The rainbow connection

I’m taking a day off from being a breast cancer survivor.


No, really, it’s true.  I am using my soapbox for another crucial cause.  It’s all about this.




OK I was half-lying.  I am talking about cancer in general.  Believe me, I would really like to stop talking about cancer.  But it’s insidious, and it is everywhere.  Yesterday was a celebration of Aretha Franklin, who recently died of pancreatic cancer.  And this morning, I watched in tears as John McCain was mourned after his final stand with brain cancer.  I’m so tired of these stories.  But it is a good reminder that ALL cancers matter, and we need more, more, more research into what makes cancer cells tick, and how we can effectively eradicate them.


This brings me to my main point for today, which is this.  September is Ovarian Cancer Awareness month.  Unfortunately, Teal September does not get the attention that Pink October does, which is heart-breaking.  Because this disease should be called the “ninja cancer”.  There are no effective screening measures.  The symptoms are all common complaints that could point to a whole host of ailments.  And by the time that it is diagnosed, the disease is often advanced and requires aggressive treatment.


The American Cancer Society estimates the following for 2018:


  • About 22,240 women will receive a new diagnosis of ovarian cancer.
  • About 14,070 women will die from ovarian cancer.


Ovarian cancer ranks fifth in cancer deaths among women, accounting for more deaths than any other cancer of the female reproductive system. A woman’s risk of getting ovarian cancer during her lifetime is about 1 in 78. Her lifetime chance of dying from ovarian cancer is about 1 in 108. (These statistics don’t count low malignant potential ovarian tumors.)  Source:


Most women know to look for with breast cancer – a lump is a lump is a lump, right?  But do you have any idea what the signs of ovarian cancer are?  Well, you have come to the right place, because I’m going to tell you!  Here is a handy chart to guide you:



Source: Dana Farber


I have a teal warrior in my family.  You likely do too.  Be aware of your familial risk, and do not discount symptoms.  And donate heavily to organizations that focus on research, not just awareness.  I just made you aware, so that job is done.


It is time for action, for ALL types of cancer.  Cancer does not discriminate, and neither should we.  It’s time to break out the rainbow ribbons.   Fight for cures for ALL cancers.  Set those damn ribbons on fire.  Do whatever it takes to identify cures and more effective treatments.  The time is NOW.  I don’t like funerals.  I want everyone to die of very old age in their sleep after long, fulfilling lives.  We all deserve that chance.


Don’t you think?


We will now return to our regularly scheduled breast cancer complaints.  Sorry, it’s my reality now.


For more information on coping with cancer, see our website


Tell it like it is

This is the next installment in my series of pet peeves about breast cancer…



We have things that people say that grind our gears.  I have heard it all.


I’m a warrior.


I’ll beat this.


Chemo isn’t that bad.


I just have to push through it.


There isn’t much lingering pain.


And my favorite, “I’m fine.”


In the past three years I have watched thousands of women journey from diagnosis through treatment, and into the aftermath.  It is a journey full of ups and downs, pain and elation, and grief and acceptance.  It is like being on a roller-coaster, and just as the train is pulling back into the station to end the ride, the machinery speeds back up and rockets you back for another whirl.  Over and over again.


I see a pretty similar pattern.  The bewilderment of diagnosis.  The overwhelming period of treatment decisions.  The determination that comes with the commencement of surgery, chemo, and radiation.  And the hope that comes as treatment is completed.  It has the essence of the plot of a fiction novel.  And it is about as true.


Once we overcome the initial shock, the only means to cope is to go into Super Woman mode.  We are warriors who will kick the crap out of cancer.   We can do it all – work, families, home, cancer treatment.  But it’s fine, we will get through it all, we will be cured, and life will be normal.   We minimize our pain and mental anguish to our friends and family because we want to be seen as strong, and we don’t want to ask for help.  Or even admit that we are flailing.  Badly.


So we tell everyone that we are ok.  Maybe a little tired.  But we got this.


And this is the biggest disservice that we can do for all of our pink sisters, past and present.  Because the average person has no idea what having cancer is like.  So they expect that we can handle it like a champ.  This is why we get comments like, “My mother’s best friend’s sister’s landlord’s former hairdresser didn’t have to leave work, or lose her hair, or get sick from chemo, or have chronic anxiety, or have long-term side effects.”


Umm… yes, she did.  I guarantee it.


But she is telling everyone that everything is ok and having her mental breakdowns in private.  And so the next woman comes along and thinks that she too must buy into the warrior mentality and not admit the truth about the pain.


I remember watching a woman in my support group from the time she was diagnosed.  She was confident and strong.  She brushed off the initial pain and suffering.  Even as she started admitting to the group that she was beginning to struggle, she was still posting only positive updates on her own personal page.  And yet, she has been deeply affected.  She has numerous long term side effects, and hurts for the way her life has changed.   But I doubt that most of her acquaintances understand that because she still falls back on, “I’m fine.”  And so the fiction perpetuates.


We need to be honest with everyone.  Yes, my body hurts constantly.   Yes, my brain feels like scrambled eggs most days.  Yes, I have insomnia that is downright painful.   Yes, I have anxiety that is paralyzing almost daily.  I don’t say these things to complain, I do it to promote understanding of why I may not seem cheery somedays.  Or why I may be snappy.  Why I am too tired to go anywhere.  Or at times even talk.  I also try to educate so that if someone else in your life is diagnosed, you will know to look beyond the superficial “I’m ok” or ” I’m fine”.  Don’t ask how she is, ask how you can help her to feel better.  She may not need anything, but for many of us, it is liberating to just know that someone acknowledges our pain, even years later.


Let’s not make breast cancer worse than it already is.  Let’s work together so we can all find our own measure of peace.


See for ideas, resources, and support while on your breast cancer journey.





In the end

I have the angry music playing today.  The heart-pounding, I would like to scream, but I’m at work so I can’t kind of music.  The kind that dries my angry tears and lets me get back to business.


Specifically, I have an earworm from Linkin Park.


“In the end, nothing really matters.”


I have been fighting an uphill battle lately with anxiety and panic attacks.  Just when I think I have a handle on it, BAM, it smacks me again out of nowhere.  I can’t identify my triggers, none of my coping mechanisms work consistently, and it wears me out.


But today, this is different.  This is real.  A dear sister from my support group entered hospice.  Someone I have talked to, laughed with, cried with, and shared our stories.  And now she is at the end.  And I want to cry and scream at the unfairness, the wastefulness of it all.


I weep for her and what she is facing.  I’m trying to imagine what is in her head and I know that I probably can only conjure half of it.  Who can really know what they will feel at this moment?


I hurt for her family.  I know the pain they suffer because I have been there myself.  The hurt and sadness never really go away.  The path to emotional healing is long.


I worry for so many of my other sisters.  Some are early stage, some are stage 4.  But we all know it can be one of us.  If it can take Kelly, with her optimism and fighting spirit, it can come back for any of us.  That is the reality that we try to forget until something like this pops up to remind us.


I fear for myself.  That is selfish, I know.  But what happens to me?  I sit here every day, with the cold, dark fingers of anxiety tightening in my chest until I can’t breathe.  How can I ever go back to a sane life?  If it is all going to end way to soon?


But then I realize – life is life, no matter how crazy or sane.  It does matter.  Kelly siphoned out all the life she could, even after being diagnosed as terminal.  She never thought of herself that way.  That’s why we will remember her as a force to be reckoned with.  There is no shame in the end of her journey, only an acceptance that our bodies can only endure so much.


So I will do the things in life that make me whole.  And I will think of Kelly when I visit my happy place, Disney, which was also her happy place.  I will continue to befriend the courageous women fighting this damned disease.  We will share our stories, and we will be heard.  We will be remembered.


In the end, we will MAKE it all matter.


For more info on navigating breast cancer, see our website,

Forget about it

One of my favorite side effects is chemo brain.  It’s great.  You can’t remember anything, so there are no worries!  You won’t remember this in five minutes anyway.   And words.  What are those?  I routinely blank out in the middle of sentences and can’t remember a word I need.  It’s what I imagine it is like to have amnesia.


In all seriousness, chemo brain can be annoying at best, and debilitating at worst.  But I am learning to cope, and I want to share a few hacks with you.  And this is not just for those with chemo brain!  I know a lot of my non-cancer friends are entering the life phase of being “forgetful”.  These will work for you too!


So what am I talking about?


1.  Write it down.  I’m serious.  Pencil and paper baby, keep it old school.  Get a notebook and keep it by your side.  Write everything down.  EVERYTHING.  You may need it to jog your memory later, or you may never look at it again.  But I have found that the act of physically writing something down sometimes imbeds it in my brain so I remember it.  Also, I have rediscovered penmanship.  It feels so soothing to take my time writing.  And I feel  accomplished when I look back at the beautiful cursive.  Props to my third-grade teacher (whose name I have forgotten) for drilling this skill into my mind.


Typing on your computer or phone doesn’t seem to have the same effect, so don’t bother.  Pen and paper.  You can get them at any store.   Go.


2.  Speaking of writing, get a planner.  A good old-fashioned book that you actually write in.  You can put things in an electronic calendar if you like, but it helps to remember it if you physically write it down.  The are some great ones out there, I personally use the Law of Attraction planner.   It’s so much more than just a calendar.  It’s a life planner.  I’ve brainstormed, set goals, and evaluated my progress.  It inspires thinking and planning.  And it allows me to write.  It is by my side constantly, reminding me of tasks and appointments.  You need this.  Go now.


Freedom Mastery Law of Attraction or search on Amazon. (I have no vested interest, I just love their products.  So there.)


3.  Puzzles are good.  They make you think, and use logic.  They make you write, and we all know how I feel about that.  I personally love sudoku.   It’s not just thinking, it’s using numbers.  It’s a workout for your brain.  The more the brain is stimulated, the more it heals and stays young, or so I like to think.


(Disclaimer:  I am not a scientist.  I just like giving an opinion). 


So pull out that pencil and do a word or number puzzle.  Not an app on your phone that does all the work for you, but actual paper and pencil.  You know the drill.  Go.


4.  Learn another language.  It gives you a mental workout and challenges you to remember new things.  Think of where you would go on your dream vacation, and start learning the lingo.  Start with an app to help you with vocabulary (there, you can finally use your phone, does that feel better?).  A nice one I like is Duolingo.  Once you get more comfortable, watch shows in your new language with English subtitles (Netflix is your friend).  Read books and learn about the culture.  Get that brain working.  It’s good for you.  Why are you still reading this blog, you have studying to do!  Go.


5.  There was a fifth one, but I have already forgotten it.  Whatever.


So there you have it.  My recipe for fighting chemo brain and forgetfulness.  I’m not sure if mine is better, or if I just manage it well.  Either way, life is just a little bit easier.  And in the end, isn’t that the idea?


For more hacks and good info, check us out at Driven to survive.




Does size matter?

This post is all about boobs.


(I’m trying to attract more male readers).


Go out to a public place with a lot of traffic, and take a look around.  You will find women of all shapes and sizes.


(Be cool about this, I don’t need any of you going to jail for lewd behavior).


The size of a woman’s breasts is something very personal to her.  They may be too big or too small, but they are hers.   One of the great insults of breast cancer is suddenly having them altered whether you want it or not.  Woman endure single or double mastectomies.  They decide to remain flat, or undergo reconstruction to attempt to regain the look that makes them comfortable.   Even women who have a lumpectomy, like me, end up with breasts that are different sizes and shapes due the amount of tissue removed and the effects of radiation.


Which is why I underwent a bilateral reduction a few months ago to even out the size and thin out the scar tissue from radiation.  Despite on-going complications and the need for a skin graft, I am thrilled with my results.  I feel like me again.   I don’t see a reminder of my cancer journey every time I look down.  Cancer may come back, but that will be a new chapter.   This chapter is done.


During my time making these decisions,  I have talked with countless women to hear their stories and get other opinions.  Not just cancer survivors, but also women undergoing voluntary breast reductions or prophylactic mastectomies (what my surgeon referred to as the “full Angelina Jolie”).  And it has raised some interesting conclusions about size.  It’s heartening to see the options that women have, not just to counteract cancer,  but to take charge over other body issues.  Breast size can cause back problems, headaches, and increased cancer risk.  It is not just about body image.  In many cases, women liked their old breasts, but felt they needed the surgery to solve physical problems.


What I find troubling is the amount of obsession so many woman have over the “number”.  I see many ladies unhappy with their surgery results because they went to be measured, and their new bra size is too big or too small.  Or they were measured in several stores, and got a variety of sizes, none of which they wanted.  The issue is that they had no complaints until they were measured.  So is the actual size that important to our psyche?


The problem is how fickle size is.  Clothing manufacturers are notoriously bad about consistently sizing their clothes.  This is why we try things on before buying them.  It is not a personal failing, or a result of a poor surgeon, if we have to buy a bra that is a size bigger or smaller than our vision.  We, as women, need to look in the mirror and ask if we like what we see.  Certainly, if the answer is “no”, we should pursue revisions or other options.  But let’s make that about reality, not an arbitrary size.


In actuality, size does matter.  What does not matter is the little white label in your bra.  It’s time to cut it out and be free.


For more information on navigating your breast cancer journey, visit our website,






I have done traditional meditation for years.  I visualize, I do focus exercises, I’m even now dabbling in transcendental meditation (it all makes me sound so deep).  It’s an incredible experience.   I come out calmer, centered, and more focused.  It eases my physical pain.  Meditation is a wonderful treatment for a variety of things that may be ailing you.


Back when I started meditating about 10 years ago, my favorite exercise was focusing on the sound of the fan.  The noise, the patterns, the soothing way that it repeated.   Everything else melted away, until it was just me and the fan as I floated off.  Usually to sleep.


That was pre-cancer.


Now is post-chemo brain.


These days, my fan can’t crack the surface of my thoughts.  It’s like a maelstrom in there, a hurricane of ideas, reminders, and unrelated facts that only seem to come to me when I am trying to forget them.  Some days, I can’t sort through the debris.  Sometimes I wonder why I want to.  It’s a whole bunch of nothing.  A pile of crap.  Stuff I’ll forget in five minutes anyway.


But then I made a discovery.  Pretty mind-blowing, actually.  Something that has spun my meditation to a whole new level.


I almost hate to admit this.  And I apologize to all the yogis out there who think that I am crazy.   But I’m going to just come out and say it.


I may be the only person in the world who meditates to Metallica.


Yes, THAT Metallica.


I know others may listen to music while meditating.   It may even be beautiful,  uplifting, inspiring tunes.  That doesn’t do it for me.  I need noise to calm my thoughts.  Loud, pounding, angry,  head-banging kind of noise.  Sort of like pouring ice-water on your brain kind of noise.  Yes, it may hurt for a moment, but then comes the sweet relief.  I only hear the sounds from the song, not the nagging of my mind.  My head bobs in time to the beat.  Maybe theres even some fist pumping, let’s not judge.  My thoughts feel less disjointed, more associated.


And I get calm.  I float off to another plane, if I can be so honest.  They are putting into words what I am thinking.   All the pain, the grief, the madness, the anger.  Its all there, and the music helps me release it.  It’s actually kind of incredible.


I still practice the same habits as before.  I’m not completely shutting down my brain.  But I am sitting back and letting the waves turn into eddies so that I can sort out what I need to.  And I can turn off the music and feel the tranquility that has washed over me.  It doesn’t matter what went on that day.  Or what will happen tomorrow.  Or in ten years.  I am centered.  I am whole.


And I have found what works for me.





Knowing when to shut up

I talk to lots of ladies who are at various stages in their breast cancer journeys.   I make no secret of the fact that my mission in life now is educating anyone who will listen to me on breast cancer diagnosis, treatment, and recovery.  I have learned so much through my journey, how to navigate, how to research, and how many tips, tricks, and hacks are out there.  I want to make this process more manageable for those who come after me.  Sharing is the easiest thing in the world for me.


The area where I struggle is when to shut up.


Most of the time I think the advice or information is welcome.  Sometimes it is just lending an ear to someone who has questions, and needs to talk it out.  I could do that all day long (and I sometimes do).  But there are times when I really have to hold back.  When I know my advice or tough love will make things worse.


Such as:


My biopsy was so painful, nothing can be this bad – I hate to break it to you, but that was the easy part.  The good news is that you will get so used to needles, you’ll practically want to start sticking yourself to save time in the doctor’s office.


I just had my first chemo, and I feel great! – So, yeah.  I personally didn’t have this experience (I was horrendously sick from my first infusion), but I know others who have.  The effects of chemo are cumulative.  Meaning that each infusion will hit you a little (or a lot) harder than the one before.  Just because you are still going to your spinning class after your first treatment, does not mean you will still be that energetic after the tenth.  And please don’t judge those of us who had a harder time.  You may be one of us in another month.


I can’t wait until I’m done with treatment so I can have my life back – This is the cruelest lesson of cancer, which is why I try not to spoil the delusion.  You need that dream to get you through the day sometimes.  But the truth is you don’t really get your life back.  You may go back to work, and get more involved with housekeeping or your kids again.  But it will hurt.  You will be tired, a tired I can’t describe and that I never believe existed in nature.  You will still have constant doctor’s appointments, physical therapy, and tests.  You may be seeing a therapist to make sense of it all, and to combat the anxiety and PTSD.  You will have to make a spreadsheet of all your medications.  Your side effects will have side effects.  You will realize that the life you fought so hard to get back is gone.  But you know what?  You will have a new life, fresh perspectives, and maybe even a new mission.  All you have to do is embrace it.


These are things I would like to say, but I don’t.  Because you have to learn these things on your own, and sometimes you just need to believe that your experience will be different.   Sometimes the best way to help is to get out of the way.


Or just shut up.


Speaking of new missions, keep an eye out for our website, coming out later this week!

Whitewash (A tale of dirty laundry)

My husband does the laundry in our house.  It works for us.  Back before I met the hubs, my idea of doing the laundry was to let the dirty clothes pile up until I had absolutely nothing to wear.  Then I would stuff the clothes into the washer, and sometimes they would make it into the dryer the same day, sometimes it was the next day.  Then I would go to the dryer each day to pull out an outfit.


The hubs likes his clothes folded and on hangers in the closet.  Go figure.


So he has become accomplished in the wonders of washing.


Why is this significant?  Let me explain.


I have become an expert in wound care in the last two and a half years.  I spent nine months caring for an open wound after my lymph node dissection, and I’ve been treating a fat necrosis for the last month and a half after my breast reduction.  What does this all mean?


Blood.  Lots of blood.


I clean, I bandage, I add padding.  Somehow, I always bleed on my bras.  I don’t even think about it anymore.   When I see it, I just change clothes.  Looking at my own guts?  Nothing to it.


This all led up to this conversation last week:


Hubs: Why is this bra on the side of the hamper?


Me: There is a large bloodstain on it, I just wanted to make sure you saw it.


Hubs: No biggie, I ALWAYS check all your white clothes for bloodstains.


Me: <Facepalm>


This, my friends, is real marriage.

Practicing medicine

I am here today to talk about being a proactive patient.


I don’t care if you have stage 4 cancer, are perfectly (disgustingly) healthy, or act as a caregiver to someone who is ill.


This one is for you.


(Ok, I do care, and wish we were all disgustingly healthy.  But you know what I mean).


This is the deal.  The days where we went to one doctor and took what he (and I do mean “HE”) said at face value are over.  Done.  Kaput.   This is your health we are talking about, the very essence of your life.  We need to build relationships with good doctors, and demand the best care available.  I don’t care how little money you have, or what insurance you are stuck with, we pay for a service, and we deserve the best results possible.


It’s your life.  YOU are responsible for overseeing it.  That can’t be delegated.


So how do you become proactive?  It starts with your choice of doctor.  If you are insanely healthy, you may only have one doctor (how quaint).  If you are fighting a disease such as breast cancer, you have an army of medical professionals.  I personally command a medical oncologist, radiation oncologist, cardiologist, plastic surgeon, surgeon, and primary care physician.  I also have a physical therapist and lymphedema therapist on call.  I feel like a general ordering maneuvers most of the time, but its the only way I can feel like I have covered all the bases.


What to look for in a doctor, whether it is one or ten?  Here are a few of my thoughts:


1.  How accessible is the doctor for questions?  Two of my doctors have cell phones where they can be reached 24/7.  Two more have an on-line messaging service; I always receive prompt responses.  Two others are mainly available by phone, but I find that they respond quickly so that is ok.


You should NEVER have to wait weeks until you have an appointment to have questions answered.  You should not put up with unanswered messages.   Part of healing is keeping calm, and that is difficult if you are under constant stress from your medical providers.


2.  Demand better.  Don’t look at it as a second opinion.  Treat it as an interview.


Go to meet additional doctors, listen to their views on your health, and ask questions to see if this is someone you can work with.  Are they willing to work as a team with your other doctors?  Ask questions about alternative treatments and recent research to see what their reactions are.  Make sure they are a good fit.


3.  Make sure your doctors are willing to listen to YOU.


You have concerns.  Are they being taken seriously?  I see too many people being diagnosed with advanced cases of their disease because it took too long to diagnose.  It infuriates me when this happens.   There are infinite diagnosis tools out there, but doctors need to listen to us and validate that we know something is wrong.


If you are brushed off, see #2.


Once you have doctors in place that make you comfortable, it is time to research


I don’t mean you should spend all your free time on webmd looking for diseases you might have.  But after discussions with your doctor, go on-line and make sure you understand what you are being told.  And that there isn’t more to the story.  Confirm side effects, and check for drug interactions that may have slipped past your doctor and pharmacist.  There are many reputable sites for medical information.  If it sounds wacky, it probably is.  But make notes and ask additional questions of your doctors.


If my doctors aren’t rolling their eyes by the end of my appointments,  I don’t feel like I’m doing my job as an informed patient.   Bonus points if they tell me to stay off the internet.


Finally, find a support group, either local or on-line. 


These are your people.  They are your tribe.  They have been through what you are facing, and have tips and hacks.  And some may be at your stage of treatment, so you have someone to face it with.


Facebook has groups for pretty much every medical condition.  They are an information rich environment to learn from others, and hear about treatments your doctor may not be doing.


Just a few safety pointers, though.


Do you feel comfortable sharing in the group?  Are other members respectful to each other, and do admins enforce group rules?  Is there any vetting of new members?   Are admins or other members actively trying to market products or services to you (a sign that the group is not about support)?


Remember that anything you share on-line is immediately out of your hands, so you want to ensure that you have a safe environment.  It should be a place you feel at home.  If not, you may want to keep looking.


And that is my primer on the first steps to becoming an informed health care consumer.   There is too much technology at our disposal to not be an active participant in our treatment.


And remember, the key word is “eyerolls”.   That means you are doing this right.

Childs’ Play

This blog has been a long time coming, and probably my most personal one to date.  But it’s something that I want others to understand.  Please bear with me.


There are lots of things that people without cancer know about the disease.  Chemo, check.  Mastectomy (full or partial), sure.  Radiation, you betch’em.


But there is so much afterwards that makes your life hell that no one thinks about.


Specifically, kids.


As someone who lost her mom at a young age to breast cancer, I’ve gone around and around on this subject as an adult.  While I’ve never been convinced that I NEED to be a mother, as some do, I always thought I would be.  And while some would say I fiddle-farted away my best child-bearing years, the truth is that I met my husband at 35, and got married at 40.  Every part of me is glad that I didn’t settle for any of the duds that I dated when I was younger.  But it does get more challenging when you form your family later in life.


As we found out.


Fast forward another five years, and I was 45.  We had just moved halfway across the country, and settled in a new house.  And I had not given up on the idea of having kids.  We had even given some thought to adopting if my almost half century old eggs really would not function.  Then it happened.




“You have cancer.”


And that was that.


A year of treatment.  A year and a half of not working.  A year back at work with mind-numbing fatigue and pain.  More surgery which I’m estimating will set back my physical recovery another six months.  This is all a constant reminder to me.


I am 48, and I can barely take care of my cat.  My husband spends most of his time taking care of me.  We are running out of people to take care of the kids.


Oh, the other part that is a deal breaker?  The early menopause.  Happens to a lot of us pink sisters.  You are welcome for the TMI.  But it makes me angry, because at least one decision has been taken out of my hands.  And I don’t like that.  Cancer took away one of the most personal things I could have done in life, in an instant.


Then there is the whole adoption idea.


I would still like to do it.  As someone who was raised by a non-biological mother, I can tell you that actions define a mother, not a bloodline.  But my actions are not what most at-risk kids need.  Anxiety, panic attacks, insomnia, PTSD, fatigue, pain, and mood swings.  Not to mention the financial toll that cancer treatment leaves in its wake, although I’m confident I could figure that part out if I could get the rest of it in line.


Why am I telling you this right now?  Because like any self-respecting psycho, I keep these feelings tamped down in the back of my brain.  It allows me to focus on my day-to-day life with some shred of sanity.  But then something cracks it open.  In this case, it was a picture of someone with her baby doing some fun activities I had always imagined doing with my kids.  It hits me out of nowhere.


And then the denial is broken.


No one asks for this.  No one asks to lose control of her body, her life, her reason for being.  And all I can do at this point is keep focusing on my mental, physical, and financial recovery.  But when you see someone with cancer, ask yourself:


“What hidden side effects does she have?”


Because I guarantee cancer has taken something precious from her.  It has derailed her life, no question.  And maybe there is some way that you can help, even if all you do is really talk to her and listen.  We just want others to understand how broken we are.  And how badly we want to be put back together.


At the very least, my cat will thank you.