area.” Her face was priceless. I worried I’d offended her, so I added, “I read stories about people shaving their breasts…I was just worried…” She reassured me that would definitely not happen on her watch, leaving me feeling like an awkward goof but a relieved one.

The surgical team looked like they’d had a long day, and tension hung in the air thick enough to cut with a scalpel, probably thanks to how long the blockers were taking. Thankfully, the nurses stepped in with some serious Zen energy to keep the vibe calm. Before I knew it, I was out cold.

I woke up in recovery and was told everything had gone smoothly. The next couple of days were a caffeine-free, sleep-deprived blur of hourly checks and Doppler scans to confirm my blood was still in the game. It was exhausting, like a marathon in slow motion, but the care from the nurses was outstanding. I’m endlessly grateful for their expertise and compassion.

Today, I’m finally home after three hospital nights and getting stronger with each passing day. I marvel at my body, not in a conceited way, but with genuine awe. It’s been through the wringer: stomach opened, tissue rearranged, arteries rerouted, ribs adjusted, skin stretched, and more stitches and staples than I could count. And yet, I was up and walking the very next day. Apparently, I’m part superhero. 🙂

The one thing still bothering me is a persistent headache, likely sinus-related or a side effect from meds and anesthesia, but definitely not from my recent bodily adventures.

And let me tell you: my new breast looks incredible. We’re talking serious Architectural Excellence. My stomach? Never been flatter, thanks to some highly strategic tissue relocation. I’m walking around like a proud building inspector, admiring the new wing.

Bonus fun fact: my resident surgeon pointed out that the radiation tattoo I now see near my brand-new belly button was originally on my ribcage near my breast. We’ve got a full-on tattoo migration happening, a true walking art installation. How cool is that?

Bottom line: I am safe. I am healing. I am strong. And I am deeply loved. I feel like a million bucks, maybe even a couple million, considering the new “property value” I’m working with.

Thank you all for being part of this wild ride. I’m so grateful for everyone who’s stood by me every step of the way. Sending love to each and every one of you.

The feelings I’m having are hard to describe- kind of like a swirling mix of anxiety, fear, grief, and, surprisingly, a bit of excitement. This past month has brought out every emotion imaginable. Even though I have a plan, the weight of the unknown (and a few “oh no, what if?” moments at 3 a.m.) still hangs heavy.

Let me start from the beginning of this month. My oncology surgeon explained that my tumour is small and importantly new (not HER2 and therefore less aggressive) it is not a recurrence as I had feared. That word, new, has never sounded so good. (New boots? Great. New and different tumour? Weirdly… also great) Given that both of my parents passed away from breast cancer, the genetics conversation was front and centre but testing didn’t reveal any of the usual suspects. My doctor said, “Sometimes it comes down to genes science hasn’t discovered yet.” So basically, my DNA is just playing hide and seek with the researchers.

One of the first major decisions was whether to have a single or double mastectomy. I have to have a full mastectomy on the right because I’ve already had radiation, so a lumpectomy isn’t on the table. As for the left side, removing it wouldn’t change my life expectancy or reduce future risk. After a lot of back and forth (and maybe one dramatic conversation with my mirror), I decided to keep the “good one.” She’s earned it.

Then came the lymph node dilemma. During my last surgery, seven nodes were removed. This time, my surgeon warned that due to the previous dissection, she might not be able to find the sentinel nodes. If that happens, I have two choices: remove them all (and risk a lifelong relationship with lymphedema) or take only what she can find and leave the rest. Thankfully, my tumour was caught incredibly early, and the chance of spread is very low. So I decided to go with the “less is more” approach – especially when “more” comes with permanent swelling and compression sleeves.

Next up: reconstruction. At another consult, I met with the plastic surgeon, and let me just say she did not hold back. I walked in feeling pretty okay about how things looked post-radiation and surgery. Honestly, I thought, “Not bad, considering!” But she took one look and went, “Wow… they really did a number on you.” Cue my inner monologue: Um, rude? I thought it looked fine?! She quickly reassured me that she could make it so much better and not “as terrible as it already is,” her words (not mine). I couldn’t help but laugh. I mean, sure, it’s not winning any awards, but it’s still my breast…well at least for now.

Anyway, I’ve decided to go with the DIEP flap procedure, which uses tissue from my abdomen to reconstruct the breast. It’s a big surgery with a longer recovery, but the idea of creating something new and beautiful from my own body is pretty incredible and not to mention the unexpected bonus of a flatter stomach. Let’s just say the phrase “free tummy tuck with purchase” has come up more than once. Jokes aside, it really feels like the right choice for me. something that will help me feel more like myself again, in a body that still feels like mine. And after meeting with my plastic surgeon, I have no doubt she’s aiming for nothing short of a masterpiece. “Architectural excellence,” as I like to call it.

My surgery is just three days away. I’m anxious. Of course I am. Even with the best plan in place and amazing doctors on my side, there’s still fear about what’s next. But I also know this: I am strong. I am healthy. I’ve done hard things before and I’ll do this too. I look forward to being cancer-free again and maybe one day I’ll even forget some of the scary parts… though I’m sure my reconstructed boob will always remind me just how wild this chapter was.

More than anything, I feel incredibly grateful for my care team, my friends, my family, and every person who has shown up for me. It truly takes an army. and I’m so lucky to have mine,; complete with laughter, snacks, and people who know exactly when to send the perfect dog meme.

Is the power of positive thinking real? Do negative thoughts or worries make things worse? Can stress actually cause illness, or can worrying manifest physical symptoms? Does my state of mind hold that much power? Have I, in some way, caused my cancer to return?

These questions have followed me for fourteen years, ever since my initial diagnosis. I have spent years thinking about it, worrying about it, and sometimes wondering if, through my fears, I somehow brought it back. I’ve tried to live my life as best as I could, but I admit the fear has never truly left me. Every six months, then later once a year, I went for check-ups, anxiously awaiting results. That anxiety never fully faded.

The word “remission” has always bothered me. To me, it implied something temporary, that the cancer was still there, just waiting to reappear. People have said that’s a negative way of thinking, but in my mind, remission never meant gone. After all the treatments and surgeries, I wanted to hear that it was over. Why remission? Was it always lurking quietly, just out of sight, waiting for a chance to return? Sometimes I wondered if my fear or negative thinking had somehow willed it back into my life. I remember writing similar thoughts fourteen years ago, hoping that positive thinking alone could keep the cancer away.

Losing my parents to breast cancer deeply affected me. Sometimes I wonder if the grief and the stress from their illnesses affect my own body? Did my emotional pain somehow contribute to my cancer?

I guess I’ll never really know. The doctors tell me it’s hormones, estrogen and progesterone, not emotion that fuel my cancer’s growth. Still, deep down I trust the science, but in my heart my greatest struggle is with fear itself. I fight every day not to let worry consume what’s left of my peace, but sometimes the waiting is unbearable. Now I’m here again trying to find patience when there’s nothing left for me to do but wait and hope, and hold on as best I can.

I found out this week that my breast cancer has returned. This is not the news I had hoped to share, but I believe in being open with the people I care about and who care about me. I’m starting the next stage of treatment soon, and while this isn’t an easy road, I’m going to face it with strength, honesty, and (as much as possible) a bit of humor.

If you’re wondering how to help, your love, messages, and presence (near or far) mean so much. I may not always respond right away, but please know I feel your support deeply.

One day at a time. I’ve done hard things before—and I’m ready to do them again.

It has been awhile.  My life continues to change…I just got married and bought a house!   Things are good.  I just got the all clear to return to work, and hopefully will be back after March break.  I’ve missed it more than anything.  Nothing has made me realize more how much I love my work then being off for this long.  I truly can’t wait to go back.  So lucky to love what I do!

I still have appointments with my Oncologists.  The majority of them are just follow ups but lately they have been very important to G and me.  We want to have a baby.  As great as that sounds, at the moment it is impossible.  I’ve been on Tamoxifen for the last year.  This drug prevents estrogen to bind to cells, which is good for me because my stupid hormones  stimulate the growth of cells (especially cancer cells).  My doctors would like me to stay on this for 5 years.  This is all fine and dandy but unfortunately it also has been know to cause birth defects.  So…no becoming pregnant unless I go off of it.  This is our dilemma.

With the fertility treatment prior to Chemo, G and I managed to produce one embryo.  We’ve named him Bungholio.  And by ‘we’ I of course mean G.  But I must say the name is unfortunately starting to stick 🙁   Our fertility doctor had told us prior to the egg extraction that it is best to have 3 embryos as the chances of 1 surviving the thaw and implantation is very low (they say the odds are 1/3).  I feel that 33% is still a good chance of a baby!

We have been looking more and more into surrogacy and have found out some weird stuff.  There are no laws regarding surrogacy in Canada, which means that if our surrogate decides to keep our baby (even with a written contract) she legally can and we must fight in court to try to get him/her back.  It is crazy and of course very scary.  Also, if the surrogate has to miss work because of the pregnancy, we must pay their salary.  With the added costs of the fertility drugs and procedure, the clothes, and food, this can end up being very expensive.  I do understand that it can and will be worth it but…just wow.

So that being said, we have been in discussion with our doctors about going off Tamoxifen.  As there has been no studies done, we are all a little unsure how to proceed.  Dr.S, my main Oncologist would like for me to at least stay on it for another year, which of course I will do.  So for now, we will wait.  We have a year to research reacurrance rates and possibly find a trusting surrogate.  I will keep looking up and forward to the year to come.  The best is yet to be 🙂

I had an appointment with Dr.S a few weeks back and got the results back from my mammogram…all clear!  YES!  It the only clear mammogram I’ve ever had and I can not be happier about it!  As G would say, I worried and stressed over nothing.  It is so hard to let go and let things be, especially when the control is taken away.

I’ve been thinking a lot about living.  Ha, it’s weird to write that.  You know the saying, “everything happens for a reason” well I’ve been thinking of this non stop.  And I’ve grown to hate it.  No not everything happens for a reason, things just happen and most of the time there is no reason behind it.  I believe we make the reason, as a sort of excuse to justify things.  Bad things happen to people, great things happen, and a whole lot of nothing happens but it is how we handle situations and live through things that is important.  I’ve had my ups and down through all this and have not always been positive but I can’t say I haven’t lived through it.

I’m obsessed about living now.  About being as happy as I can be and living the life that I want to.  I’ve heard about people, the happiest of people, and they are happy because they surrounded themselves with good people and worked hard to be happy.  It makes me kind of sad to think that we have to work to be happy but I believe it.  Sometimes it’s easy to be miserable.

So I’m ‘working’ to be happy.  Actually lately it hasn’t been work at all.  I have nothing to complain about.  I’m healthy. YES again! And happy.  We live in such a beautiful world, most people are loving and overall amazing,   There shouldn’t be sadness when you are living and I believe appreciation is the key.  I need to appreciate things more.  But at least now I’m trying!  🙂

I’m so happy!  Finally good news, and it was from the best place.  My body!  I got my period today (I know yucky, and totally too much information but this is my blog so nana nana poo poo!)   You don’t understand how relieved this makes me, as I am not in menopause anymore…just have the symptoms from the Tamoxifen.  And the symptoms are being dealt with pills, and so are much much better.  Things are looking up,  my body is returning to it’s pre Chemo days.  Phew!   Also, I’ve lost the extra 10 lbs from the steroids so I’m back to my pre Chemo weight!  I’m ecstatic and can’t wait to celebrate!  Booyah!

I’ve been wanting to write about this for a while, but have been quite afraid of what others will think of me.  Now, I kind of made a pack to myself that I will say what’s on my mind, and if people don’t want to read it, then so be it.  I’ve lost my faith, any and every belief in the ever after, the spirit world, and all things ‘eternal’.  I don’t want people to think that this is a ‘phase’ I’m going through or that I’ve just lost hope because I have done a lot of soul searching and researching because of the hope I have and I really truly wish that I could still believe.

To be honest, it frightens me.  I am scared of dying, of the unknown.  Before I was diagnosed with Cancer I spoke with my family doctor because of insomnia, I told him that I was losing Faith and didn’t know what to do.  I told him I was scared and would stay awake at night thinking “if there is no God what happens next?”  He told me that everyone goes through this, and that it will get better.  I will find my way.  I must say I have, although it may not be the way that I would like to go.

I feel like Mulder as I truly want to believe.  I’ve read countless books, articles, and have even gone to support groups.  This is not something I’ve taken lightly.  It seems I’ve become too knowledgeable and have no way of turning things around.  So I’ve decided to embrace it, and try not be so afraid anymore.  This is my wake up call, this life really matters as I believe that it is the only one I will ever have.  I must make this count.  Once I realized this, everything was clearer.  The sky was bluer, the people around me nicer, everything was sharper.  More true.  I have more respect for life, all life.  To me, there are no second chances, no ever after and that is scary but I’m glad I’ve realized it now so that I can cherish life and all that comes with it.

And if wrong? Well, how great would that be!

Argh.  Some things get me so angry.  The amount of people complaining about their life, their children, their spouse astounds me.  “Oh, I really want God to help me through this” or “Why did God do this to me!”  People, if you wait on God to do things for you, you may be waiting a VERY long time.  YOU need to help yourself, you need to wake up, look around, and realize that life is what you make of it.  If you think that it is shitty all the time,  YOU made it that way.  And guess what???  Only YOU have the ability to change it, not your children, not your friends, and certainty not God.  I’m sick of people not taking responsibility over themselves.  They like to blame things on others or God.  Good and bad.  If you got a promotion, it is YOUR doing…your hard work..  If something bad happens, that’s just the way the cookie crumbles, it’s LIVING people.  I’ve even heard of people thinking/saying that God or even Satan gives people diseases, cancer or other sickness.  How screwed up is that?

If you want to be happy, do things that make you happy and be with people that make you happy.  Just freaking DO SOMETHING and stop complaining about how hard/terrible life is.  You take your own paths, sometimes those paths are rough but it’s how you make it through it that counts.

I just really want people to wake up and realize that enjoying life isn’t about anybody else but themselves.  I know it sounds selfish, but it is the truth.  Nobody will ever be you, nobody can ever control you without you letting them.  You have absolute control of how you live your life.  Health for sure will get in the way, pain will as well.  I of all people understand this.  But, it is what YOU do to help alleviate this.  What are you doing to help yourself?  Your life will never get better if you keep blaming everyone or everything for your problems.

I was watching the Daily Planet, and was shocked by what I saw. This was the one of the most interesting segments I have seen on this show, once you get by the dry stuff (G says there is no dry material)  there is a whole bunch of interesting shit!  Well. I found it here…my next undomesticated pet.  G has always begged for weird pets.  When I first met him, he was in the process of adopting a groundhog.  Yes, a groundhog.  He told me that he was going to bring it home and help nurse it back to health. Well that never happened but when we were in Mexico we came across some Coatimundis and now that is all he talks about.  Apparently they are legal to buy as pets in Ontario.  Who knew?

Anyways, to get back to my original point I was discussing my new (unrealistic) pet.  I have a most favourite commercial, it aired in Canada in 1999.  It was developed to make children think and not believe everything they see or read, and become better critical thinkers (amazing really…they should have more of these out there!!)  Alright, maybe  you should just watch it….

So the “House Hippo’ is a fake.  Of course it’s not real….or is it? Well, I always knew I wanted one, they are so damn cute and I just love Hippos (cue “I want a Hippopotamus for Christmas) but as the add says…of course it’s not real.  The second best thing?  A Pygmy Hippo.  Other than it’s recluse behaviour, and of course it becoming extinct (have to look into this so it doesn’t happen!) it would make a fine pet and a friend to BouBou, Hugo and Cracker.  OK, I’m being ridiculous and would never want this as a pet as it must live in the wild but,…  this brings me to my next and final point.  There are SO many species of animals that are unknown to us and are just so amazingly rare and beautiful.  Learning and discovering new things is rewarding, and I wanted to share with you some more cool animals I just found!

Pygmy Hippo

Pygmy hippos stand only about three feet tall at the shoulder. Their head and body together are between four and six feet long but they can weigh 500 to 600 lbs!

Sun bear

The Sun Bear stands approximately 1.2 m (4 ft) in length, making it the smallest member in the bear family. It is often called the “dog bear” because of its small stature and usually weighs less than 145lbs!

Tapir

Tapirs are large browsing mammals, roughly pig-like in shape, with short, prehensile snouts. They inhabit jungle and forest regions of South America, Central America, and Southeast Asia.

The Philippine Tarsier

The Philippine Tarsieris very peculiar small animal. In fact it is one of the smallest known primates, no larger than a adult man’s hand. Mostly active at night, it lives on a diet of insects.

The proboscis monkey

“The most distinctive trait of this monkey is the male’s large protruding nose. The purpose of the large nose is unclear, but it has been suggested that it is a result of sexual selection. The female Proboscis Monkey prefers big-nosed male, thus propagating the trait.”  You know what they say about a monkey with a big nose…

Red panda: 

The red panda, panda being the Nepalese name for “small, cat-like animal,”.  Studies suggest that red pandas are equally related to three different groups of animals that include skunks, weasels and raccoons.

Javan Rhino

The Javan Rhino is the rarest of the rhino species with 27-44 animals surviving only in Indonesia.  The last Javan rhino is believed to have been poached in Vietnam in 2010.

The saying “you can choose your friends but you can’t choose your family”  is true, but the older I get the more appreciative I am that I have the family that I do.   They have truly been here for me in good times and bad, and I KNOW I can count on them to help me, guide me, and protect me.  I am so fortunate.  I know I didn’t choose my family, but I don’t think I would want it any other way.  I’m lucky, the families that surround me,  G’s family and my best friend M’s family are amazing.  It really feels like I have so many more brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, cousins and even parents.  I am happy to grow old surrounded by loving, caring, and just over round great people.

Growing up, my brother G and I fought like cats and dogs.  We just didn’t get along, but I always knew if someone did me bad, or if I was in trouble he would always come to my rescue.  And now, we fight so much less, actually not really at all and I am so happy to say that I now know more then ever that I can count on him not only to ‘rescue’ me but to make me laugh and just be there to talk with.  I am so lucky that our relationship has grown from ‘brother and sister’ to friends.

My sister S has been amazing.  Although, she is so busy raising four children,  she has been SO supportive of me through this time.  She is helping me with my wedding planning, and actually went out and talked with travel representatives and brought me home wedding brochures.  She does all this, and in the meantime manages her Pampered Chef business.  What a super woman!

What can I say about my sister L?  She is my best-friend, and the love that I feel for her I can’t even explain.  She is the sweetest, most loving person alive.  Seriously.  As a single mom.  raising two teenagers, I understand that these times are hard but she is my boulder and being with her is like going to my special place.  I am so lucky to also call her my best friend.

How can I talk about family without talking about M?  She is as close as any friend can get.  She is my bosom friend, as Anne of Green Gables would say ‘an intimate friend, you know–a really kindred spirit to whom I can confide my inmost soul.”  M is all that and more, every day spent with her I cherish.  I love everything about her and especially her family.  The Royals, as I like to call them.   I don’t think there can possibly be any better people out there.  These are the kind of people you just want to always be around, they make you feel special and loved and just warm inside.

I never really understood my parents until I moved back home with them at age 30.  I was sad, so very sad and embarrassed but they welcomed me home with open arms.  They gave me the space I needed but surrounded me with strength and love.  Before this, I had only known them as ‘parents’ but later discovered they were my friends.  Now, I know they are frightened for me but they try no to let this show and they have been super supportive and loving.

I am so fortunate to have such amazing people in my life.  I know I don’t tell them how much I appreciate and love them nearly enough.  Family is SO important and I’m realizing this more and more each year.

I had a good cry today.  I think that it’s important for everybody, both male and female, to have a good, old fashioned wailing session.  I had an appointment with my Oncologist, well actually not my original one since she was away but another one that I’ve seen a few times in the past.  While she was doing a breast exam, she commented on my scar tissue, or should I say the lump within it.  She asked if it always felt like that, and I responded that I think so.  She asked when my last mammogram was and I told her June when I had surgery.  She said that everything is likely alright but I should have one just to be certain.  I know I have nothing to worry about (most likely) the tissue does feel bumpy and hard but it has felt like this before and radiation has make it worse.  I know I shouldn’t be scared…but I am.   I am prone to worry, which totally sucks and is something I need to work on.  This is just another reminder to me how important life is.  My sister said to not get to ahead of myself, to take one day at a time.  G also reminded me to stay focused on living and remember that I am under the microscope.  The doctors have to do this.  I understand, I just wish I didn’t have to think about cancer so much.

So I was talking with my best friend M the other day about confidence and acceptance.  I’ve always struggled with body image and  low self-esteem, and have had trouble accepting me for me.  I’ve always worried about how other people see me.  M and I discussed how many people, especially women, no matter how beautiful they are struggle with this.  It is absolutely crazy, it really is to worry about not being thin enough or pretty enough.  I understand this, I really do but I also see society bullying people into thinking that this is the most important part of life.  It likes the Cinderella Syndrome, if you are pretty and dress nice everything will turn out happily ever after.  That is such bull-crap.

We will always have something to critique about ourselves and others.  I am SO guilty of this, I worry about how I look so much, and will remember and obsess over one negative comment over 10 positive sweet comments.  Why?  Is there really an area of the brain that affects how you pick up on or react to other peoples emotions like the author of ‘The Female Brain’ states?  Is our confidence and or insecurity hard wired?  I don’t really believe that this is the case.  I think that we can choose how we feel.  Half the time or more that we (or I) have obsessed or worried about others, they probably have done the same about themselves.  So we are worried about looking or being foolish but no-one really cares as they are concentrating on themselves or something else.  Do you remember what your friend, coworker wore 3 days ago?  Do you even care?  Probably not but I know I’ve have had second thoughts about wearing something because I’ve worn it a few days before…. We are our own worst critic.

I’m working on accepting and appreciating myself.  I know I may not be the most beautiful woman in the world but who freaking cares.  Beauty fades, and what should matter most is how you treat yourself and others. I wish I can say with absolute sincerity that I will live the remainder of my life with only that in mind, but I know that I am not that strong….yet. Insecurity comes in all forms, but it’s how it affects us that matters.  We should spend less time worrying about what others think and more time appreciating life.  There are so many different paths in life, don’t get tangled up in the weeds.

I loved this article, click on the link to read it!  10 Life Lessons I Wish I Knew When I Was Younger