"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.
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
Life provides plenty of irony when you are in your mid-30's and have Stage 4 cancer. Take my favorite example...faithfully applying anti-aging eye cream each night. Or this.... After receiving an article from my dad about how melatonin suppresses breast cancer growth, I spent several late nights plugged into my iPad screen, reading up on the topic. Ishouldhavebeensleeping.......... The study was from Michigan State University, where researchers found that melatonin, when appl
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
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
If childbirth was intimidating, chemotherapy was terrifying. I received treatment at Cancer Care Northwest, in Spokane. My imaging had generated some confusion among the doctors and radiologists. While the rest of the body was clear, the opposite (left) breast lit up with energy on the PET scan. This would normally be an indication of cancer cells. But since I was still producing milk, there was no way to determine if this was cancer or lactation. They settled on a diagnosis