loose leaf and spiral bound

On September 11th, 2015, I was an emotional basket case just doing my best to hold it together. Literally. It was two days after my double-mastectomy and reconstructive surgery and I was a mess of stitches and bandages and tubes. I had these new Frankenboobs and I looked like I was in a knife fight (and lost). It was a shitty day (for so many obvious reasons) and I remember watching a documentary on 9/11 and desperately wanting the phone to ring - I was waiting for a phone call from my nurse. I was waiting for the results of my lymph node biopsy. I wanted her to call and tell me that my lymph nodes were all clear. No cancer found. Success. I was willing her to make that call and tell me some good news. If I kept putting the positive thoughts/juju/vibes/wishes out into the universe, it would come to fruition, right? The last time I received a phone call from Kelly it was good news. (She was the one who called me way back in February 2015 to let me know that my original PET scan did not

This year I participated in my first Relay for Life event as a survivor. Let me tell you a little story... This might sound a little cliche, and borderline trite, but stay with me. When I was going through chemo, in some of the very worst moments, I would picture myself walking the Survivor's Lap at a Relay for Life event. I would see myself wearing one of the coveted purple t-shirts, walking the survivor's lap, smiling and waving at my friends and family, knowing that it was all done and I made it. This daydream was the carrot at the end of my chemo stick. My mind was made up and I was going to get me one of those damned purple t-shirts. There was a Relay event during the summer of 2015, but I didn't feel comfortable participating because there wasn't definitive proof the chemo had worked and I couldn't be sure the cancer was gone. I couldn't bring myself to wear the purple shirt if I didn't know for certain that I was a survivor. Surviving is one

On February 5, 2015, I received the official news that I had cancer. I was at work when my doctor called me. There was no beating around the bush. She told me I had cancer and I should hang up the phone with her and call an oncologist immediately. I did not immediately call an oncologist, instead I called my husband. And then I walked across the hall and told my boss. And then I turned the corner and went to my friend's office and told her. I am pretty sure I smiled, laughed, and dropped the cancer bomb. I laughed because I didn't want to cry and didn't know what else to do. Because that's a totally normal thing. February 5th is my baby brother's birthday. I remember feeling horrified that this was happening on his b-day. I contemplated putting off telling him by a day so it wouldn't ruin his birthday. Now, I know that is kind of presumptuous and a bit conceited to assume that this would ruin his birthday, but I just didn't want to risk it. I remember ca

Okay, when we last chatted I had just finished radiation and I told you that the last step in my cancer treatment plan was to have my ovaries and fallopian tubes taken out. Well, on December 28th, I was able to check that off of the to-do list. Of course there was a prediction of a terrible snow storm to hit that day. Because why not add a little extra stress. Sure. To do my part in thwarting the snow, I went grocery shopping the night before and had my husband get the snow shovel out and make sure the snow blower was working. (It's the same logic as washing your car to make sure it rains.) Boom. No snow storm. If you've been following along you already know how much I hate needles and the worst part of surgery for me is getting the IV. I really dislike that portion of the show. But, when we parked in the hospital garage, I unbuckled my seat belt and saw this little graffiti gem: "It'll Be Okay." Thanks, stranger. Much appreciated.  I wish I could accura