Well, This Wasn't on My Bingo Card...

Since then, my world has become a whirlwind of mammograms, biopsies, MRIs, scans, doctor appointments, acronyms I never wanted to learn, and more information than one brain should have to process.

Somewhere along the way I realized something.

If I'm going to survive this journey, I'm going to need to laugh almost as much as I cry.

So...here we are.

Why This Blog?

I'm writing this for a few reasons.

First, so my family and friends can hear updates directly from me instead of piecing together bits and pieces from phone calls and text messages.

Second, because writing has always helped me organize the clutter in my brain.

And finally...

Because if I'm going to have all these stories, I might as well tell them.

Some will be funny.

Some won't.

But they'll all be real.

And who knows...maybe something along the way will make a difference for someone else.

The Plan (For Now)

The good news—and I'm learning to celebrate every piece of good news—is my MRI showed the cancer has not spread to my lymph nodes.

Next comes surgery to place a chemotherapy port, followed by several months of chemotherapy.

After this comes surgery.

Whether this is a lumpectomy or a mastectomy depends on how my body responds.

For someone who likes a plan, this whole "we'll see" thing is a little uncomfortable.

So for now...

One appointment.

One treatment.

One day at a time.

My Favorite Human

There are people who walk beside you.

Then there are people who quietly carry you.

Yani is the second one.

As my husband—and intellect—he has become my translator, researcher, note-taker, question-asker, late-night Google filter, voice of reason, and occasionally the guy who gently reminds me to stop catastrophizing.

He's spent countless hours helping me understand every option and every decision.

More importantly, he's reminded me I'm more than a diagnosis.

He has always been my rock.

Now I understand this more than ever.

Four Years of Lessons

If I'm honest...

Cancer isn't the first thing that's changed me.

The last four years have been full of goodbyes.

People I loved.

People who shaped me.

People whose absence still catches me off guard.

Every one of those losses has left something behind.

They've changed who I was.

Who I am.

And who I hope to become.

This diagnosis didn't create a new perspective.

It simply reinforced one I'd already been learning.

Life is astonishingly fragile.

Don't wait to forgive.

Don't assume there will be another holiday.

Call those you love.

Take the trip.

Say the words.

Be kinder than ever necessary.

And don't waste precious time on things that won't matter a year from now.

The Blessing Cake

A few days ago I watched a story about a little boy who had just been adopted.

His new family made him his very first birthday cake.

He called it a Blessing Cake.

I couldn't stop thinking about this simple but precious story.

Not because of the cake.

Because of the idea.

Maybe life isn't about pretending everything is okay.

Maybe it's about noticing even when everything isn't okay...

There are still blessings.

A clear MRI.

A husband who refuses to leave your side.

A friend who sends a funny text at exactly the right moment.

Someone who drinks wine with you on your porch.

A sunrise.

A nurse who makes you laugh.

Those are Blessing Cakes.

They're everywhere.

You just have to look for them.

Until Next Time...

I have no idea what the next few months will bring.

There will probably be bald days.

There will definitely be sarcastic days.

There will almost certainly be ugly-cry days.

But I have a feeling there are going to be a lot of Blessing Cakes, too.

I hope you'll help me find them.

In the Spirit of Health & Wellness, 

Elizabeth