January 11, 2019

Killer Boob’s Fate, Genetic Gold Stars & Flamingo Pajama Miracles

OHMYGOSH OHMYGOSH OHMYGOSH!

The genetics counselor called tonight and—drumroll, trumpet fanfare, Oprah-level celebration—ALL TWENTY GENES ARE NEGATIVE! I repeat: NEGATIVE. Which means my cancer is a fluke. A weird, unlikely, one-in-eight, non-hereditary anomaly. Basically, I won the world’s worst lottery—but I didn’t pass it on. HALLELUJAH!

Even better? The right gal gets to stay! Cue Aretha Franklin’s “Sisters Are Doin’ It for Themselves.” Killer Boob (KB) still has to peace out, but her non-evil twin gets a stay of execution.

And if that wasn’t enough good news for one day…

Dancer and Prancer—my beloved breast MRI comfort squad—have officially returned to the North Pole. But guess what arrived in the mail today? Their replacements. FLAMINGO SLIPPERS. I almost fainted from joy. They’re currently sleeping on Steve’s pillow waiting for their debut. They’re ridiculous and perfect and absolutely need names.

But here’s what today really reminded me of:

Life-changing days aren’t always the big surgery days. Sometimes, it’s the day your kid cleans up dog poop without being asked. Or when a 7th grader compliments your haircut. Or when you eat lobster tacos with friends and come home to a bed turned down with fresh water on your nightstand. These are the “amazeballs” days. The unexpected, off-script, sneak-attack joy days.

So here’s today’s Scorecard

Highs: 4 bizillion
Lows: Zero

Little Things That Made Today Amazeballs:

• My mom sent me 47 photos of robes from the Arizona mall while my dad modeled them. #parentgoals
• Steve timed the coffee pot for 7:15am (true love).
• My boss brought me her stash of wild-caught fish to support my plant-based plan.
• A shy 7th grader said, “I like your haircut.”
• FLAMINGO SLIPPERS ARRIVED (did I mention that?).
• Garrett cleaned the yard. 🏆
• My friends fed me tacos and lobster (and didn’t make me do dishes).
• Grady sent me the cutest text.
• I came home to a clean room, turned-down bed, remote on my pillow.
• I joined a fitness club and worked out. Strong. Capable. Alive.

We hear it all the time—“it’s the little things.” And today? It was.
It wasn’t about biopsy results or scan dates.
It was coffee timers. Compliments. Clean bedrooms. Flamingo feet.
A day of grace and glitter. And for a girl who’s been living in a loop-de-loop of scans and statistics, this felt like being gently placed back on solid ground.

Letter to Self

Dear Me,
You did it. You waited for that phone call, heart pounding, brain spinning, stomach queasy. And then…JOY.
You’re allowed to exhale now.
To cry happy tears.
To wear the damn flamingos.
You don’t always have to be the warrior. Sometimes you get to just be.
Let yourself enjoy the miracle of nothing being wrong with your genes.
You’re a little weird, but you’re genetically clear.
Love,
Me