On asking the right questions and the importance of a healthcare advocate 

Posted on December 12, 2024 | 2 comments

Wow! Yesterday was a day! I’ve always thought of myself as a healthcare advocate—someone who asks the tough questions, navigates complex systems, and helps others feel empowered to make their own health decisions. Yesterday, I realized just how different it can be when you’re advocating for yourself.

What I learned is that having a healthcare advocate isn’t just important—it’s critical! You need someone in your corner who can look at a situation from multiple perspectives, who checks, double-checks, and follows up on every question, making sure everything is clear. I hope in sharing this experience I will help others avoid this pitfall.

Here’s what happened: In June, my medical oncologist in California put me on two medications—Anastrozole to suppress estrogen and progesterone and reduce the chances of the breast cancer coming back, and Venlafaxine, to help manage the hot flashes and other menopause-like symptoms caused by the hormone suppression. Venlafaxine is typically used as an antidepressant, but for me, it was all about managing side effects.

Normally, I’m incredibly thorough when it comes to my healthcare. I research every option, weigh the side effects, and think carefully about alternatives. But this breast cancer journey has been different. I’ve been trying to keep up with it all while leaning on my amazing husband Andrew, my fantastic medical and surgical teams, and the open, collaborative conversations we’ve had. Even so, I learned yesterday that I don’t always ask the right questions—and it’s made these last two weeks feel way longer than they should have.

I didn’t love the side effects of these medications, so I talked to my Las Vegas medical oncologist about going off them for about a month. With our honeymoon/Christmas/New Year cruise coming up, I wanted to feel like myself again, free from side effects. She agreed, saying I should know what “normal” feels like and we’d reassess after the cruise. At least, that’s what Andrew and I thought she said.

Turns out, we weren’t quite on the same page. She saw Anastrozole as my cancer treatment and Venlafaxine as an antidepressant. I saw them both as part of my cancer treatment—Anastrozole to treat, Venlafaxine to manage side effects. So when she said to stop “the meds,” I assumed she meant both. She didn’t. 

Two weeks ago, I went cold turkey off both medications, thinking it was the logical thing to do. If I didn’t need the Anastrozole, I wouldn’t need Venlafaxine, right? Wrong. What I didn’t realize was that stopping Venlafaxine suddenly would lead to intense withdrawal symptoms—way worse than the side effects I’d been trying to avoid. The past couple of weeks have been awful. I couldn’t sleep (or if I did, I had vivid nightmares), I was constantly bouncing between feeling too hot and too cold, had headaches, nausea, dizziness—you name it.

I’ve supported friends and family through antidepressant withdrawal, so I know how important it is to taper off these medications. But I wasn’t thinking of Venlafaxine as an antidepressant; I thought of it as a tool to handle side effects from my cancer treatment. It didn’t even cross my mind to ask about withdrawal effects, and my doctor didn’t bring it up either. She just told me I’d feel better and to enjoy the cruise.

Fortunately, I had an appointment with her yesterday and I realized my mistake.  As soon as I got home, I started taking Venlafaxine again because I don’t have time to taper off safely before the cruise. I’m already feeling so much better and should be back to normal in a couple of days.

This has been a tough lesson, but I’m taking it forward with two new questions to ask: “How long do I need to take this?” and “What happens when I stop?” I’m hoping these questions will save me and others from this kind of experience in the future. For now, I’m focusing on feeling good and making sure our cruise is everything Andrew and I want it to be—magical!

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Posted in Breast Cancer, Communication and Healthcare

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Reflections on the slog that is cancer recovery on a beautiful autumn day

Posted on November 16, 2024 | 2 comments

When I started my breast cancer journey, I promised to be open and transparent about all of my experiences. The last few months I have been uncharacteristically quiet. The reason is that this is a truly difficult experience.

But let me set the context first, I literally could not have had better outcomes. After my double mastectomy, test results indicated that they got all the cancers with clean margins and no lymph node involvement. My oncotype score, which indicates the likelihood of cancer recurrence, is very low. I didn’t need chemo or radiation and I only have to take aromatase inhibitors for five years. If I don’t take them, there’s a 5% chance that the cancer may come back in the next nine years. If I take them for the full five years, there’s a 3% chance. I could not ask for better odds. 

That said, this is a slog. I am very aware that other people’s experiences and outcomes are  harder and more difficult than my own. I feel for them, and I wish them success in their journeys. 

I’ve come to realize that no matter whether you are on the worst end of the spectrum or the best end of the spectrum, this journey should not be about comparison and it’s difficult regardless. The fight for life from cancer is always a big deal. It’s clearly a big deal at the worst of times. In my case, it’s also a big deal at the best of times. After my first surgery, I had a lot of pain and recovery was difficult and complicated. I was in the hospital for three days for what was supposed to be an overnight visit because they could not get my pain under control. This was largely a matter of nursing staff not being concerned about being timely in the administration of pain meds. Unfortunately, when you break the cycle of pain medication, you have to start over.  My worst pain was searing pain across my back from my right side around to the center of my chest on the left. I wrote about this pain in an earlier post. I defined this pain as a red fire dragon. It stayed with me for months. In addition to that, my whole body ached. Everything hurt. 

Over the next 6 weeks, I slept a lot both to manage pain and to deal with the reality of what I had gone through, what felt like a betrayal by parts of my body I had valued. I also wrote about this in an earlier post about saying goodbye to my breasts.

I couldn’t lift my arms for weeks. I also wasn’t allowed to shower for a month. That meant that my husband had to wash me, dress me, brush my hair, brush my teeth, anything that needed to be done with my body, I needed his assistance. The only way I could leave the hotel was in a wheelchair and the only walking I was permitted to do was from my bed to the door of the room and to the bathroom. And I wasn’t allowed to do laps. 😊 My doctor figured me out pretty quickly. He knew that I would push to recover as quickly as I could. As it turned out, there was no quickly. I couldn’t push. I had to give my body the time it needed to recover and heal.

I’m lucky. My husband is so loving, compassionate, and caring, he could not have made me make feel more comfortable and loved throughout this adventure. 

Following my reconstruction surgery, the pain has been less, but the side effects from the aromatase inhibitors, the meds I have to take for five years, are intense.

I’m tired all the time. I have a pretty constant headache. My body is fatigued. I’m nauseous a lot. I have joint and muscle pain. And while I am in less pain, it’s somewhat more frustrating because I feel that I should be able to do more. My biggest lesson on this journey has been patience. I need to give myself grace as I go through this process. 

No. I’m not my usual self. I’m more focused inward than usual, but that’s necessary. I reach out when I can, but that’s much less than usual and that’s one of the most difficult things for me to accept. I know that I will be myself again. It hasn’t even been six weeks since my second surgery and I’m still healing and on modified house arrest. I am allowed to go out and walk a bit, but I’m still wrapped and wearing binders, until next Tuesday.

I’m an optimist. Yesterday my husband took me to my favorite Rose Park. I walked a bit, but mostly, I just sat and breathed in the sunshine and the beautiful Vegas, autumn weather with my favorite seasonal Starbucks beverage. As usual, I came home and took a nap. I will get through this. 

To anyone else who is on this journey, the most important thing I have learned is that there is no roadmap for cancer recovery. I have looked for one almost nonstop. I find myself wondering if what I’m going through is “normal”. There is no normal. Listen to your body. Stay patient. Give yourself grace. Notice the beauty around you. Breathe. 

Playing with the portrait function on my new phone

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Posted in Breast Cancer, Claiming my voice on this cancer journey, Double Mastectomy, Health and Healing, Uncategorized

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Lemonade, silver linings, and the long road home

Posted on December 10, 2025 | 2 comments

The last two weeks have marked some watershed moments for me. Some involved making lemonade out of lemons, some required spotting the silver lining in an exhausting week, and one of them – quite literally – meant finding my way home. 

What should’ve been a straightforward procedure to treat Andrew’s common prostate issue turned into a seven day hospital stay. Because his discharge kept getting pushed back, a day at a time, I stayed with him the entire week. Thankfully I’m retired and self-employed, so that part was easy. 

Andrew is intelligent, personable, funny, easy-going. He can talk to anyone and his humor lights up the room. What he isn’t is an especially good advocate for himself. To be fair, most people aren’t. So for seven days, I was hypervigilant, making sure nothing fell through the cracks. I built relationships with nurses who helped us navigate doctors who were not necessarily responsive. I stayed on top of his pain management schedule and monitored all his stats. I asked for what he needed assertively, respectfully, and relentlessly. 

But my biggest challenge wasn’t supporting Andrew. My biggest challenge was driving us the 40 minutes home after he was released.

A little context: 

Over the last couple years, following multiple medical procedures, I’ve developed some common, but unfamiliar anxiety issues. White coat syndrome –  strong flight and, more recently, fight responses when I’m preparing for or attending a doctor’s appointment, and most unexpectedly, anxiety about driving.

After my retina partially detached in November 2022 requiring two repair surgeries, I wasn’t comfortable driving. I tried to start driving again several times, but the glare of the sun and shifting lights and shadows, my distorted vision, and aggressive, unpredictable Las Vegas drivers were too much. Then, came my breast cancer diagnosis and treatment – more surgeries and recovery. First, I couldn’t drive and by the time I could, I just didn’t feel like it. I’d found other ways to get where I wanted to go. I continued to put it off. I’d drive when I was ready, or when I had to – I didn’t really expect to have to. 

Driving us home from the hospital was my first real “have to” moment. To my surprise, I had no anxiety. No distress. No fear. I took the highway part of the way and busy city streets the rest. When we pulled into our garage, I exhaled and let pride wash over me. I’d done it!

That night I realized that this was one of those moments when life hands me lemons and, without even thinking about it, I make lemonade. It wasn’t a moment I sought out or prepared for — it just arrived, unexpected, and I showed up. I came through. I did what needed to be done. I decided I didn’t have to drive again anytime soon, but I knew I could if I needed to. 

The universe had other plans. 

Over the next several days, I needed to drive, a lot. The day after Andrew‘s release from the hospital, I had to drive him back to the emergency room 40 minutes from our home. This time, I drove highways all the way through sometimes easy, sometimes heavy, almost stop-and-go traffic. Again, I was comfortable, calm, and secure the whole way. The next night, a late night ER run had me driving through dark city streets and road construction. I stayed calm. The following day I drove myself to my annual physical exam appointment. Then today I drove Andrew to and from another doctor’s appointment. 

I guess I’m driving again.

More context: 

For most of my adult life, driving has meant freedom. I love to explore. I love to be spontaneous and just get in the car and go somewhere. I also love to plan trips and visit new and exciting destinations. I love the freedom to go anywhere I want to go at any time. I didn’t realize losing that freedom was one of the quiet losses of the last few years. 

Apparently the universe has decided I don’t need that fear any more. I’ve been surprised by my confidence and lack of anxiety while driving. I feel like this is a strong step toward regaining independence lost due to physical issue, after physical issue, after physical issue over the last three years. To be honest, i still feel some reluctance to drive, but every day it’s getting easier.

So where am I now?

I guess we’ll know when I cut loose on my first solo road trip. Until then, I’m happy with interstates, city streets, and trips to accomplish tasks and run errands. 

In a very powerful way, I’m reclaiming myself, my independence, my freedom – one glass of lemonade, one silver lining, and one mile at a time. 

My love!!! 🩷🩷🩷
Roadtrip ready!!!

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Posted in Avoidance, Driving anxiety, Health and Healing

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Cutting Free: Hair as a symbol of play, power, and transformation. 

Posted on September 27, 2025 | 2 comments

I’ve always viewed my hair as a toy. It’s been pixie short to waist length and everything in between. It’s been blonde, pink, an almost black brown, and now silver. I’ve had combinations of green, blue, turquoise, purple, and pink highlights. For me, hair has always been a symbol of play, creativity, and celebration. 

Now, it’s something more. It’s a symbol of motivation, of transformation. Today, I whacked it all off—a declaration of freedom, independence, and a commitment to move forward in power and positivity.

Let me explain. The past three years brought physical  challenge after physical challenge that led me to live reactively, often in fear, rather than proactively, and positively as I typically do. Surgeries for a partially detached retina and an injured knee, pneumonia, vertigo, and breast cancer each forced me to slow down, to recover, and to face fear in ways I never had before. They left marks not only on my body, but on my spirit. I’ve been sad, fearful, and negative more often than for any extended period in my life. I’ve felt stuck! Worst of all, I’ve been mean to myself in the things I’ve thought and the judgments I’ve made about myself. I would never allow anyone to say the things I’ve said to myself.

Without making a conscious decision, I stepped off the reactivity path onto a path of choice and action a couple months ago when I started working out in the pool every day. So today, I did a thing. A powerful, meaningful, positive thing. I got my long gorgeous hair whacked off into a short, sassy style that I completely love. I collected my hair so that I can donate it to Wigs for Kids. 

My hair has always mirrored my spirit. But when life pushed me into survival mode, my spirit dimmed. Today, cutting my hair wasn’t just a style choice—it was a line in the sand, a symbolic, liberating choice. Bonus: It’s also easier to take care of this way. 

I know life will keep bringing me challenges. But today, I choose to meet them not with scarcity and fear, but with short, sassy hair—and a commitment to abundance and joy.

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Posted in Breast Cancer, Choosing abundance over scarcity, Healing

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Celebrating a perfect day: Simple pleasures, joy, and laughter 

Posted on May 1, 2025 | Leave a comment

Sometimes perfect days happen with a lot of fanfare – celebration, music, good food, maybe some dancing, people coming together to honor a special occasion. A marriage. A graduation. A new job. A new baby. Celebrations that recognize major life events.

Sometimes perfect days are so quiet and calm and beautiful that you can miss them if you aren’t paying attention. Sometimes they’re about what you’ve done or will do. Sometimes they’re about just being in the precious moments. 

I just had a perfect day. There wasn’t a lot that was extraordinary about it. It was just time spent getting little things done and also just being. 

I woke feeling strong and grounded. I was going to start my walking plan so I went out for a relaxed, leisurely walk. I didn’t have any distance or time plans. I just wanted to walk as far as I was comfortable and then come home when I was ready. I walked .97 miles. I know for someone who used to do 6 miles a day that’s not a lot, but I felt powerful. I haven’t walked much by myself at this point. The distortion in my vision caused by the winkle in my left retina and everything I’ve gone through with the breast cancer, diagnosis, surgeries, and recovery have kind of put me off my balance game again. But this morning, I had it. I felt so free and it was so lovely outside. 

I exited the condo to birdsong. I felt like I was being greeted and welcomed back into the world. Hummingbirds, mourning doves, and pigeons were the most vocal. But there were also robins, thrushes, and blackbirds raising their voices on this glorious morning. A neighbor was drying laundry and I could smell the warm, slightly scented air of fabric softener. I’ve always loved that smell. Snapdragons, pansies, and roses delighted my eyes, as did the xeroscape landscape with cacti and rock gardens throughout the complex. I was fully present in the moment and I loved it. 

When I came in from my walk, I made my breakfast shake and sat down to wait for sales people to come and talk with me about flooring for our condo. We’ve been trying to get new floors in our condominium since before we moved in. It’s been a challenge because of HOA regulations. We’ve researched multiple places and just couldn’t find products that met sound requirements. Without much hope, I contacted a place that was having a great promotion, explained my needs, and requested that they only send samples that met the HOA requirements. And they did! I had 11 samples to choose from, all of which met the requirements. That was a delightful win! 

Then Andrew and I went out to one of our favorite hangouts for lunch, talked, laughed, and played games together on his phone. It was lovely, a playful, happy time together. 

Then we decided to get psychic  readings done. I got them for Andrew for his birthday. It was fun. I liked how the reader saw Andrew‘s and my connection, our individual strengths, and the power of our relationship. While I was getting my reading, Andrew went to a popcorn store nearby and surprised me with my favorite popcorn – part caramel corn, part cheddar cheese. I learned about this combination years ago while in the Chicago airport heading to an academic conference. A friend recommended it to me. Yum! Then Andrew took me for a custard at an old-fashioned ice cream parlor. It felt like the sweetest mini date! 

We do wonderful, joyful things together all the time. But sometimes it’s really cool just to make it a date and to say that’s what it is and just do little things where we’re 100% focused on one another and ourselves. It was really special! 

After we got home, we snuggled and watched silly TV for a while. It was such a delightful way to end the day. I love how easy and open and connected we are. Andrew works at 4 AM, so he goes to bed early. I never want special days to end, so I stay up late. I found myself not wanting the day to end, so I got up to game with Stef. My son is my late night WOW partner. 

What a wonderful day of little moments and just being together, of being fully present. Sometimes perfect days aren’t made up of fanfare and celebration. They’re made up of simple, quiet moments of connection and love. 

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My Breast Cancer Journey: The Gift of 2 Days Feeling Like Myself

Posted on March 3, 2025 | Leave a comment

The last 2 days have felt magical. I have felt 100% like myself. I have felt present in my body, comfortable in my emotions, full of energy and love. I have felt like me. That is a big statement as I haven’t felt like me since I was diagnosed with breast cancer had a double mastectomy in May and went on cancer treatment meds in June.

I wrote about some of this before, but to manage the side effects from my breast cancer treatment, the first medical oncologist I saw last June, put me on anastrozole to suppress my hormone production and 75 mg of venlafaxine a day to manage hot flashes and other side effects of the anastrozole. 

I should’ve asked more questions. I should’ve been more vigilant. I was a great advocate for myself in terms of not wanting some of the side effects that the anastrozole was likely to create. However, I was not vigilant enough about the remedy that he chose. 75 mg of venlafaxine, an antidepressant, changed my brain chemistry. In the words of my second medical oncologist, I might have thought I was treating hot flashes but my brain thought something else. 

With her agreement, I decided to go off my cancer medications a month prior to our honeymoon cruise to the West Indies over Christmas and New Year’s. I wanted to see what it felt like to feel “normal”. 

I know it’s dangerous to go off antidepressants cold turkey but I didn’t realize I was on one. What followed was a 12-day ugly-crying spree. I don’t think I’ve ever cried that much in my entire life, over anything. Those of you who know me well know both that I have gone through some pretty cry worthy experiences in my life (haven’t we all), and that I cry easily and with no shame. In the words of Jude Law’s character in Holiday, “I’m a major weeper”. I cry at poignant movies. I cry when I’m happy. I cry when I’m sad. You get it. I cry. But this was different. I felt so low emotionally and I cried uncontrollably, almost constantly. It wasn’t until two weeks later that I had an appointment with my medical oncologist and she informed me of my error, that I could not go off venlafaxine cold turkey. So I went back on it. Not what I wanted to do, but I also didn’t want to spend our honeymoon cruise crying.

On January 8, after returning from our cruise, my doctor and I came up with a plan to safely wean me off the venlafaxine. She shifted my dosage from 75 mg a day to 37.5. She wanted me to take this dosage daily for 21 days, then reduce it further to every other day. I completely weaned myself off the medication five days ago. The first couple days I had moments where I felt hyper emotional, but they were short-lived. I felt optimistic. I felt that I could do this.

And yesterday was the gift I had been waiting for. I woke refreshed, ready to start the day, and happy. No distress. This is how I typically wake up, at least I did until last April. 

I don’t know what decision my medical oncologist and I will make when I see her this week about resuming my cancer medication. That will be largely determined by my tumor markers and my decisions about quality of life and the risk of cancer recurrence. Initially, my odds were very low. I hope that is still the case. I do know that feeling like myself is a godsend.

On our cruise

I want to be clear, this is not a tale of advocacy. I would never tell anyone what to do on their cancer journey. Everyone’s cancer journey is unique. Everyone’s experience with medication as unique. 

This is a cautionary tale, a tale about asking the right questions at the right times and not making assumptions. Today, March 3, I feel normal. It took just shy of two months. I embrace this gift today. Today, I’m not worrying about the future. I’m just reveling in feeling like me. 

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Posted in Breast Cancer, Double Mastectomy, Health and Healing

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Focusing Inward: My Breast Cancer Journey

Posted on September 23, 2024 | Leave a comment

As many of you have noticed, I’ve been much quieter the last couple months than I was before, in the early days following my breast cancer diagnosis. 

I want to remain transparent and I’m doing so. I’m writing, but I’ve discovered a need to pull in, to conserve my strength, to focus on me more than I ever have in my life. That means I’m not reaching out as much as usual. That doesn’t mean I don’t love it when you reach out. It doesn’t mean I don’t care. It doesn’t mean that I don’t love you. It doesn’t mean that your friendship is not absolutely precious to me. It just means that right now my energy is spent on healing and focusing inward rather than externally. 

This is a strange situation, breast cancer and recovery, nothing I ever would have expected. I’m still having a level of trouble, even accepting the fact that I had breast cancer. I say had breast cancer because my doctor tells me she got it all with great margins. I say had breast cancer because my oncotype scores are really good and indicate very low likelihood of cancer coming back. Even though I had cancer, I’ll be spending the next five years taking aromatase inhibitors and other meds, which suppress hormone creation and manage side effects. The kind of cancer I had feeds on hormones. We want to make sure it doesn’t come back. 

My outcomes are better than I ever could have asked for or anticipated, not counting the double mastectomy part. This is still a slog. It’s a lot! Some days I’m afraid. Some days I’m tired. Some days I’m energetic and positive and hopeful. Some days I feel like an alien in my body. Some days I feel perfectly myself. 

The key to this adventure is learning to stay kind to myself no matter what kind of day I’m having. 

Thank you for caring! Thank you for reaching out. Thank you for being patient when I don’t reply quickly. The love and support of my friends and family mean more than I can say. I’ll be back out. But for now, I still need some time to focus inward. But you are in my heart and my thoughts. And I am grateful for you.

Focusing on beauty
Rest and relaxation

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Posted in Balance, Breast Cancer, Claiming my voice on this cancer journey, Double Mastectomy, Quality of life, self care

Taking the time to find my balance

Posted on August 2, 2024 | 2 comments

I know I’ve been a lot quieter since we got home to our condo on July 1. To be honest, I’m having a little difficulty integrating this cancer diagnosis and treatment into my day-to-day life at home. I also think that some of the medication that I’m taking is making me really tired all the time. I run out of steam pretty quickly every day. Sometimes I wake up completely exhausted. I’m hoping that I’ll get my stamina back as time goes on.

To make things worse, it’s over 100° every day here. My happy place is outside walking. I can’t do that when it’s over 100°. I’m hypersensitive to heat right now, so I have to stay away from it as much as possible. Sunrises, sunsets, bodies of water, flowers, the twitter of hummingbirds, the laughter of children playing, all make me recognize the beauty around me and feed my soul. It’s rough not to be able to get outside and experience and explore. 

That said, this morning it was only 92° at 9 o’clock in the morning, so my husband and I (still getting used to saying that 🩷🩷🩷) got up and spent an hour walking in our favorite park. It was still too hot, but it was glorious to be outside!

I also modified how much HHC I took to sleep last night and I woke up feeling much less drowsy and much more like myself. Even if my energy is low, if I feel like myself, it’s a better day. Simple pleasures.

I’ll write more later about some of the things that have been difficult, but for now, I just wanted to explain that for a while I still may be a little less engaged than usual. A diagnosis of cancer and the journey afterward is absolutely not for the weak at heart. This stuff is hard! And I will persevere!

As always, I appreciate your love and care. Thank you! And enjoy these lovely #flowersoftheday

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Posted in Breast Cancer, Claiming my voice on this cancer journey

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Reflections on two months and a week since my double mastectomy surgery

Posted on July 18, 2024 | Leave a comment

Today it’s two months and one week since my double mastectomy surgery. I’ve learned so much about so many things during this time. Words like oncotype and aromatase inhibitors, breast expanders, fat grafting.

I recognize how fortunate I am to have the diagnosis I have, to have the quality of care I have received from my medical team, to have an incredible support team of family and friends. I realize how lucky I am to have good insurance.

I am lucky. I also recognize that this is ridiculously hard. It all happened so fast. I didn’t really have an opportunity to think and plan or prepare. My opportunity was simply to relax into the realities, to trust my healthcare team, and to walk the path I had chosen through this breast cancer journey. I have done those things with confidence and certainty. 

At various points I have thought that the journey was over. When my cancer surgeon said “You are cancer free.” for example. When I got the drains out of my chest, when the plan for injections into my expanders was finalized. One of the most important days was when I got my oncotype results back and discovered that I wouldn’t need radiation or chemotherapy and that the odds of cancer recurrence was 6% in nine years if I don’t take aromatic inhibitors, 3% if I do. I saw what I thought were endings. They were not.

I’m still in pain a lot. I’m still really tired. Some nights I get reasonably good sleep thanks to the HHC supplements I take. Some nights I get almost no sleep because of muscle and joint aches which are side effects of the medication I’m on, the aromatase inhibitor (which I will take daily for the next 5 years) and the medication to reduce hot flashes.

As my injured nerves heal, the searing pain across my back has moderated into a deeper ache, which is much more manageable. My fire dragon sleeps more often than not now.

Before we returned home after the month and a half we spent in California, I had hoped to have a timeline and a plan for what comes next. I didn’t want to bring this experience home without clear next steps.

Unfortunately, my expanders are not yet dropping into my chest the way my plastic surgeon wants them to. That means we’re in a holding pattern at least for a few months until they do. Then reconstruction can begin. He assumes that will require several more surgeries as he will have to not only replace the expanders with silicone implants, but also do significant fat grafting in several areas.

My experience of the expanders under the muscles of my chest continue to range from slightly irritating to moderately achy to sharp and stabbing, depending on the moment. The last three days they have strongly committed to stabbing pain every time I move my left arm. I know this is a good sign. It means my expander is finally starting to move into the position we hope for. It is also painful and limits my movement and capacity. And I know that my right breast cannot be far behind because it has to shift down as well. I’m really not hypersensitive to pain, but this process has been consistently painful. Pain is tiring.

While all of these things are true, and sometimes they overwhelm my perception, it is also true that I am living my life. The picture in this post is of my husband and me celebrating our one month wedding anniversary. Several nights ago we took my daughter and her partner to dinner to celebrate their birthdays. We had a fabulous time! Good food, laughter, and delightful conversation. We cruise Costco or the mall. We watch movies. I drove twice this week. I love my life.

I know that I am fortunate. I know this is all a process and I just need to stay patient and engage in self care. I know a year from now all the parts that can will be behind me. I know that in this moment it’s still a lot some days.

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On mermaids, sirens, song, and voice

Posted on June 24, 2024 | Leave a comment

Today, I’m thinking about simple moments. Earlier, I was sitting out by the pool at our hotel, my first time doing that. I was alone for about 20 minutes and it was delightful. I was enjoying the gentle breeze, sitting in the shade on this lovely sunny morning. I was enjoying just being in the world.

A woman came out to the pool, smiled at me and chose a lounge a bit away to sunbathe. I was sitting at a table with an umbrella. Shortly after, six young women, I would say about 15 years old, tumbled through the door laughing and talking. They immediately dumped their towels and coverups on a lounge and jumped in the pool still laughing and talking. I don’t know if they were siblings, close friends, or a combination of both. I do know that they were very close and very engaged with one another.

I sat there and just appreciated their joy. Then they started playing the most hilarious game. They broke into two groups. One group was mermaids, and the other group was sirens. A girl in the mermaid group started singing. A girl from the siren group told her she was not allowed to sing that song – she was a mermaid, and that was a siren song. Sailors could crash on the rocks if she sang that song near them. The girl replied “my mother sang this song as a lullaby to me as a child. I can sing this song.” And she resumed singing.

Not only did I find their play, their imaginations, and their creativity delightful, I found that statement, that claiming of voice, that claiming of song incredibly powerful.

There are so many lessons in the simple moments, the importance of camaraderie and connection, the importance of communication and joy, the importance of play. The most powerful message I took with me, though, was the message that we need to claim the right to sing our own songs unapologetically and with gusto. I hope you sing your song today.

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