Let’s cut to the chase: I have great news, I have terrible news. But first I have a story.
Today my younger kids were late for school. Parents are supposed to walk in and sign in latecomers, but of course most people do not. I know this because the 2023-2024 school year has generally been a disaster in the Prompt Arrivals department, much like everything else unraveling, so I regularly watch my 2-10-minutes-late peers squeal into the drop-off lane, fling open car doors, wave frantic goodbyes, and peel off again.
Today was no exception; I was trying to be a gentle parent or Cool Mom and not get mad about the sluggish-as-molasses-in-November snail’s pace at which my beloved offspring moved this morning. I was also trying not to brood about EVERYTHING1 so it’s not like I was a hustle-n-grind boss babe either. Whatever: we were late. I planned to be a good citizen and walk the kids inside, but then a jerk2 pulling a boat tailgated me for ten solid minutes on the interstate, and I kept thinking about how I needed to call four different doctor’s offices today, and I got overwhelmed and started to walk back out to the van which I was 90% sure I had left running and unlocked.
When suddenly a staff member I’ve never met before hollered behind me Hey! Stop! You Have To Sign In Your Kids When They Are Late, Because They Are Late!3
I guess we never know when life’s GEORGE BANKS IS SAYING NO moments will arrive, but this was mine. I stomped back to the sign-in sheet like a petulant child, angrily scribbled only our last name where you were supposed to list each student, and then on the “Reason for Late Arrival” line, I scrawled in large caps: CANCER.4
So.
Doing super over here. Good vibes only. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.
The good
I do have excellent news! Burying the lede on this one, but it’s worth it. Last week’s MRI revealed only scar tissue, no growth or active “areas of enhancement.”5
Then the biopsy revealed…(drumroll, please): “No residual disease.” I strongly feel pathology reports that bring good news should use exclamation points and plain language: no! more! cancer! But I will take this FANFLIPPINGTASTIC miracle in whatever way, shape, and form it comes.
It worked! All those infusions, all that sickness, all that suffering—it killed the cancer. I am in awe, and overwhelmed with gratitude, and the reality has still not sunk in.
The bad
Surgery looms. Next week I have to bid fond farewell to two dear friends, and they happen to be attached to my chest. I feel 0% prepared for this.
I know this was the goal—to get to surgery, and to get there with as little tumor remaining as possible, and to give myself the best odds against recurrence—but still. I’m a hot mess. Thoughts and prayers for everyone who has to live with me.6
One zillion pre-op appointments await, so I will update you next on the other side of everyone’s favorite out-patient procedure: a double mastectomy!7 Please pray for all to go well on Nov. 30: skilled surgeons, kind nurses, no complications, easy recovery. Also a petition on behalf of my sainted spouse because I don’t think we care enough for the caregivers, and this is super hard on him, too. We’ve had heaps of help from family and friends, but our kids are so out of sorts and we’re all running ragged.
The ugly
I did not mean to vague-book on socials last week, but I needed a giant break after a horrific biopsy (which I mentioned here). Still not able to share the details of that debacle as I’m in physical pain and a not-small amount of mental anguish, but it was a terrible horrible no-good very bad day. I have been burrowed under my comforter ever since, trying in vain to convince my wounded body that it’s a good idea to let people wound it again in a massive and more painful way—next week! But it’s a hard sell to tell a traumatized animal that amputation is a great option. So I’ve been grateful for your understanding and prayers, especially as I’ve had to drop off the radar.
In conclusion
Life brings moments to tell the truth. Times to speak and times to keep silence. Only you can discern the difference, and maybe I chose unwisely today, but maybe not. Perhaps the poor school staff who had to deal with my jarring paperwork needed to let out their own truth somewhere, and my verbal temper tantrum will nudge them to tell someone else: hey. I’m going through a hard thing and it’s messing up every corner of my life. Or maybe you needed to read that story today and imagine scrawling CANCER or DIVORCE or GRIEF or CHRONIC PAIN or STAGGERING DEBT in your own explanation line.
Either way, in this week of thanksgiving, you might be feeling anything-but-grateful. This is honest and ok, even if feels the opposite. If you’d like to leave a prayer request, I would be honored to pray for you. If you’re not the praying sort, you are always welcome here, too:
Gaza; Israel; the terrible traumatic biopsy; mastectomies; spending Thanksgiving alone; climate change; road rage; the depressing state of U.S. politics; any number of delightful thoughts that flit fleeting through my beleaguered brain these days. Also winter.
Beloved Child of God.
Allow me to acknowledge that I adore my kids’ school: it is heaven-sent and so are their teachers and staff. Correlation does not mean causation; I was just a jerk today; that’s it.
Only later did I realize some poor parent would have to come in later and sign in after me. SMH. The world does deserve better than our knee-jerk responses, whoops.
My least favorite oncology euphemism. “Areas of enhancement” should mean bedazzled with jewels or sprinkled with delicious poetic description. Not nasty growing tumors.
Topic for a future Compassion Brigade: Chemical Menopause & Why It’s As Bad As I Expected; also Why Does No One Talk About Menopause, Oh Wait I Already Know.
Truly never gets old watching people’s faces erupt in horror when I tell them it’s outpatient. Might go out for dinner after! Catch a show! (THIS IS SARCASM, DON’T COME FOR ME IN COMMENTS.)
Oh also. This pic: 10/10 Lovely + Adorable.
Gosh, I've triple downed on prayers and making space and sending love and holding you close ever since you posted and (smartly) stepped away. A feral type rage for your pain rose up and I am so sorry for what you endured, endure. You are loved and held and there is no dressing the upcoming surgery up but I sure do hope you know how many of us are here. <3