Pink Door House

I plopped indelicately....my irritation puffing in a small cloud—then settling back down around me. I told myself I was “regrouping” but truthfully...I was just letting in all the prickly feelings. It wasn’t anything. Really. A day that wasn’t well planned, toys all over the place, no one liked dinner. Again.... I defaulted to the mindless scroll of Facebook before slugging through the bedtime routine (and those inevitable complaints). But there’s danger relying on Facebook

"My Mommy doesn't have cancer." We were two-thirds into our Inheritance of Hope Kendra Scott Legacy Retreat. This retreat was exclusively for families with children who have a parent with metastatic breast cancer. Each morning we were divided into small groups, the kids by age. In front of London and Quinn were a couple eggs and a Sharpie, and they got to write anything they felt "sick of." And for all of the kids in the room, their eggs read Cancer. All of them except mine.

Does this angle make my wounds look open to you? I'm looking in the bathroom mirror after my shower. The eucalyptus scented vapors are dissipating. Eucalyptus, because the jury is still out on the relationship between lavender and estrogen and hormone positive breast cancers.... The adhesive used on my port site last week caused a reaction. And instead of going away, it's creeping across my sternum. An area that was scraped to bone during my 9 hour mastectomy. A tender area t

"These are Third Grade monkey bars." Quinn had climbed the three-step ladder and stretched her arms to demonstrate the bars were just beyond her reach. The sun was bright, the afternoon was mild, and when I fetched the girls from kindergarten, we peeled sweaters and walked to the playground instead of the car. They were showing off their new favorite skills and pass times. Quinn...climbing. London...evading spider webs. (As a side note, one of these apples fell closer to the

October 1st. The starting line of that marathon called Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Though if you were to walk through the Pink Door House right now, you could look around and quickly surmise that October started pushing it's weight around here sometime in mid-September. I felt it, truly felt it, last night. I was frantically digging through our mountain of clean laundry...sure that there must be one more pair of clean little girl underwear...when the puppy peed. On the flo

Four days to Forget Cancer. A year ago, I wrote those words in this post about a long weekend spent at Priest Lake. It's still true. It's still my place. This July, Mom and Dad rented a house on the beach for a full week... Perfection. Our own little spot to master sand castle engineering. Clear, shallow waters for hours of splashing. My mom's collection of no less than 37 floaties. (My personal favorite: an oversized tube with a mesh bottom so I could sit in the cool lake wa

Big news! I am honored to be nominated for a 2017 WEGO Health Award alongside two of my IBC (S)Heroes. From TheIBCNetwork.org: WEGO Health Awards were created to embody the mission of WEGO Health: to empower Patient Leaders. They connect with countless patient advocates, influencers, and experts who are helping others and transforming healthcare–often without recognition. Since the WEGO Health Patient Leader Network is centered around these healthcare transformers, we knew it

Instead of my usual two hour drive east, I'm receiving chemo in the local hospital today. The one where I gave birth to Eli three years ago. In many ways, it all began in this building. The sounds from those memories are out of harmony with the IV drip. Memories of the first time I cried through breastfeeding my newborn son, just three floors above where I'm sitting through treatment. I often wonder whether the threads of his story will ever become untangled from those of my

I read recently that parenting is simultaneously celebrating accomplishments and milestones, while grieving each stage that is left behind. In the fall, London and Quinn will start kindergarten. May brought with it preschool graduation...one step closer to those long days where their giggles fill classroom walls instead of the Pink Door House. Bittersweet. When I was first diagnosed with Inflammatory Breast Cancer, I read that the average life expectancy was 33 months. The gi

"Umm...why is there a dent in my arm?" We were both brushing our teeth. Getting ready to face the day. Preschool drop-off. Milk run. Mediating decisions like Octonauts versus My Little Pony. We live large. The fleshy part of my arm, just below my elbow, was firmer than usual and sporting a welt about the size of my thumb. Another reminder that complications after cancer treatment don't evaporate after ringing that graduation bell. They just....change. Don't get