Pink Door House

The t-shirt. It was propelled into popularity when Marlon Brando bared his (and his biceps) in A Streetcar Named Desire. (That's right... I'm using my Apparel History classes!!) They are an iconic part of American fashion. We dress them up and down. Buy them in every color imaginable. Wear them to say where we have travelled, who we are voting for, our favorite team. Wearing t-shirts as a means of self-expression became popular in the 1960's. For me, it began in my teens. I l

It was girls' night out...I had finished chemotherapy and was taking a break at home in Moses Lake. I went out for sushi and wine with the wonderful women--other young moms--who had buoyed my little family through prayers and meals. I never felt more anchored to this community than I did that night. One friend fessed up that she made "soup" for dinner for her husband and Littles, combining a few different leftovers and a healthy dose of broth. Yum? We'll give her a pass...she

It all started with a dress. My friend Cyndi is one of those people who anticipates your needs before you even realize them yourself. I mean..how many of your friends sent Dulcolax after your mastectomy? She also knows my tendency to come across as lukewarm when I am overwhelmed.... and calls my bluffs. So when she said LuLaRoe was positevelythebestthingever, and I said meh, she still sent the dress. Let me say right now, this is not a sponsored post. I'm not getting paid for

Today, I just need to vent. I am so sick and tired of looking in the mirror and seeing a completely different person than the one who started this journey. I used to have long hair - now it's short. I'm overweight and uncomfortable. I hate wearing my "foobs," but if I don't wear them, I look like an old man with a beer belly. Those words aren't mine, but they could have been. They were a post in my online support group. A post that received dozens of comments (a few of them a

My double mastectomy at MDAnderson was scheduled to be six hours long. It took eight and a half. After I said goodbye to Jason and was rolled into the operating room, it got terribly real. Through the haze of medication I was aware that the room was cold. Bright. Very large. And very busy. All of these people here for me? I hear words of comfort. The sound of the voice mattered more than the words. I couldn't stop crying. I very much wanted this to be someone else's story. I

As summer drew to a close, so did chemo. Again. This time the champagne and bubble-blowing were replaced by anxiety. We all had the same questions. Was the second blend of chemo effective? Sustainable? I began to pick up on a discord between my two doctors...the surgeon would not operate if my response was not complete. She held firm that the oncologist would need to find something else to try. The oncologist was in favor of a more aggressive approach to surgery. If the cance

In the weeks between chemo ending and surgery scheduled (last June), I worried about All The Small Things. How would my clothes look? How many weeks before I could lift my baby? Cuddle my daughters? Would I be in pain? Would I be in A LOT of pain? The thought that I might hear that terrifying word, inoperable, never crossed my mind. After the 18 weeks of Taxotere and Carboplatin, I had a PET scan. My lymph nodes were clear of cancer, there were merely traces in the breast tis