Two years ago, God made a way. Two years ago, in September 2023, we saw two pink lines that changed everything. After chemo. After radiation. After surgeries. After oral chemo. After countless tears, sleepless nights, and prayers whispered through both hope and fear… We found out we were pregnant with our miracle baby. But I'm getting ahead of myself - let's take it back to the beginning, of this story at least. Your Body Is A Battlefield When you walk through cancer, your body becomes a battlefield. Treatments are designed to save you, but they also strip away so much - your energy, your confidence, sometimes your hope. And for me, the question that hung in my heart as soon as I heard "it's cancer" and long after the last treatment ended was: Would my body ever be able to carry new life again? Our daughter was 16 months old when I was diagnosed, and at the time, we were just starting to entertain the idea of adding to our family in the summer of 2021. My husband and I consider ourselves blessed to both come from large families, with multiple siblings on either side. Childhood to us meant spending time with our siblings swimming under the summer skies, jumping into piles of dried leaves in the fall, and wonderfully chaotic Christmases having to wait our turn as we opened gifts in sequential order around the crowded living room. It was all family, all the time and we had been dreaming of that kind of wild and full life for our little family. Brothers and sisters are many things - your first tormenters, your fierce protectors, but most importantly we believe they're our built-in best friends, and we wanted that for our daughter more than anything. With that dream in mind, we made the difficult decision at the beginning of my diagnosis to delay treatment slightly in the pursuit of emergency IVF. But even with that Plan B on ice (literally), the hope to grow our family still felt impossible at times. After completing treatment, I began having conversations with my doctors about the possibility of pregnancy after cancer. We discussed the risks and I knew the beating my body had already taken, but my oncologist was always positive and encouraging. He would reference research studies that said women who conceived after cancer showed a reduced risk of recurrence - full disclosure, I could never find those studies when I'd search for them on my own, but I trusted his judgement. He expressed that I should wait 1-year after completing all forms of active treatment before trying to conceive - so with that timeline in mind, we patiently waited as my body and mind set to work healing what had been broken and preparing for what might be. I would be lying if I said I wasn't afraid that pregnancy might actually mean the cancer would come back. It was impossible to not draw the correlation between how soon after my 1st child was born and when the cancer was found in my body. I first felt the lump in my right breast when she was only 15 months old. I don't know what caused my cancer and I never will, but logical or not - that fear existed in my mind and I knew I'd have to actively work to move past that if I was serious about trying to carry another baby. A Year Goes By So Fast A year came and went pretty quickly and was filled with so much life! We traveled, we celebrated, we processed, we mourned. I went to therapy. We celebrated our daughter turning 3! I started a new job. We did our best to settle into what our "new normal" looked like "after cancer." That said, I'll make the disclaimer in the interest of keeping it real for you all - there really is no "after cancer." You carry it with you wherever you go. It colors the way you see yourself and the world around you. It's always hard, always exhausting, always difficult. But I'm finding that, as with active treatment, it's a cumulative process. With every year I lug it around in my heart, my body gets a bit stronger, it gets a bit further from the top of my mind. But to my cancer survivor friends and families - just because we carry it well doesn't mean it isn't heavy. Give yourself grace. Alright - back to our regularly scheduled programming. So, August 2023 marked 1-year and 1-month since my last day of oral chemo. And in that time, I was lucky enough to see my body's reproductive cycles return and normalize. I had been successfully tracking my cycles and identifying ovulation windows - which I found amazing because prior to my cancer diagnosis and treatment that hadn't been the case. I had irregular periods and it ultimately took 2-years of trying and a round of Clomid to become pregnant with our 1st child. I always tell people - I don't recommend chemotherapy if it can be avoided (just in life in general haha). But in this specific circumstance, it did seem to act as a hard reset switch on my body, so I took it as a silver lining around an otherwise completely horrible experience. With that past experience in mind, our expectations were set pretty low and my husband and I entered into this season of life with hope and optimism in our hearts and the thought of our "Plan B on ice" in the back of our minds. Even Now... That September morning when I watched those two pink lines appear, it didn't feel real. I really didn't think I was pregnant. I just wanted to take a test because we were about to travel to visit friends for a week and I figured I should check to be safe. I hadn't even warned my husband that I was taking a test. There was no pomp, no circumstance. And when the 2nd test read "pregnant" across the digital screen (always got to double-check) shock and excitement spread across my body like a wave washing over me. I ran to the top of the stairs and hollered down, "BAAAABE, I need youuuuuu!!!!" He came to the foot of the stairs, taking his sweet time in his oblivion to the situation, and when he looked up at me standing there holding a pregnancy test his face flashed back and forth between a smile and just jaw-on-the-ground disbelief. I remember hearing God in my heart so clearly saying: "Even now, after everything your body has been through. Even here, in a place of disbelief and doubt. Even after everything telling you this shouldn't be possible, I can and I did. And if it is My Will, I will always make a way." I stepped into this 2nd pregnancy completely in awe of my God's power - yet painfully aware of how small I had made Him in my mind, reducing his greatness to what felt humanly possible within the logical confines of this world. Even here. Even now. Even after... God had a different story in mind and He gave us a gift beyond anything we could have imagined. A Story of Hope Pregnancy after cancer wasn’t without fear. Every appointment, every new symptom carried the weight of anxiety. I held my breath more often than I’d like to admit, waiting for reassurance that everything was okay. But alongside the fear was joy. Pure, overwhelming joy. Every tiny milestone - the first ultrasound, the first flutter of movement, the sound of that steady heartbeat - was a reminder of resilience. My body, once so weary from fighting, was now creating life. And my heart, once so heavy with worry, was now overflowing with gratitude. This journey taught me that strength is not about never feeling weak. Strength is about choosing to keep moving forward, even as fear whispers relentlessly in your ear. I've learned that my body and my faith can hold more than I ever thought possible. I share this not because our story is perfect, I think you'd all agree that it's not what I would have chosen for myself or my husband to have to walk through. But I really feel like it's a reminder that our God can take what feels broken, what may seem shattered beyond repair, and turn it into something beautiful once more. Looking Back, Looking Forward Our daughter (yes, our 2nd baby turned out to be another beautiful baby girl) - she is our living reminder that God's redemptive goodness is greater than what our human hearts and minds can possibly comprehend. As I reflect on that September morning, I’m struck by how far we’ve come. From the lowest lows of chemo treatments to the highest highs of holding our healthy baby girl, pregnancy after breast cancer - the journey has been nothing short of transformative. Today, I hold a little hand that reminds me daily: miracles are real. Hope is worth holding on to. And no matter how impossible things may seem, God is always making a way.

I cried on the drive to my first radiation appointment. Not because I’d heard horror stories (yes, I had). Not because I was bracing for pain or burns or anything specific (my Dr. had warned me that those were common side effects). I think I mostly cried because I was afraid - I was entering another unknown realm - I didn’t know what to expect or if this next thing on the treatment checklist would work and secure me that long and healthy life I was chasing and so desperately praying for. After chemo, I had assumed the worst was behind me. But as I pulled into the cancer center that morning — December 22, 2021 — I was hit with the reality that my journey wasn’t over yet. There was still more to do. Still more healing ahead. My friend Sarah had made me a paper chain to count down the treatments, each one with a word of encouragement or scripture to keep me going when it felt hard to show up. I would unhook a link in the chain each morning with excitement to have one more day behind me and what I hoped was a whole lifetime ahead. Radiation, I quickly learned, was a different kind of battle. It wasn’t loud like chemo. There were no infusion chairs or IV bags, no "Red Devil" to face. It was quiet. Rhythmic. Methodical. I would arrive each weekday, check-in, wait my turn in the semi-cozy women's waiting room, and then lie perfectly still as invisible beams of energy passed through my body. Sixteen rounds of external beam radiation therapy (EBRT) across my entire right breast. Then five rounds of accelerated partial breast irradiation (APTI), focused on the place where my tumor had been removed. My view entering the radiation therapy room. Each session only lasted a few minutes, but the process was exhausting. The effects of radiation crept in slowly. I didn’t feel much in the beginning. My skin held up well, something my doctor pointed out with surprise and encouragement every time I saw her. No burns. No peeling. Just a bit of itchiness and discomfort near the end. I was told I was one of the "lucky ones" - which is a completely relative term when it comes to cancer because let's be honest - there ain't nothing lucky about this sh*tty situation. But the fatigue? That was real. By week two, I couldn’t make it through a full day without crashing for a nap in the afternoon. My body was drained. My mind, foggy. The brain fog I had carried out of chemo carried on with a vengeance. I had to fight to stay focused, to stay present, to function. The radiation may have been gentle on my skin, but it was not gentle on my energy. Still, I did my best to keep showing up. I drank more water than I thought humanly possible. I lathered on Miaderm lotion religiously. I listened to my body. I let myself rest. I trusted the process. Originally posted to my Instagram - cataloging my "radiation routine" from the first 5 rounds of therapy. In the waiting room one morning, I sat next to a woman in her 50s who was also going through treatment for triple-negative breast cancer. We struck up a conversation, and as we talked, I learned that she hadn’t needed chemo. Her hair was still intact. Her energy seemed steadier. She spoke with warmth and strength, and I couldn’t help noticing how different her experience looked from mine. And for a moment, I felt a twinge of jealousy. Why did I have to go through chemo, lose my hair, relinquish any sense of normalcy? Why couldn’t my story have looked a little more like hers? But as I sat with that feeling, something in me softened. Her journey wasn’t easier . It was just different. The absence of chemo didn’t mean the absence of struggle. She had her own fears to carry, her own version of uncertainty and grief. I didn’t know the weight she held, just as she didn’t know mine. That moment reminded me that comparison is a thief - especially in the world of healing. It tempts us to measure pain and worth, when the truth is, every story is valid. Every path is shaped by its own kind of hard. God was writing both of our stories, uniquely and with care. And one day, we’d both have our own testimonies to share; not because our experiences looked the same, but because we made it through them. Some days I would pass the time reading the message board posted up in the waiting room. It was filled with scribbles from past and current patients. “Halfway through treatments! Celebrate life!” // “God is good!” // “I’m done! Thank you, God!” Each message reminded me: I wasn’t alone. So many women had walked these hallway before me Sat in these same chairs. Carried the same mix of fear and hope and exhaustion. And sadly, so many would come through this waiting room long after I've completed my treatments. But even knowing that, there was still something holy and beautiful in our shared experiences, something comforting in the quiet sisterhood of survivorship. And then, at last, came January 21, 2022. I walked into the cancer center for my final round of radiation therapy, heart pounding. I completed my treatment, put my clothes back on and headed out into the main entrance. With my mom watching on proudly, my husband standing beside me and as I held my daughter in my arms - all of them a powerful reminder of everything I had been fighting for, I stepped forward and rang the bell. Three times, strong and clear. "Ring this bell three times well, Its toll to clearly say: My treatment’s done, this course is run, And I am on my way!" As we walked out of the cancer center's main entrance I was met with cheers and hot tears rolled down my cheeks in the cold January air. My family and friends were there, smiling and cheering as the sound of bells rang out all around me. They had made a giant banner that simply read: OVERCOMER . And in that moment, I believed it. Not just because I had completed that phase of treatment. Not just because the appointments were over - for now. But because I had endured the slow, quiet work of healing. The emotional weight of the unknown. The fatigue that flattened me. The mental fog that clouded my days. The tedious, invisible labor of recovery. We went out for brunch afterward, surrounded by love, comfort food, and so much gratitude. And over the weeks that followed, my strength began to return. Slowly, my body remembered how to feel like mine again. Radiation may not have been the most dramatic chapter of my cancer story, but it was no less significant. It is the quiet fight. The final stretch. The daily showing up when you’re tired and tender and just so ready to be done. If you’re there now - walking those same hallways, wondering how you’ll make it to the end -please hear me: You are not alone. You are stronger than you feel. You are healing, even on the days when it doesn’t look or feel like it. You are becoming something braver and more beautiful with every step. And when your day comes, when it’s your turn to ring the bell - ring it loud my friend. You are an overcomer . "Ring this bell three times well, Its toll to clearly say: My treatment’s done, this course is run, And I am on my way!"

When I first heard the words "it's breast cancer,"  my world fell off its axis. Like so many others, I assumed breast cancer was just one disease with one treatment path. But what I quickly learned, something I wish more people knew, is that breast cancer isn’t just one thing.  There are many different types and subtypes , each with unique characteristics, behaviors, and treatment approaches. When my doctor told me my specific diagnosis was triple-negative breast cancer (TNBC),  I didn’t have a clue what that meant for me. All I knew was that I had cancer, and I needed to trust my medical team to guide me through the best possible treatment plan. TNBC sounded intimidating, and as I began to learn more, I realized just how different it was from other forms of breast cancer. If you or a loved one has just been diagnosed with TNBC, I want you to know: you’re not alone.  It’s completely normal to feel overwhelmed, confused, and scared. I was there too. But knowledge is power, and understanding your diagnosis can help you navigate this journey with more confidence. Here are five key things to know about TNBC: 1. TNBC Is Different from Other Types of Breast Cancer Most breast cancers are categorized based on the presence of three key receptors: ✅ Estrogen receptors (ER) ✅ Progesterone receptors (PR) ✅ HER2 protein These receptors fuel many breast cancers, and targeted therapies (like hormone-blocking medications or HER2-specific drugs) exist to slow their growth. However, TNBC does not express any of these receptors - hence the name triple-negative . Because of this, TNBC does not respond to hormone therapies like tamoxifen or aromatase inhibitors  that work for ER/PR-positive breast cancers. It also doesn’t respond to HER2-targeted treatments like Herceptin. Instead, TNBC is typically treated with chemotherapy, surgery, radiation, and, in some cases, newer treatments like immunotherapy. This makes TNBC more challenging to treat in some ways, but it also means researchers are actively exploring new, more effective treatment options. *Bonus: The Many Types of Breast Cancer There are many different types and subtypes of breast cancer, and each is treated differently depending on how it behaves and grows. Some of the most common types include: Hormone receptor-positive breast cancer (ER+/PR+)  – Fueled by estrogen and/or progesterone, often treated with hormone therapy. HER2-positive breast cancer  – Characterized by an overexpression of the HER2 protein, which can be targeted with specific drugs. Inflammatory breast cancer (IBC)  – A rare but aggressive form of breast cancer that causes redness and swelling in the breast. Lobular vs. Ductal Breast Cancer  – These classifications describe where the cancer originates within the breast tissue. Metastatic Breast Cancer (Stage IV)  – Cancer that has spread beyond the breast to other parts of the body. Each type has its own treatment approach, and no two breast cancer journeys are the same. If you want to dive deeper into the many variations of breast cancer, check out this helpful guide from the National Breast Cancer Foundation : Types of Breast Cancer . Understanding the specifics of your diagnosis  can help you feel more informed and empowered as you navigate treatment options. 2. Triple Negative Breast Cancer Can Be More Aggressive - But Not Always TNBC tends to grow and spread faster than other types of breast cancer, with a higher likelihood of recurrence  within the first 3 to 5 years after treatment. It is often diagnosed at a later stage and can be more likely to metastasize (spread to other parts of the body). However, not all TNBC cases behave the same way. Some are more aggressive, while others respond very well to chemotherapy and have excellent long-term outcomes. Because TNBC grows quickly, early detection and prompt treatment are crucial . If you’ve recently been diagnosed, working closely with an oncologist who specializes in TNBC can help you navigate the best course of treatment. 3. It Affects Certain Groups More Frequently While TNBC can affect anyone, it is more common in certain groups , including: Younger women  (under 40) African-American women Women with BRCA1 genetic mutations Latina women Women with Ashkenazi Jewish ancestry If you fall into one of these groups, being proactive with regular breast exams and screenings  can help with earlier detection. Those with a family history of breast or ovarian cancer  may want to discuss genetic testing with their doctor to determine if they have a BRCA1 or BRCA2 mutation, which could impact both treatment and preventive care decisions. Also, it's unfortunately not standard practice yet, but if you get a mammogram and learn you have "dense breast tissue" you should ask for a follow-up ultrasound or additional image screening. We're learning through a number of studies that dense breast tissue shows up as white areas on a mammogram, similar to how tumors appear, making it hard to identify small or early stage cancers within the dense tissue. 4. Treatment for TNBC Is Evolving Since TNBC doesn’t respond to hormone-based therapies, chemotherapy remains the main treatment option . However, significant advances have been made in recent years, including: Immunotherapy:  Drugs like Keytruda (pembrolizumab) help the immune system recognize and attack cancer cells. Targeted therapies:  Some newer drugs, such as Trodelvy (sacituzumab govitecan), are designed specifically for TNBC. PARP inhibitors:  For patients with BRCA mutations, drugs like Olaparib (Lynparza) and Talazoparib (Talzenna) target cancer cells more precisely. If you or a loved one is diagnosed with TNBC, ask your oncologist about clinical trials  and emerging treatment options. TNBC research is moving forward rapidly , and new treatments are giving patients more hope than ever before. 5. Support & Advocacy Are Key A TNBC diagnosis can feel isolating, but you don’t have to go through it alone. There are support groups, advocacy organizations, and online communities  dedicated to helping women navigate this journey. Some helpful resources include: TNBC Foundation  – Offers information, clinical trial resources, and support networks. Breastcancer.org TNBC Forum  – A place to connect with others facing TNBC. Living Beyond Breast Cancer  – Provides education, support, and community connections. FORCE  – Focuses on hereditary cancer, including BRCA-related TNBC. In addition to seeking medical care, finding a strong support system , whether through family, friends, or fellow survivors, can make a world of difference. There Is Hope A TNBC diagnosis can be frightening, but you are not powerless . Every year, new breakthroughs in research bring us closer to more effective treatments and better outcomes. 💖 Stay informed.  Knowledge is power. The more you understand about TNBC, the more confident you can feel in your treatment decisions. 💖 Advocate for yourself.  You deserve the best care possible—don’t be afraid to ask questions or seek a second opinion. 💖 Lean on your support system.  Whether it’s family, friends, or an online community, you don’t have to go through this alone. If you or a loved one is facing TNBC, I see you. I’m sending you strength, resilience, and unwavering support. Go kick cancer's ASS!

Cancer treatment is a journey - one that is often filled with emotional and physical challenges. Whether you’ve been through it yourself, or you’re supporting someone who is, understand that all forms of therapy treatment (chemo, radiation, surgery) are exhausting, unpredictable, and usually very isolating. That’s why a chemo care package can be such a powerful gift. It’s more than just a box of items, it’s a tangible way to say, I see you, I care, and I’m here for you. When I was going through treatment, I remember the little things making the biggest impact; soft blankets, cozy socks, handwritten notes, or things to support not only me but also my family as we went through this season together. Thoughtful gestures truly lifted my spirits and reminded me that I had support and there was a lot of life to be lived with friends and family on the other side of treatment. So, if someone close to you is undergoing chemo and you’re wondering how to support them, a personalized care package is a great place to start. Here are some thoughtful items to consider: 1. Soft and cozy headwear. Hair loss is one of the most common and visible side effects of chemo, and while it doesn’t define the journey, it’s still an adjustment. A soft, breathable hat or head wrap can provide warmth, comfort, and confidence. I had a few baseball caps that I would wear most often, they felt a bit like my armor while also protecting my face from the sun when I went out (which is super important always, but especially during cancer treatment). Below are a few links to some of the options that I bought for myself, but you can find things like this really anywhere. Pro Tip:  Some people love vibrant patterns, while others prefer neutral tones that match everything. If you’re unsure of their preference, then consider including an Amazon or Target gift card  so they can pick something out that they'll love. Below are the 3 items I wore the most often and links to Amazon where you can find them. Slouchy bamboo headcover Distressed Baseball Cap Soft winter beanie 2. Nourishing lip balm and skincare to combat the dryness. One of chemo’s less-talked-about side effects is how dry everything gets  - skin, lips, and even nails. Many traditional lotions and lip balms contain fragrances or chemicals that are dangerous and can be irritating to what is now highly sensitive skin, so opt for gentle, fragrance-free options. Lip balm  with coconut oil, shea butter or beeswax helps prevent chapped lips. All the products from this brand ATTITUDE are amazing, EWG Verified, and safe for use. Hand cream  or body lotion can soothe itchy, flaky skin. If radiation treatment is part of your overall treatment plan, then I would highly recommend investing in this lotion from Miaderm  – it was my first line of defense and I used it religiously when going through radiation. Cuticle oil  or nail-strengthening cream helps protect fragile nails. Body Soap   that is moisturizing and made with safe ingredients. My favorite is Dr. Bronner’s in the scent Eucalyptus.   Pro Tip:  Look for products with ingredients like aloe vera, coconut oil, or vitamin E—these are especially hydrating and gentle. 3. Comfort essentials because chemo rooms are cold. If you’ve ever spent hours in a chemo infusion chair, you know how chilly those rooms can get. Soft, cozy items bring a sense of warmth and security. A compact fleece blanket  or weighted lap blanket  offers comfort during long treatment sessions. Warm, non-slip socks  keep toes toasty without worrying about slipping on hospital floors. I also love these basic knit socks  and wear them all the time to this day, they’re great for wearing over leggings with boots in the colder months. A nice large tote bag  is very useful when it comes to carrying your things back and forth between treatment sessions. Personal Recommendation:  One of my favorite gifts I received was from a dear friend who bought me one of these Hugs blankets from Minky Coture®   and it is and will always be my absolute favorite blanket. It feels exactly as the name describes, like a warm, soft, fuzzy hug just when you need one most. I did not take it with me to chemo treatments, but it was always waiting to welcome me back to my couch when I returned home to rest. 4. Snacks for nausea relief. Chemotherapy can make food taste off  (hello, metal mouth) and can also bring waves of nausea. Keeping mild, easy-to-eat snacks on hand is a lifesaver. Ginger lozenges  or ginger tea  help calm nausea naturally. Crackers or plain granola bars  are bland enough to be easy on the stomach. Peppermints or lemon drops  can help combat weird chemo aftertastes. Pro Tip:  If you’re unsure what snacks they can tolerate, include a variety and let them pick what works for them. But please note - I would come to find out as I got deeper into my chemo treatments and my nausea during treatments got worse, I would start associating the nauseous feeling with the snack I was eating at the time and I can no longer enjoy that snack like I used to (so don’t be offended if they eventually beg you to never buy them that snack again). 5. Entertainment and distractions to help pass the time. Chemo days can be long . Sometimes you just want to close your eyes and rest, but other times, distractions are welcome. A little entertainment can help pass the hours and provide an escape. A good book  (light-hearted fiction or inspiring memoirs are great choices). Lysa TerKeurst's Seeing Beautiful Again was a gift from a friend that got me through some very dark times. Puzzle books  like Sudoku or crosswords to keep the mind engaged. A journal to jot down thoughts, emotions, or even treatment notes. Adult coloring books & colored pencils  for a relaxing creative outlet. An extra-long phone charging cable   because they will be on their phone a lot and it will drain the battery quickly.   Personal Recommendation:  When I was going through chemo, a friend made me a beautiful custom Spotify playlist and I would listen to it on repeat as I dozed in my chair. If your loved one enjoys listening rather than reading or coloring, perhaps a subscription to Audible, a list of uplifting podcast recommendations, or a custom-curated Spotify playlist would be a welcome gift of support and encouragement. 6. Hydration is key. Chemo can cause dehydration, and staying hydrated is so important. One of the chemotherapies I received was affectionally referred to as “the red devil” because of its bright red color and it would turn the color of my urine a bright red-orange as well. And so, my oncology nurses explained to me that my goal for each treatment should be to drink enough water and go to the bathroom often enough that by the time I left the treatment center my urine would be back to a normal color. And so that’s what I did, I would sit in that chair, and I would drink copious amounts of water. Some ways you can help with this would be to buy: A cute (LARGE) water cup/bottle  to keep fluids handy. Electrolyte drink mixes  (look for sugar-free or low-sugar options). Herbal teas  that are gentle on the stomach and soothing to sip. Pro Tip:  Remember - avoid heavily caffeinated drinks, as they can be dehydrating. 7. Helping their family helps them the most. Some of the most helpful things during my treatment were actually massive blessings to not only me but my entire family. We received several food delivery gift cards and homemade meals from friends who wanted to make sure I wasn’t worried about making meals and feeding myself and my family when I was dealing with the side effects from treatment. Door Dash or Uber Eats gift cards  make meals for the family a snap. Set up a Meal Train   and invite friends and family to sign-up for some days to bring over food. Home cleaning services  were extremely appreciated too. I was told by another survivor early on to conserve my energy for “the things that only I could do.” Meaning, anyone can clean the house or make meals, but only I can read my baby a bedtime story or comfort my husband or spend time with my friends – those are the places that I personally was needed  most. And so instead of worrying about how to keep the house clean during the little time where I felt good and strong, my sister found us a local housekeeper that would come every few weeks and help keep our house in order. Personal Insights:  It can be different for everyone, but days 3, 4, and 5 after chemo treatment were usually the most difficult for me, when I was tired and in bed the most. So having options for my husband to just grab or pick up on his way home to feed himself and our daughter were a huge help. 8. A handwritten note of encouragement can mean the most. Sometimes, the best thing you can include in a chemo care package is a simple, heartfelt letter. Words of love, support, and encouragement go a long way. Let them know you’re thinking of them, that they are strong, and that they’re not alone. I had a beautiful friend who wrote an entire box full of cards and on each envelope, she would write a little description like - “For when you’re feeling scared” / “For when you need a laugh” / and so on… and I would comb through those each week and pick out a letter to read. It filled my cup over and over and over again. And I still have those notes and will keep and treasure them forever. It doesn’t have to be a present. Just BE present . A chemo care package doesn’t have to be extravagant. It’s truly the thought that counts. Whether you put together a full box or just pick one or two meaningful items, your loved one will feel  the love behind it. But most importantly, more important than any gift or care package could be – just be present . Show up. Just act . Don’t ASK how you can help, just do. Call them. Write them. Drop food by. Show up and spend time with them if they feel up for it. Take their kids for a play date if they’re needing to rest. It’s a very tangible way to show you care for them. It’s one thing to say, “You’re not alone in this.” It’s another thing entirely to show  them day in and day out that they are not alone in this - so long as you are alive and kicking, you are with them in this fight. Having been on the receiving end of all of this, I can tell you firsthand – it all matters . You can bring light to some of the darkest days and remind someone that they’re surrounded by people who care. The smallest act of kindness makes a world of difference. *As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

A few weeks ago my hubs and I headed out to Maine to celebrate our anniversary and all that we have overcome this last 2ish years. I think the pinnacle experience was standing together on top of a mountain peak in Acadia National Park. But as with most of life’s greatest joys, that view was hard won. The Bubbles at Acadia National Park. We only had 1 full day to explore the park so I had spent time reading up on hikes and trails and we settled on the hiking path that runs around Jordan Pond and up into The Bubbles (two mounds that rose out of the earth and together looked exactly like a pair of breasts - the irony!). It all sounded fairly simple, and as we set out that morning it seemed like it would be a nice leisurely trek. But halfway into the hike around the pond my foot landed in just the wrong way on a rock hidden under some leaves and I fell, hard. Ankle sprained, knee banged up and hand a bit sore from catching my fall; I sat and cursed in frustration. This was exactly what we did not need today! But I gathered myself, weighed the options and decided to keep moving. That’s life, right? Onward and upward. As I hobbled along, we eventually arrived at the base of the mountain trail and I told my husband I thought I’d be alright - we had come this far so let’s keep going. This was when I was thinking the ascent would be a simple set of “stairs carved into the mountainside” because that’s what had been written in the trail guide. It quickly became clear that there were no “stairs” (maybe we had entered at a different spot?) and this was going to be a slow and tedious crawl up the side of a mountain covered in boulders - big, small, unsecured, treacherous… I was terrified. I made it about halfway up before becoming paralyzed in my fear and feeling the overwhelming sense of defeat. I started crying and saying over and over, “I can’t do this. There’s no way. I just can’t! Even if I get up, how the heck will I make it down?!” I was frustrated, angry. Why wouldn’t my body do the things I wanted it to do. Why wasn’t I strong enough, healthy enough. Why did I think that I could even attempt this!? I’m not an "outdoorsy" person am I? I just play at one. My husband was so kind and encouraging, he kept telling me we can head back, that it was ok and I had already done so much, there was no shame in turning back. I’m truly not sure what it was in the end; my fear of failing or thoughts of letting my husband down, an inner strength I didn’t know I had, probably my stubborn pride - who knows, but we kept going. At each stage in the climb we'd check in with each other, "Well we made it past that, what's ahead can't be much worse right? Let's keep going. Just a few more steps and it will be worth it." We couldn't see what we were working toward, I had seen a picture in the guide book of what could be expected, the vista to look for, but along the way we kept getting a taste of the final view. We would step into a clearing and think, wow this is beautiful, we could turn back now and be happy. But we kept going because we knew that there was an even greater view hopefully just a few more feet away. We eventually made it to the top and took a deep breath. It was most definitely worth the trouble, worth the climb. It was not lost on me, as I stood there soaking in every minute of our win, the parallels to be drawn from our last 2 years fighting through breast cancer and our experience on that mountain. I was overwhelmed with gratitude for my body, my mind, my husband, my God - without them I know I’d have perished before even starting this fight. When I felt weak or tired, my mind let me rest and my body did the fighting. When I was focused on my own needs, my husband never wavered - gave everything for me and kept our house running smoothly every damn day. When I fall victim to fear and find myself overcome by the darkness of reality, my God reminds me of His truths and promises, His peace calms me and renews my hope each day. He provides rest along the way, beautiful views to step into and take a break; chances to reflect and appreciate the journey that we are on, all the while keeping our heart set on that final vista and propelling us forward. We made the slow and steady retreat back down the boulder-covered mountainside, and when we eventually returned to our house to rest for the afternoon I sat on the couch, my foot elevated on my husband's lap and I just smiled to myself. Because I knew in that moment, with him by my side, I could do anything, everything - and for him, I would. Including beating cancer and sticking around to live a long life by his side. We all have our own mountains to climb, our own battles to fight. They are all valid, they are each so personal and so important in shaping us into the people we are meant to be in this life. Steady your hearts and press on into the unknown. For it is in the fear that we are forged and the struggles that we find our truest selves. Lean into growth; personal, spiritual or otherwise. Take heart and have faith. I left a piece of my heart on top of that mountain and gained so much more in turn.

Completing chemotherapy is a huge milestone, and as a new survivor, you deserve to celebrate the strength and resilience that got you through treatment. But while chemo may be over, adjusting to life after can be both a relief and a challenge. Many survivors face emotional, physical, and mental shifts that require care, patience, and new coping strategies - I know I certainly did. Here’s a guide to help you navigate life after chemo with confidence, hope, and resilience. 1. Embrace Your New Normal – With Patience Life after chemo doesn’t mean returning to the “old you.” Your body and mind have been through significant changes, and it may take time to adjust to your new reality. Give yourself permission to embrace this new version of yourself, focusing on the strengths and lessons gained along the way. Remember that healing is not just physical but also emotional, and it happens on its own schedule, and it's rarely a linear process. 2. Take Care of Your Body Chemotherapy can leave lingering side effects such as fatigue, neuropathy, and weakened immunity. Recovery often means starting slow with self-care routines that support your body’s healing. Here are some tips: Exercise gently : Low-impact activities like walking, yoga, or swimming can help rebuild strength and improve mood. I'm partial to yoga and love the Peloton app for the live and pre-recorded yoga sessions. It's the perfect way to start my day and also gently stretch out my chest which still experiences muscle tightness from my surgery. Consider PT: One of the best things I did when I finished my treatment was to ask for a referral for physical therapy. I was worried about lymphedema, muscle pain, and tightness in my right breast and shoulder. The physical therapist worked with me on lymphatic drainage techniques and showed me exercises and stretches to help regain my pre-surgery mobility. It was some of the best time and money spent and helped me to jump-start my activity levels after finishing treatment. Stay hydrated : Chemotherapy can affect kidney function and hydration. Drinking water, herbal teas, and eating hydrating foods like fruits and vegetables can support recovery and help to flush out your system. Eat nourishing foods : Your body needs nutrients to heal. Focus on a balanced diet rich in antioxidants, proteins, and healthy fats to support your recovery. An anti-inflammatory diet will help your body fight off and prevent recurrences. 3. Be Kind to Your Mind The emotional journey after chemo is like a literal rollercoaster. The “survivor’s guilt” and also fear of recurrence are very real, and very common for most people. Allow yourself to process these emotions without judgment. Seek support : Whether through therapy or talking with fellow survivors, friends, and family - connecting with others can ease feelings of isolation and provide reassurance. Practice mindfulness : Breathing exercises, meditation, or gentle yoga can help ease anxiety and bring focus to the present - which is in fact a gift. Engage in activities you love : Doing things you enjoy and finding hobbies you missed while undergoing treatment can help rebuild your sense of self, joy, and purpose. 4. Set Realistic Goals for Returning to Work or Daily Life Getting back to a routine will take some time. I did not initially have the same mental focus, energy, and stamina I once did, so setting realistic goals is key: Consider a gradual return to work : If you’re returning to work, talk to your employer about a phased return. Adjusting back to a full schedule at your own pace helps you manage energy levels. Prioritize rest : Build rest into your day, especially as you transition back to daily life. Short naps or “power breaks” can give you energy boosts. Take one thing at a time : Reclaiming independence in daily activities like cooking, errands, and social outings is rewarding but can be tiring. Pace yourself and don’t feel pressured to do it all at once. 5. Address "Chemo Brain" and Cognitive Changes You've heard of "mommy brain" - well "chemo brain" is 10x worse, and imagine my situation - suffering from both "mommy brain" and "chemo brain" - the mental focus required to just get through a conversation with another human being can be exhausting. "Chemo brain" is a term of endearment for the changes in your memory, focus, and mental clarity post-treatment. Here are ways to help manage cognitive symptoms: Keep a journal : Writing things down can help organize thoughts, remember important tasks, and even process emotions. Use tools for reminders : Calendar apps, planners, and to-do lists can help you stay organized and relieve the pressure of trying to remember everything. Challenge your brain : Gentle activities like reading, puzzles, or learning new skills can gradually help improve focus and memory. 6. Allow Yourself to Celebrate the Small Wins Life after chemo is a journey with ups and downs. Celebrating even the small wins—like finishing a walk, enjoying a meal, or reconnecting with friends—can help you stay motivated and optimistic. Acknowledging progress, no matter how small can be incredibly empowering. 7. Plan for Follow-Up Care and Self-Advocacy Most people believe that once you finish your treatment, a cancer survivor's world will just return to "normal" but the reality is that survivorship includes regular follow-up appointments, scans, and blood tests. It’s normal to feel anxiety before these visits, but staying proactive in your care is crucial. Tips for managing follow-up care include: Keep a health journal : Note any physical or emotional symptoms, questions, and thoughts you’d like to discuss with your healthcare provider. Stay informed : Familiarize yourself with symptoms to watch for, but try not to dwell on every ache and pain. Be gentle with yourself while staying informed. Trust your instincts : If something doesn’t feel right, trust your gut and don’t hesitate to reach out to your healthcare team. 8. Focus on What Brings You Joy and Peace In the days after treatment, you may find that your priorities shift. You'll reevaluate what truly matters and what brings you joy and peace. For me, it will always be my family. Being a mom and doing everything I could to get as much time in this lifetime with my husband and my daughter, that was my 'Why' during treatment, and continues to be my purpose in finding joy and fulfillment in each day. 9. Seek Community and Connection You are not alone in this journey. Survivorship looks different for everyone but there are communities, both online and in-person, that can be a powerful source of comfort and encouragement. Talking to others who understand your experiences can validate your feelings and provide practical coping tips. Take Life After Chemo One Day at a Time Life after chemo is about rediscovering this new version of yourself - you've been through hell and back again, find ways to cope with and process the trauma while also learning to thrive in this new chapter. Be gentle with yourself, celebrate each step forward, and remember that you are strong, resilient, and capable. Taking things one day at a time will help you adapt and live life with a renewed sense of purpose, strength, and hope. You’ve already come so far—continue to embrace each day as it comes, and trust that you are equipped to face this new journey.

Man, I wish my biggest fear were the things that go bump in the night. But I am struggling. I don't think I expected to still be struggling so deeply in this way, at this point in my journey. According to my oncologist, I hit my 1-year anniversary back on diagnosis day, April 26. I think I'll still consider my 1-year cancer-free anniversary as the day of my lumpectomy - Oct. 20, 2021 - because that was the day that any last remains of cancer cells were cut out of me and a few days later is when my surgeon called and said we had "clear margins" and "clear lymph nodes," and it was only then that I actually felt lighter, safer, like a conqueror. But anyway, all that aside - you'll remember those "anniversary" dates are so important because each year gets me closer to the "5-year" milestone, which according to research and medical experts, is when my risk for recurrence and the possibility for cancer to return to my body drops dramatically to almost non-existent. I want to hit 5-years cancer-free more desperately than I've ever wanted anything in my life. I pray I might be able to breathe a bit easier then? Who knows if that will be true. But it's the story I'm telling myself right now. But I'm scared that in wishing for 5-years to come and go without lighting up a scan, I will miss out on actually living life these next 4-years because I'm so focused on making it to the next year cancer-free. "Ok 1-year down, only 4 to go. Ok, here's to year 2, just 3 more now." I don't want to look up and find that my daughter is 7 and I haven't really been there and present with her for her childhood. I would never forgive myself. I have to find some way to process through this trauma that has soaked deep into my bones. But my mind plays these horrible, vivid scenarios out for me to experience - the cancer comes back, it takes me away from everyone I know and love, the world keeps turning, my husband and daughter are forced to grow up and move on from me, I'm forced to watch it all happen from the sidelines - it paralyzes me, my throat constricts as the hot tears start to form in my eyes and roll swiftly down my cheeks. I am a mess. Why am I still such a mess?! I BEAT this f*cking disease... right? I'm trying to come to terms with the fact that I am going to be messy for a while, maybe forever. And that what people see of me might not always align with what I'm dealing with in my mind or my heart. But that's life, right? We're all afraid of something. Last night my daughter had a tough time falling asleep, I think that this Halloween season she's paying much more attention to the creepy and spooky things and they're making it hard for her to settle down and fall asleep. She kept crying out to me and begging me to come in her room and each time I did she had this look of terror on her face and tells me her room is spooky and she's afraid. I know that fear, I live it every day but mine manifests deep under the surface where others can't see it or protect me from it. But I as I sit here writing this, I think back to what I said to her last night to comfort her. I told her when I'm afraid I just talk to God. I explained that I close my eyes and take a deep breath and just ask God to calm my spirit and quiet my mind, to remind me that He's always with me and I don't have to be afraid. It sounds so simple, why was it so easy to comfort my daughter in her time of fear but when I'm in my anxiety and terror all I can find is darkness? Why is it so easy to forget? I don't have the answers really, all I know is when the fear creeps in and wreaks havoc on my mind the only thing that I've found to quiet my heart and calm me are the words and truth of the Lord and the advice, comfort and guidance from those that have walked this path before me. My main source of comfort right now is Lysa Terkeurst, a fellow breast cancer survivor and woman of faith. She wrote a book called Seeing Beautiful Again and it continues to chase the darkness away when I'm finding it hard to see the light in my story. "Father God, devastating circumstances have left me so weary. When things in my life feel so uncertain, I am tempted to shrink back in fear. But when I press into the truth of Your love, it leaves me hopeful. Even when my normal gets hijacked, thank You for the promise that You are the same yesterday, today, and forever. In Jesus' name, amen." - p. 71, Seeing Beautiful Again, a prayer from Lysa. I know I can't be the only one facing spooky times, and I don't mean the scary movie marathons that are running nightly on TV right now, and sometimes it can feel next to impossible to face each day. But I do know that when we name our fears, when we write them down or talk about them with people that genuinely care about us - we take away the power that they hold over our minds. It's in the processing and working through these very real fears that I find peace and presence on the other side. And being present for my daughter, for my husband, for this beautiful life we've built together - that was the whole point of beating this damn disease in the first place, I'm not about to miss out on living it well.

October 4, 2021 Make a plan, and then be ready to change everything. Everyone told me this over and over again about childbirth - and I've found that it applies to cancer treatment as well. As the timing for my lumpectomy procedure draws closer, I find myself spending more and more of my time pouring over the breast cancer treatment handbook that my oncologist and care team provided me at the beginning of my diagnosis. It really has a wealth of information and has proven to be very helpful when it comes to breaking down the situations that I am facing. I couldn't even look at it at the beginning of my journey, it felt too heavy - too real - too terrifying. But now, that I've crossed the chemo bridge and am pursuing what lies on the other side, it feels more like a comforting team member here to help me understand what I've been through and what is yet to come. And let me be frank, what is yet to come is not for the faint of heart. There are important choices that have to be made. Lumpectomy vs. mastectomy. Sentinel lymph node biopsy vs. axillary lymph node biopsy. And on and on - and you have to feel fully-confident, completely trusting the person that will be holding the knife when you go under. Because make no mistake, when you come out on the other side your life will never be the same - and in truth, your surgeon will have a huge role in determining if it's changed for the better, or God-forbid, the worse. Since Day 1, my care team had been hand-picked by my primary care physician - whom I trust implicitly. But when it came to my surgeon she had given me 2 recommendations - both from the same surgical clinic, but one of them was a woman who, back in April, was about to head out for maternity leave. So at the time, it made my decision pretty simple - I selected the surgeon that was available. He's great, truly. He's kind and comforting, easy to talk to and was always available to me, especially with the whole infected port and the post port-removal surgery situation. But he had told me himself at our first encounter, that a good portion of his patients are GI and general surgeries, he does breast surgical oncology of course - but it wasn't a dedicated portion of his patients. And as my breast surgery loomed ever closer, I must admit I was anxious and something in my gut was telling me to talk to my oncologist about my options and get his recommendation for my surgery. So that's exactly what I did. I set a special meeting with my oncologist and told him about my concerns, that I had been reading up on the procedure and was feeling anxious. He told me that it was good that I trusted my instincts and consulted his input - and he did in fact have a surgeon he would recommend, someone that focused the majority of their time on breast health surgery and studied under one of the greatest breast health surgeons in the state. And in true serendipitous fashion - his recommendation turned out to be the surgeon that my primary care physician had recommended back in April but that was headed out on maternity leave. She was back from leave and ready to take patients again. So I didn't hesitate, I called and set a consult with her for early October. I could tell when she walked in the room that she was whip smart. She was kind and compassionate, straight to the point, but took the time to explain every detail of my procedure to my husband and I. She didn't pull any punches; she outlined the possible complications, the expectations for the day-of, and what to anticipate post-op. She made that twisty-sour feeling in my belly settle down and I knew after she left the room that this was my surgeon and she was going to take the best care of me. I was feeling ready to get the ball rolling and I knew that she was going to take it all the way. And thus began what would become one of my most beloved physician relationships.

September 17, 2021 This is a hard season, I don’t think anyone would disagree with me on that. I have my bad days, those hard moments where the tears flow freely and my throat is tight and I just have to sit in those moments and feel them. Until I can come to terms, focus on my faith and hope, on my husband and my baby girl, and wade out of those dark waters. But then there are weeks like this one - that are marked by lengthy phone calls with my best friends - talking about everything and nothing, laughing about the funny things our kids have said and done, dreaming about the next time we’ll be able to get together, where we’ll go, what adventures we’ll plan. A week that’s been sprinkled with coffee dates with dear friends in town, time spent laughing, commiserating and supporting one another in friendship and fellowship and just knowing that this is why God made us. To love one another and build one another up and support one another, in the good and the bad and the beyond ugly that life throws at us. And the week might have hit peak when my husband and I snuck off for a movie date - the first time in almost 2 years - and we laughed and held hands and acted like, for just a moment, we didn’t have the weight of the world on our shoulders and we could just be kids in love, watching a movie at the theater, sharing a bucket of popcorn and forgetting about the world outside those doors. It can wait, it will be there when we’re done. God is the Great Redeemer. He can restore the things that seem beyond repair - I picture him standing before me like a poised Mary Poppins and with a snap of His fingers, the laundry folds itself back into the dresser drawers, the toys in the playroom all rewind and pop back into their baskets and my body is healed, reset to its’ former glory, made better than ever before. I know in my heart that I am going to beat this, in my mind I am resolved that there is no other option. I believe that God will carry me through this and that the expectation will be for me to help others navigate these tumultuous waters in the future. It’s been described to me by my friend Laura as the shittiest "calling” one could have bestowed upon them, and as I’ve said so many times before, certainly not one that I would ever choose. But I am choosing to trust in this plan that I do not know, cannot see. I am choosing to have faith in a God who saves. For all of these reasons, tonight - and for all my nights to come - I am beyond grateful.

Tuesday, September 7, 2021 I can hardly believe that the day has finally come. I know we always say it feels like summer flies by, but this time it really did feel that way. I remember back in April, being diagnosed, learning my treatment plan, counting out the days and weeks until chemo would be done. I knew that should we be able to stay on track, I would finish chemo the week after my brother’s wedding. And I remember hating myself knowing that my diagnosis and treatment would complicate my brother’s wedding-year, that it would take away from the joy and celebration that I wanted our family to be focused on. And I remember thinking that his wedding felt like a lifetime away, there was still so much to be done, it was going to be forever before he got married - it was going to be forever before I was done with chemotherapy. And as my husband held me in his arms as we slow-danced at John’s wedding reception, I looked into his eyes and started to cry a little. We were almost there. We were about to cross the finish line of what could only be described as the world’s worst marathon ever. We were going to make it, I was going to beat this. Last round of chemo. I got my blood drawn, everything looked solid. I got the IV in my hand - it still hurt, but I didn’t even care. I sat in that chair, I caught up on some work emails, messaged with my family and friends, took a short nap, and reveled in the fact that I would hopefully never have to set foot in that treatment wing again. And then I got a call from my husband - he asked if I could see the windows. And so I got up and walked over to the large windows at the back of the room - and what I saw made me start to cry. Cory had pulled together my mom, my nephew, our daughter, my father-in-law and my sister-in-law, they had all come to stand outside the treatment bay windows with posters to cheer me on through my final chemo! “We <3 Mommy!” and “Donut Mess with My Aunt Cassie!” covered in donut stickers, and “Cancer… Hear Her Roar!!!” with T-Rex cutouts plastered all over the poster board. I was completely overwhelmed by the gesture of love and support. And the chemo treatment wing was too - all the nurses and other patients in treatment began cheering, hoopin’ and hollerin’ - my heart about popped right out of my chest. Covid-19 had taken away the chance to have loved ones come and sit with me during treatments, but it wasn’t about to rob me of my final chemo celebratory moment, Cory and our families made sure of that. And when the treatment was over and it came time to walk out of there, it was surreal. I did my best to savor every footstep as I marched outta there. I prayed over that space as I headed out - Father, thank you for the nurses that cared for me. Thank you for the comfortable space to rest my weary body. Thank you for protecting me. Please watch over, protect and heal those that still have to come and sit in these chairs. Bring miraculous healing to this place. And dear Lord, please don’t ever bring me back here. Ever. Amen. Thursday, Sept. 9, 2021 I was supposed to go see my surgeon today to start talking about the lumpectomy and get the procedure scheduled. But I woke up with a pretty yucky congestion/cold/cough situation and felt it best to postpone the appointment - I knew it would be best for everyone. I ended up taking the day off to rest and slept for the majority of the day, and Cory stayed home to look after me. Neuropathy is also still hanging around, it has spread to both of my feet now. It’s a weird, frustrating feeling. Numbness in my toes and across parts of the bottoms of my feet, but thankfully it hasn’t spread to anywhere else at the moment. I’ve got a check-in with my oncologist next week so I’ll bring it up with him then. In the meantime, I’ve heard that acupuncture could be helpful in mitigating the side effects of chemo so I’m putting out a request for recommendations from my B-N friends for anyone that’s gone to an acupuncturist in town because Lord knows I don’t know where to start when it comes to looking for a good person to trust with this treatment. I’ll also be interested to hear my oncologist's opinion on acupuncture and if he thinks it’s safe and will help. Because the longer this persists, the more desperate I feel. Tuesday, Sept. 14, 2021 Had my routine post-chemo check-in with my oncologist. He was extremely pleased and ready to celebrate the final round of chemo with me. He commented on how well I handled the treatment and we discussed next steps. I had trouble sleeping the night before so I made a long list of questions to discuss with Migas. We talked through each one in detail. I asked about surgery and anything I should be aware of in order to prepare properly for the discussion with my surgeon. We talked about the neuropathy. I didn’t get the answer I was hoping for. He did say that he was glad to hear that the numbness wasn’t covering my entire foot and up my ankle, that that was promising. But he followed that up with, ”It could take a year, maybe longer, if it goes away at all.” But there was hope and things that I could try - a B-complex vitamin (B6 has healing properties apparently), CBD oil or topical ointment has been known to heal neuropathy and other side effects of chemo, and he was in favor of acupuncture as well. So I left the appointment with a list of things to try and luckily a friend of mine had recommended an acupuncturist to me late last week so I called straight away and got an appointment on the books.

Wednesday, Sept. 1, 2021 It is almost time for my brother's wedding!!! My brain is focused today on wrapping things up at work so everyone has what they need from me before we head out on PTO for the weekend. And it’s also on everything that needs to be done here (we have not started packing) before we can load up and hit the road. Lots on the brain, why not add one more thing. I met with my surgeon on Tuesday to check out the port-removal scar and he removed the sutures from the incision. When I left the appt. it seemed like everything looked good and was doing just fine. But today, I noticed the scar seems to be pulling apart and the only thing preserving the incision is what appears to be some kind of liquid bandage. I called my surgeon’s office and ended up texting a picture of the incision to his assistant. My Dr. said that he wasn’t concerned, it looks like it is coming apart a bit but that it should be alright. So I took his word for it and hopped in the shower. But the liquid bandage must not have liked that very much because I look down after a little time in the water and notice some red liquid (blood? Iodine?) running down my chest. A small hole had opened up in the liquid bandage and it was now leaking this fluid. My sincerest apologies - this is a pretty gross situation in my opinion, so please feel free to skip ahead. My Dr. called me later in the day and I told him that it had opened up more and a hole had materialized in the liquid bandage, but that we were planning to leave town tomorrow for the wedding and would be gone all weekend - I asked, "What should I do?" Again he reassured me that everything would be fine and that the infection probably left behind some fluid that needed to be drained and not to worry. Friday, Sept.3, 2021 The trip to Louisville was not bad at all, my girl did GREAT in the car - she slept for a few hours and then just played with her books, toys and watched the cars driving by until we arrived at the hotel. We woke up this morning and ate breakfast with my family and then headed out to the Louisville Zoo for the morning. It was a great day! We did a lot of walking. The giraffes walked right up to the fence but my little one was unimpressed. The elephants had a little baby in their pen, and yet she was was still pretty unimpressed. But when the hippo went swimming right by her face, she was entranced! And then the gorilla, man, you would have thought he was having the most important conversation with her, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. We then returned to the hotel for naptime and my husband accompanied my parents and brother to go set-up the rehearsal dinner venue. I rested a bit and then began getting ready for the dinner. Unfortunately, while I was getting ready, my port-removal incision opened -- all the way open. I was freaking out. It looked like I had been shot and dug the slug out of my chest; I know I can be a dramatic individual, but this is not a dramatization of the situation. I am not super squeamish, but this was about all I could handle. Liquid bandage - completely gone. It was very clear that God did not put me on this earth to be a doctor, yeesh. I sent a picture to my surgeon’s assistant and basically said “HELP!? What should I do?!” She said she’d send it to my surgeon. He called me in less than an hour’s time, thank goodness. I was thinking that we were going to miss the rehearsal because I’d be sitting in a Louisville emergency room waiting to get stitched up. But he once again assured me that this was nothing to panic about. I could pack the wound with gauze and cover it with a bandage, but that ultimately the wound would heal from the bottom up over time and everything would be alright. I was NOT alright. I was pretty much dissolving in panic - I felt completely alone because this seemed far too gross to share with anyone (who wants to see that?!) and it was a very important weekend for my brother and our family and I didn't want to pull focus, yet again, from the wonderful things in everyone's life. I had been doing enough of that all damn year. So I kept my anxiety fairly quiet and tried to pull myself together, finished getting ready because we had a wedding to prepare for. By that time Cory had returned, Peanut had woken up, and so we all got ourselves ready and headed out to the venue for what turned out to be an extremely beautiful evening. ---- For the rest of the weekend I would fill the wound with Neosporin and dress it with large, cumbersome bandages. Unfortunately for me, I was wearing an off-the-shoulder dress for the wedding, the bandage was very obviously visible, which I was self conscious of so I did my best to cover it with makeup (which of course did not really work). The ceremony was beautiful, full of meaning and sentiment, and the reception - well we danced the night away - my girl was completely in her element and enjoyed running around all over that pavilion. She stayed up way past her bedtime and loved every minute of it! ---- And sure enough, by Sunday I noticed that the wound was healing “from the bottom up” as my doctor had said it would. It still completely grossed me out, but it was getting shallower every day. But just as soon as one situation starts to right itself, something else goes a little sideways. I noticed over the weekend that my left foot was feeling odd, numb. I had chalked it up to all the walking we had done at the zoo in shoes that maybe didn’t have the best arch support. But I realized that it had been feeling that way since earlier in the week, maybe since Wednesday even, and now that feeling seemed to be spreading to my toes. I even noticed the odd sensation in my face - my nose and part of my cheek were numb, tingling. I had a hunch that this “odd feeling” I was experiencing was probably the neuropathy that I had heard described as a possible risk of the Taxol chemotherapy, and was definitely something I would need to address with my oncologist .

Thursday, August 26, 2021 Well today’s chemo made for an interesting challenge. Without a port, I have to have blood drawn from my arm and chemo medicine administered via catheter in my hand. The day went about as normal as it always does, only with the added complication and discomfort of the hand IV. I stand firm in the conviction that a hand IV is probably the most uncomfortable, at times painful, type of IV - and it makes everything more challenging. I wasn’t able to wear my ice gloves (that are supposed to help prevent neuropathy) and didn’t think to put the ice booties on before getting the IV so I ended up not putting those on either because it would have been too difficult to do without causing extreme pain in my hand. I'm praying that it won’t cost me in the long run, I’ve been lucky thus far and haven’t really had much trouble beyond some achy bones, restless muscles and the like. Because of the IV in my hand, I also did my best to limit movement as much as possible during the entire treatment administration. I mostly sat in the chair, watched some Netflix, slept and did my best to stay hydrated/push fluids. Trips to the bathroom were more difficult, as you can imagine, but thankfully I had the nurse put the IV in my non-dominant hand, definitely was the right call. I got home and was pretty tired so I ended up laying down to rest for the remainder of the afternoon. I saved up as much energy as I could for when Macy would come up, joy bubbling out of every pore, and we would giggle and cuddle and make the most of every moment together. Friday, August 27, 2021 Woke up feeling pretty wiped out and had a pretty bad headache. Also still pretty sore from the port-removal surgery. Decided to take a sick day and rest as much as possible. Hopefully will be feeling better tomorrow.