Cut That Killer Boob Off: Clarity, Love, and the Road Ahead

January 4, 2019

Time gets weird when you’re fighting cancer. Days stretch long like taffy, then somehow melt into weeks. But when you finally get answers—actual, clear direction—it feels like a deep breath after holding it for days.

Hey lovies. I know I’ve been quiet. Not because I didn’t want to share, but because this week has been a whirlwind of coffee, pathology calls, and calendar chaos. Thank you for sticking with me, for praying, for texting, for every kind-hearted nudge. Steve and I feel it all. Deeply.

Yesterday we got the New Year’s Eve biopsy results. And weirdly, we’re calling it good news.

Here’s the deal: both of the smaller tumors are invasive ductal carcinoma—hormone positive, HER-2 negative, just like the original jerk. They’re all located in my left breast and together they make up around 7 cm of cancer.

Which means: mastectomy.
No guessing. No second-guessing.
No “do we try to save the boob or not?”
Just: cut that killer boob off. Done.

There’s something strangely empowering about not having to make that decision myself. It feels clear, concrete. And I like that.

We also met with the genetic counselor. My blood is en route to the lab to check for inherited mutations. If something turns up (like BRCA), we’ll most likely go bilateral mastectomy and take preventative measures. If not, it might be just the left.
Funny side note: I’m apparently 3% Jewish which means Jesus literally runs in my veins and my test is covered by insurance.
Win-win. 🙏

But the biggest blessing?
We have FIVE whole days of no poking, no prodding, no medical anything.
No one will fondle me with latex gloves or offer me a hospital gown for almost a week. Praise be.

Next week’s lineup includes:

• Tuesday: A 4-hour consult with Valley Medical’s full treatment team
• Consults with the Breast Reconstruction doc & Overlake Surgeon
  By then, we should have a solid plan.
  HALLELUJAH.

Today, though, we celebrate love.
Two years ago today, I met Steve at Jay Berry’s Café. He wore a Seahawks sweatshirt, his hat was backwards, and he had a grin that could melt glaciers. I knew. Instantly.
Today is our anniversary—two years since that first breakfast date. Three months into marriage. And now, facing cancer together.

It’s not fair. But it is holy.
He is my rock, my love, my soft place to land. God knew what He was doing when He had me swipe right on that Bumble profile.

So here we go. Clarity. Courage. A plan.
Buckle up, 2019. It’s going to be a wild, beautiful ride.

Sometimes clarity doesn’t feel like joy—it feels like certainty. But certainty is a gift when everything else feels uncertain. We don’t always get to choose our paths. But we d get to love each other fiercely along the way.

Letter to Self

Dear Me,
You didn’t get what you wanted. But you did get what you needed.
A plan. A partner. A purpose.
You’ve cried enough to salt a small ocean, and still—you wake up, crack a joke, and put on reindeer slippers.
You are doing this.
Cut that killer boob off, and don’t look back.
Love,
Me