February 2, 2019

There’s something weirdly satisfying about smacking a cloth doll against the kitchen counter while yelling profanities. Highly recommend.

Dammit Doll to the Rescue (Also, a Pathology Report…)

Meet the Dammit Doll. She reemerged from storage right on time. Once gifted to me during another stormy season, she’s been making the rounds in our house this week—being slammed into walls and furniture by me, Steve, and occasionally a kid who “just needed to see what it feels like.”

Pain management has been a bit of a circus. But we’ve figured out a new med routine (Tylenol + not being a hero = less pain and no headaches). After a morning call with Dr. Harrington, we got clearance to up my dose. Apparently, trying to tough it out is…not helpful. Who knew?

Leave it to my body to throw a plot twist on a Saturday when no one’s around. I started getting strange cramping sensations near my non-boob (yes, that’s the technical term). Like a phantom muscle doing crunches without my consent. Sadly, Fitbit doesn’t give points for this kind of effort.

Dr. Harrington kindly returned my call herself (bless her) and confirmed it’s rare, but—like everything with me—still technically normal. Probably a pain response. More meds. More flamingos. More kettle corn.

Then she gave me the real news: my pathology report came back.
Good news: Clear margins.
Less good news: Cancer was found in one of the two lymph nodes removed.
Ugh.
Even less good news: Microscopic cancer cells were also found in the nipple that we had hoped to keep.

Translation? Chemo is still a go. Now we add radiation. Possibly more surgery. Probably more difficult days ahead. And while my brain briefly spiraled into the “This Is Too Much” zone, I snapped back because—guess what? We already knew this could happen. And now we just keep going.

There is so much to still be grateful for:

• My mom, making casseroles like it’s her full-time job.
• Stacie arriving in a cow print bathrobe, restoring my will to live.
• Kim’s chicken enchilada soup.
• Tami, who brought gifts and laughter and reminded me that this ride isn’t all doom and gloom.
• A long, hot shower yesterday (yes, I cried with joy).
• The triumphant mailbox walk today. Big stuff happening over here.

The truth is: the hard part isn’t over. We’ve only just begun. But love lives here. And every casserole, every sock that says “F*ck Cancer,” every giggle over flamingos makes me believe in something bigger than this disease.

The fight doesn’t end after surgery. It’s layered. Messy. Long. But healing is never a solo sport—and this team? We’re unstoppable.

Letter to Self

Dear Me,
You didn’t get the lucky break you were hoping for—but you’re still standing. You’re still laughing. You’re still fighting. Today hurts, but tomorrow might bring sunshine or soup or a reason to smile again. Keep going, warrior.
Love, Me