Mom, Wife & Cancer Fighter

It's easy to explain a cancer diagnosis. It's NOT easy to explain what happens after it. The physical part is the easy part. Doctors tell you what to expect, survivors tell you what to expect, everyone seems to have a good handle on that (although, trust me, there are still things people leave out - like how cavernous your armpit will be once those lymph nodes and all that tissue is removed! I'm still struggling to find a way to shave. Can someone invent a razor with a spherical head please?). It's not over when surgery is over, though. There's more to come. For some, it's chemo, radiation, infusions and drug therapy. For others, like me, it's reconstruction and more surgeries, recovery and rehab. But the thing is, in between those surgeries there's this sort of "down time." You're going on with life, trying hard not to look too long in the mirror, trying hard not to dwell on the still long road ahead, trying hard not to sink into th

Being strong, both physically and mentally, is not always a blessing. When you're strong, people expect you to always be strong. They expect you to be able to do it all yourself, and they expect you to be okay with whatever is happening. In 5th grade, my dad redid a bedroom for me and my sister and I was the one designated to help hang drywall. My nickname as a kid was "Moose" because I was bigger than my petite little brothers and sisters, and I was strong. So I held the drywall while dad nailed away and as much satisfaction as it gave me to be part of that, and learn what it takes to remodel a room, I did come out with a whack on the head from a sledgehammer due to a little mishap. As a young woman, I did my own moving every time I packed up and hit a new city for a new job. Nothing's off limits. I've moved a piano, bedroom furniture, TV's, even a concrete tabletop. I've moved those things up and down stairs! My husband knows he can ask me to lift th

I can feel it slipping away. The peace. The calm. The promise NOT to get back on the hamster wheel in the rat race we call life. Here we are - one month after my return to work - and daily devotionals sometimes get trumped by kiddo bathtime, dirty dinner plates and late night emails. Daily meditation is replaced with lightning fast texts and phone calls with messages piling up in voicemail. Quiet moments, couch time, family connections - they somehow all move over for "other" things. How does that happen? How do we get to that point so easily, so quickly, that all the change we thought we were making and the progress toward the better self slips right back into being the old way; the comfortable way, the way we know it to be. It's like diet and exercise, I suppose. It takes longer than a week, or even a month, to make something a lifelong habit. You don't go from donuts, cheesesteak and pizza diets to dairy-free, gluten-free, whole food, paleo, keto meals in one d

I really don't wish cancer on anyone. But honestly, everyone could probably learn something from it, because as Charles Dickens wrote, it has been the best of times, the worst of times. It's devastating news; the most devastating I've ever heard. It's difficult mentally, physically and emotionally. It puts your life and your family's life into complete upheaval and turmoil. It forces everyone to change their daily routine and you feel incredibly guilty that you've caused that. Somehow you do what you've always done (work out, get ready, drop off the kids, go to work, make dinner, pay the bills) and you wedge in doctor's appointments, blood tests, scans and insurance calls on top of it. Then there's surgery and treatments and post ops and time off that you don't get paid for so you have to once again rework your daily life to accommodate less money, less physical ability, and on some days, less motivation, joy and desire to even be there at al

It's not at all how I thought it would be. After I was diagnosed with high grade DCIS breast cancer and learned that a mastectomy would be my best option, I wasn't too phased about the fact I would be losing part of what makes every woman a woman. That's because even before I was diagnosed, from the time I went in for the biopsy in fact, I had already decided if I had cancer, both of those babies were coming off. When the doctor laid out the options, I told her immediately I had already thought about it, and I wanted a bilateral mastectomy, both breasts removed. Part of what made that decision okay for me was that I was a candidate for direct implants. All of it would happen at once. There would be no 12-15 month period of time for me to go through reconstruction. The surgery would be long, but I would wake up looking like I did (minus the bruises, incisions, bandages of course) when I went in to the operating room. When the first plastic surgeon disagreed with that opt

When you get diagnosed with cancer, everyone refers to it as a journey. Friends say, "this is a journey, hang in there," doctors say, "this is a journey we're on together," strangers say, "you'll learn so much on this journey." I don't know about you, but when I think of a journey, I think of something that is going to be enjoyable, something I planned for entertainment, for adventure. I think of a journey as something that will be exciting and bring new experiences to my life. I do not think of a journey as something that will bring you hurt and pain and depression. I do not think of a journey as something that will lift you up one day and bring you down the next. I do not think of a journey as something you have to struggle through in order to get to the reward on the other side. It turns out, the word has a French origin and was used to refer to a day's work, or travel. It's also defined on dictionary.com as " traveling fr