Waiting to Wait...

It's that time of year again. That time when I am left anxious with anticipation to determine how the next few months will go. Will I be able to start planning for summer vacation? Will I finish working through the school year? Will I still have hair in the next few weeks? Did the cancer come back? Where did it metastasize to now? My mind has been overflowing with unanswered questions for the past month, just waiting for this scan to hear the results, while continuing to keep up with our day-to-day lives as a family of four with two young kids.

I have to say, I've always considered myself to be a pretty positive, upbeat, glass-half-full kind of girl. Even when I was a kid, I always felt the need to cheer people up and keep smiling. As an adult, not much has changed. I tend to have a smile on my face regardless of how my day is going and can't help but greet people with a big "Hi, how are you!?" whether I know them or not. People think I'm crazy always having such high energy all the time. Someone actually recently asked me how I do it and if I'm always this bubbly all the time. I was kind of taken aback. No one has ever asked me this before but the truth is, I literally cant help it. I like to be happy, as I would imagine most people do, and it brings me happiness to make other people smile. It feels good to interact with positive people so if I can flip someone's day around with just a smile or lighten the mood with a silly joke or a quirky dance move, I'm going to do it! People take life too seriously sometimes and it's too easy to get lost in the ebb and flow of the work grind and stresses of everyday life. Sometimes we need a reminder that it's okay to have a little fun while we do it!

I'm constantly being told how strong and positive I am, especially since my diagnosis. It's what you tell people with cancer, right? You're so strong. You're such a warrior. Stay positive. Don't get me wrong, it's honestly a wonderful compliment and these words can definitely help drive me to want to keep kicking cancers ass. I strive to be strong and positive because I dont want people to feel sorry for me. That would mean that cancer won and I'm not even dead yet! (calm down, we're all going to die some day...) I will do my damndest to never let cancer control my life or take the pep out of my step, but some days are just plain hard. It can be exhausting for anyone to be sunshine and rainbows everyday, but as a woman with metastatic breast cancer, with people expecting you to be strong and positive all the time, sometimes it just sucks. Sometimes you just need to give in to your emotions and fucking cry. Physically ridding yourself of the negativity and taking a deep breath can be so cathartic for me to move forward, take control of what I can and let go of the rest.

For the past few weeks, I have been having some extreme tightness in my left arm. At first I thought it was cording, which is a common side effect after lymph node removal where scar tissue builds up creating what feels like a cord running up your arm. I also noticed that the same arm was feeling achy and weak. Initially, the discomfort would come and go, then it became more permanent. I started doubting the cording and thought maybe it was lymphedema, another side effect after lymph node removal where your arm swells due to improper drainage. I only had four nodes removed though and there really wasn't any noticeable swelling, but I'll hope for the best - there I go again, positive Sarah... But it wasnt going away, so obviously I regrettably turned to Google.

When I was originally diagnosed with bone mets, it was a complete shock. I had no bone pain or any other symptoms to suggest metastases to my spine. If this cancer spreads again, I will honestly have no reference to know what to feel for. I began googling in an attempt to answer my neverending questions, and I started to worry. Yes, even the peppy and positive girl you see everyday gets scared. More and more questions start to flow...Could this be bone mets? Brain mets? Maybe a tumor in my spine is compressing my spinal cord sending this pain down my arm? I find myself falling deeper and deeper into this rabbit hole. I had a PET scan done in August and that was clear, could it be much different already? My next scan was scheduled for Febraury 14th (how romantic...) could I wait that long for results? I tried to make my mind stop. "Sarah, calm down. You've never been this much of a hypochondriac. It's probably nothing!" But what if it was something? Last time I had a serious symptom, I brushed it off assuming it was nothing and it ended up being stage IV breast cancer. How do you come back from that? Let me tell you, you don't. My mind was racing and it wasn't about to stop.

I had an appointment last Monday, and I brought up the strange symptoms. My nurse contacted my APRN who suggested lymphedema, but when I asked about bone mets, she said she could order an xray to be sure. In the middle of putting it all into the computer, she ran into my oncologist and told her about the situation. In comes Dr. T, the most badass woman I've ever met. This woman knows what she is doing and tells it like it is without sugar coating anything which is what I love about her. Everytime I see this her, with the slightest butterflies in my stomach, I just feel content and I know I'm in good hands. She sits down next to me and has me go through my symptoms again. In her nonchalant way, she simply says, "Let's push up the PET to this week and then we can see what's going on". Cue the water works. I actually wanted this to happen just to ease my mind, but the fact that she suggested it before I could even ask made it all the more real. I was scared and I couldn't hide it anymore. She reassured me that she didn't think it was bone mets but we were doing the scan just to be sure. My PET was scheduled four days later.

I was relieved to know that something was being done about my arm and I'd have some answers soon, but not soon enough. I swear I blame Amazon Prime for my impatience! I continued my work week as normal to keep my mind off of it all, but as soon as any down time hit, so did my anxiety. Luckily there's always ice cream to help, but even then I didnt feel much better! Friday rolled around, but my appointment wasnt until 6:30pm. My mom met up with me at UConn to wait with me which was nice since I got there early and they ended up taking me in late of course...

They called my name and the man escorted me outside to the mobile PET unit. Not many hospitals have their own PET scan, so this one goes around to different hospitals to allow people the opportunity to utilize the scan without the cost of having their own. Anyways, we step onto the handicap lift outside the unit in blistery cold New England. He opens the door where we step inside the trailer which wasn't much warmer. Two female techs were sitting in front of computer monitors right in front of us, two recliners were set up behind a door to the right of us, and the PET scan was through the door to the left. The guy has me sit in one of the recliners, checks my glucose level (after fasting since 11am) and attempts to make small talk about the super bowl...sorry, guy, not a big football fan. He ties an orange, stretchy tie around my right upper arm and taps to find a vein. With one quick poke of a needle, we're in. Then, he reached inside a big, silver container with a big, yellow radioactive sticker on it and took out a smaller silver cylinder. Inside is the radioactive tracer that he injects into my arm. While I wait for my super powers to kick in, I lay back in my recliner with no stimulation for 45 minutes. The tech shut off the lights, gave me a blanket, and I am left to relax as much as possible while the tracer makes it's way through my body.

After my 45 minutes is up, I walk to the other side of the trailer to the PET scan. I lay down on the bed of the machine, prop my legs up with a cushion, and they cover me with more blankets. If nurses and techs know how to do one thing, its keep you warm with plenty of blankets! I put my arms above my head and they start the scan. The bed I am laying on begins to rise. Then it slowly goes back and forth, stopping and going, through the machine several times. After about 30 minutes of losing all feeling in my arms and hands, I'm finally done and able to scratch the itch I had on my nose since minute 7! They hand me a paper reminding me to flush my radioactive pee twice when using the bathroom and to avoid close contact with young children for the next 24 hours.....oh, okay....

Now begins the waiting game. Last time, my scan was done Friday morning and results were sent to me that night. This left me to irrationally think I'd actually get results Saturday. Well, Saturday came and went, nothing. Sunday then came and went, still nothing. Are they waiting to tell me in person? Did they find something and need to explain it so they didn't send it to my app? I had another appointment scheduled Monday anyways, are they waiting until then? What is going on!?

I drove to work Monday morning knowing this day was going to go one of two ways. I could either get good news and carry on as if nothing happened, or I could get dreadful news and my life would flip upside down yet again. I finished my last round of tough chemo one day short of one year ago. Was I seriously about to start that up again? I called and spoke with a receptionist who said a nurse would call me back shortly. The nurse called back and informed me that they hadn't even processed the report yet so they will call me back as soon as they hear anything. SERIOUSLY!? More waiting?? How am I supposed to function at work? I could go home but what would that do? This waiting is excruciating! I walk in to see my co-workers and I just start bawling. I wasn't looking for them to do or say anything. All I needed was a safe place to release all of these emotions. The frustration. The fear. The sadness. The anger. I had come to the point after all of this waiting that I was expecting the cancer to be back. When I was first diagnosed, it may sound crazy, but I felt better off accepting that I had cancer before getting the official word. My mantra since then has been to plan for the worst and hope for the best. This time it was no different. I had to prepare myself for this to be cancer again. It might just be some swelling and an easy fix, but it very well might be something more and I just needed to accept that. Of course I'm going to hope that its not, but I just wasn't sure this time.

I brushed away my tears, got a few hugs, and the kids started coming in to start our day. I checked my phone when I could, but still no word. Checked again, nothing...nothing...Wait. I hold my breath and see theres a voicemail. I stepped out of the room and went up to the teachers lounge. I pressed play and put my phone up to my ear while plugging my other ear to be sure I hear every word. It was my oncologist's voice. Oh no, does this mean bad news?

"Hey Sarah, I'm leaving this message because it was a perfect scan. No evidence of any activity...Great news."

And exhale.

Living My Breast Life

I often agree with people when they say social media has ruined the way we interact with each other. We are too entranced by our phones that we rarely look up to see the world around us. We would rather scroll through pictures of someone else's adventure than make our own, and we've lost that irreplaceable connection you have with someone when you talk to them face-to-face. When you're hidden behind a keyboard, you can be anyone you want to be and say anything you want to say, no matter how cruel. You don't have to deal with the reaction of the person on the other end, unless a reaction is what you are looking for. On the other hand, not everyone on the internet is an offending muggle! Some people use social media for good. They can be who they want to be and say what they want to say to get the word out about something IMPORTANT!

As most of you know, October is breast cancer awareness month. Luckily for me, I was diagnosed with breast cancer October 2nd. So, while I was wearing endless hospital gowns, being poked by needles, getting drilled into my spine, waiting for biopsy results, crying in front of strangers, and questioning how long I have left to live, I got to see pink balloons and breast cancer awareness signs literally everywhere I went. It was haunting. We are all AWARE that breast cancer exists. Most of us have seen the commercials on TV, walked miles in pink t-shirts, and changed our profile pictures on Facebook to support those of us dealing with the disease, but the problem is that we stop there. We are raising money, but where does that money actually go? To the pink shirts, bracelets, and pins we wear? To the huge events held to promote awareness? To the CEOs of these foundations? I am definitely not saying we should stop walking or forget about the awareness aspect completely. Awareness is important and still very much needed! However, breast cancer is more than just a pink ribbon and, sometimes, it's easy to forget that.

Shortly after I was diagnosed, I did a little search to see what different organizations there are to support people like me. I quickly found that there are literally countless groups around the country who do amazing things for breast cancer patients, it's astounding! I found some of these organizations on Instagram and have been able to learn so much from them (just one of the perks of social media)! One of these groups using social media for support is an organization called Metavivor. Ever heard of it? Me either, until just recently...Metavivor is a non-profit dedicated to increasing awareness specifically to metastatic breast cancer, which is is the only breast cancer that KILLS. They are also the only organization to donate 100% of its proceeds to metastatic breast cancer research! Honestly, now that we are AWARE of this deadly disease, lets put some money into finding a CURE! We have all heard of the American Cancer Society and Susan G. Komen, why did I have to wait until after my diagnosis to learn about Metavivor?

Through Metavivor's Instagram page, I have been able to connect to people all over the country who have been diagnosed with breast cancer, but more specifically metastatic breast cancer. I can relate to them and they understand what I am going through more than anyone! I can ask strangers questions about their experiences and get advice from them about how to make a certain decision or what products to use throughout the different stages of treatment. On Instagram, it has also been nice because everything is through pictures and videos. I can literally see the side effects they're describing and watch their hair growth after chemo! I can also prepare myself for what my mastectomy will look like or how sore and red my chest will get after radiation. It is such a supportive community that no one ever wants to be a part of...

Last month, I started seeing people share posts about Metavivor teaming up with Ana Ono Intimates (intimate apparel dedicated to women who have undergone mastectomies and/or radiation) during New York Fashion Week! All of the models for the show were diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer and 100% of the proceeds would be donated to Metavivor and put towards research! Of course I had dreams of attending, but our budget is tight with me not working right now, and I couldn't justify the cost of a trip into the city and a ticket to fashion week. About a week before the show, they shared that people sponsored enough tickets to the show that MBC patients could send in their information for a chance to be added to their guest list at no cost! I sent in my name and email and was notified a couple days later that I was chosen to join the once in a lifetime experience! I quickly reached out to a couple of my friends who spontaneously decided to come along with one question - "What do we wear!?"

The picture above is of me in my fabulous royal blue jumpsuit I found at Marshalls for $25, minus a $15 gift card, for a grand total of $10!! Jack-freaking-pot! The color was perfect, because I truly felt like ROYALTY! My friends and I took a surprisingly smooth drive into NYC, parked in a nearby garage, and found the venue quite easily (once we put the right address into the GPS! 😝) The doors to the Angel Orensanz Foundation opened at noon, and we walked right in no problem! After checking in, and our 2-hour car ride, we blindly rushed to the extremely tiny ladies room to freshen up. When we walked back out, we were in absolute amazement at how beautiful this place was! Angel Orensanz is an old synagogue built in 1849, that has since been renovated and is now used for private events, fundraisers, concerts, and fashion shows. Not only did the architecture and lighting catch our eye, but the strong and powerful faces of the people walking around us stopped me in my tracks. I was truly amazed and felt so comfortable being in such a large space filled with people just like me. To call it empowering is an understatement.

After snapping a couple pictures, we made our way upstairs to the balcony where they had a nice brunch spread out for everyone to enjoy, and a fancy "red carpet" to take more photos on (see above!) We spent some time up there laughing, chatting, eating, and drinking...I even found some Instagram followers who I had connected with before, which was really pretty neat! We went back downstairs to claim our spot and ended up meeting some other people while we waited for the show to start. One woman was a survivor, and there was a man there whose wife was one of the models! He shared her story and it was as if he was talking about me - under 40, toddler at home, recently diagnosed de novo (stage IV at first diagnosis) with bone mets. I knew we had to connect and, sure enough, social media came through for us again! We've been following each other for just a couple weeks now but we already have plans to meet up and have a play date for the kiddos!

Just after 1 o'clock, a man came on the stage to open the show. He also had metastatic breast cancer, which is yet another reminder that men need to check themselves too! He gave us two numbers: 40,000 - the number of people who die from breast cancer each year, and 113 - the number of people who die each day from MBC. What a way to set the tone. These numbers are not only too high, but truthfully, these numbers should not even exist! As he finished his speech, the crowd of people in that room roared for his bravery and we all knew we were in for a phenomenal show! Before the models  came out, a gorgeous voice took the mic and sang a moving song she wrote just for us. As her song ended, the speakers shook the room with songs like "I'm Every Woman" by Whitney Houston, "Run the World" by Beyonce, and "PYT" by Michael Jackson. We couldn't help but dance, shout, and cheer on the strong women who took the stage in front of us! It was unforgettable. Women of all ages, shapes, colors, and sizes strutted their stuff that day and gave us all the encouragement we needed to not only be comfortable in our own skin, but to also see what Ana Ono Intimates looks like on REAL women who NEED them. These women have these bras and underwear in their drawers at home because they are so very comfortable, yes, AND because their bodies have undergone things you wouldn't believe! This wasn't just an ordinary fashion show, though. This was a movement, a call for CHANGE! These women modeled off gorgeous apparel while also sending important messages to everyone...

Words like "I AM LIVING" "NOT JUST ONE" "METASTATIC AF" "1 in 3" "FIERCE" "MOTHER" "FEARLESS" and "SAVE US" were also walking that cat walk. There is more than just one person living with this incurable disease. Sadly, but truthfully, we are an army! Let's just say, Metavivor and Ana Ono really got their message across. Simply stated, it's time for a change....it's time for a CURE!

Once the fashion show was over, we walked out of that building new women. My friends that came with me may not have MBC, but all three of us were changed after that experience. It wasn't just a cancer reality check, but it made me rethink how I live my life. I'm going to focus more on living in the moment rather than worrying about my future. There's no time for that. Right now, we need to lift each other up and do what we can to get everyone to live their longest and absolute BEST lives every day. What can we do today to better our tomorrows? 

I have received so many compliments on how "strong" and "positive" I have been since my diagnosis last October. I find myself questioning how authentic these comments are, though, because isn't that just what you say to people with cancer? Then people assure me that it is when I share a picture of me smiling or enjoying an event like this on social media that tells them that they can have a good time and enjoy their life, too, no matter what is thrown at them! Let me tell you, not once did I ever think that I would be diagnosed with a terminal illness. Not once did I think I would ever need chemotherapy or a bilateral mastectomy. Sure I have my down days like anyone does, but NOT ONCE did this cancer ever keep me from smiling or laughing or enjoying special moments with friends and family. I will keep laughing until the day I die, and I will post proof of my smile everyday if I have to, even if it's just to smack cancer in the face one more time!

Trust Your Intuition

Well, that's a wrap! My sixth and final chemo treatment has come and gone! One part of me is relieved AF, the other part of me isn't even phased. You see, I'm done with the "chemo" part - the dreadful uneasiness in my stomach, the extreme fatigue, the poor taste in my mouth, and hopefully the uncomfortable GI issues (💩)...but in another three weeks, I'll be back in the same chair, with the same nurse (who I LOVE), hooked up to the same IV. I may not be getting the complete 4-serving cocktail, but I will still be back in the hospital every three weeks, indefinitely.

My cancer spread to my bone before I found it. Everyone always says 'Early detection saves lives!' and 'Good thing you caught it early!' but the truth of the matter is, I didn't. Yes, I could've caught it even later. Yes, it could have spread even more than it did. But reality is reality, and my reality is that my cancer metastasized before we even started treating it...and I can't help but feeling somewhat guilty for that. Now, I'm left driving to Uconn every third Monday while putting Lidocaine on my chest, hoping to numb the pain of the needle poking my skin, and crossing my fingers that the nurse gets a blood return on the first try. I'm left in auto-pilot taking the elevator to the fourth floor, checking in with my name and date of birth, and telling the receptionist that, no, I have not been out of the country in the last 30 days, but damn I WISH!

I may not be going out of the country anytime soon, but I am going to seriously take advantage of this short month we call February! I am planning on seeing as many people and doing as many things as I possibly can, because as soon as March rolls around, it's surgery time. I don't know about you, but just the thought of surgery and slicing my skin open makes my stomach turn! The recovery might be less time than the duration of my chemo, but I hate thinking about the pain I will be in and the way my children will react when I can't hug them or hold them in my arms. I have been trying to plan ahead and reorganize our life to make it as easy as possible to deal with my limited mobility and strength. Right now, my kids are getting to be at a good age where I don't need to worry about carrying them as much. They are 2 and almost 4, so they are definitely getting to be more independent. My 2 year old, T, is still in diapers, but I figured when I need to change him, he can just lay on the floor or climb on the bed. We, also, just switched him out of his crib and into a toddler bed, so I won't have to worry about lifting him for nap time. The only other time I would need to pick him up would be getting into his carseat, but I won't be driving for a while anyways, so someone will always be with me to help with that. So I'm set right?? Wrong. These are my children. They are 2 and 3. They fall down, they get upset, they fight, they struggle. They need their mother and someone there to give a hug and kiss a boo-boo every once in a while! It's going to be difficult, and I know that. I also know that I have so much support around me to help when I need it. I have a husband who is planning on sacrificing his paycheck on our already tight budget to support his family the first few weeks after surgery. I have a mom and dad who live close by and are retired, willing to do anything they can to make this cancer disappear. I have two sisters, near and far, who would do anything to help in an instant. I have in-laws who have already shown so much love and encouragement. I have aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, nephews, friends, and the list goes on. Now, more than ever, is my time to stow away my pride and accept the help as it is offered. I have already been overwhelmed with the support I have received from people, some of whom I don't even know, and it is comforting to know that you all still have my back. For this, I will be forever grateful.

Now my mind shifts to the logistics of what March 5th will bring. I have been following some other blogs and doing my research online to try to navigate between the different types of surgeries there are. In my search, I learned that most people who have metastatic breast cancer don't actually get a mastectomy at all. Apparently, the reasoning is that once the cancer has spread, there is no added benefit to removing the breasts. To anyone else, a mastectomy is supposed to prevent any leftover cancer cells left inside the breast from spreading to the rest of the body, but to a patient with metastatic disease, the damage is already done. In my case, however, I am young, the cancer has only metastasized to a small part of my spine, and there hasn't been any damage to the bone. My oncology team and I are determined to treat my cancer for cure no matter who says it is incurable. We are treating this like any other breast cancer case and I am confident that my breast surgeon will remove any remnants of cancer there is.

I have opted for a double mastectomy while removing both nipples and most lymph nodes on my left side and under my collar bone. I have met with my breast surgeon, who is the same woman that did my port placement, and we are both on the same page. It is a big surgery, but it is also very routine in this field, so I am not too concerned for the success of the actual procedure. More of my concern comes from the reconstruction side of things. Some women opt out of reconstruction, but, for me, I feel as though I need this added step to feel more comfortable in my own skin once everything is said and done. There are so many different routes you can take to make you feel "normal", but I need to just accept that no matter what I do, I will never get my body back to being as perfectly imperfect as it once was. It's amazing how no one ever thinks their body is perfect until you are forced to deconstruct it and mold it again. A woman's true beauty is in her imperfections, and you'll never quite get it just right. Perhaps I'll need to embrace this notion even more post-op....

After meeting with my breast surgeon, I met with a plastic surgeon who will be doing the reconstruction part of it all. Before meeting with her, I did some solid research to get an idea of what different options their were. Between implant reconstruction and autologous reconstruction, LAT flap, TRAM flap, DIEP flap, over the muscle, under the muscle... I still had no idea what to do! One big concern was that I would be doing radiation after my surgery. Radiation tends to make your skin super tight and makes it much more difficult to work with when considering reconstruction, especially with implants since the goal with that would be to stretch the skin beforehand. Since I would be getting radiation on my back, we decided that a LAT flap was not the best option - this is where you take skin, fat, and muscle from your back to create a new breast. A TRAM flap would take skin, fat, and muscle from my abdomen, but not only would it leave a huge scar, it would also be very difficult to recover from since we use our abdominal muscles so much every day! I did considered doing a DIEP flap, and my PS said I would be a good candidate as well. This would only take skin and fat from my abdominal area, but after examining me, we weren't convinced I would be happy with the results since I am fairly slim. She said I could potentially take tissue from other areas that are more fatty, like my thigh or buttocks, but I still don't feel quite comfortable with the recovery of something like that. I ultimately decided to go for expanders and implants. With an implant surgery, it is pretty likely that they will have to go back in to replace them over time, and there may be issues of my body rejecting the implant altogether, but my gut is telling me that this is the path I should take for now.

The plan is that in the same surgery, once my breast surgeon is done with the mastectomy, the plastic surgeon will go in and put expanders under my pectoral muscle. Every week or so, I will go in to have them injected with saline until they are expanded to how I would like them (don't worry, I won't turn into another Dolly or Pamela!) After they are fully expanded, I will complete radiation (TBD) and have a final surgery to swap the expanders out for the implants. Although radiation may effect the outcome of this type of reconstruction, I decided that I would rather try an "easier" surgery first before slicing my whole body open and moving more things around than I need to. I understand that this may not work as well as I hope, and I may have to go back to get things fixed, but if I have learned anything from this journey so far, it is to trust my intuition. I have never been one to make decisions easily, and this is not an easy decision for anyone, but it is my life, my body, and ultimately my decision on how to move forward. I am becoming more confident in this path I have chosen, but I am ready to take on any other obstacles I may face along the way. Wish me luck!

Cancer - Check!

Just a couple months ago, I thought I had a mediocre life. I was getting bored. I wanted everyday to be an adventure. I was sick of the day-in and day-out of wiping noses, ABC's, grocery shopping, and eating the same damn things for dinner. What I really wanted was a change in scenery. Maybe moving to a different state would solve all of these problems? Nah, I doubt it.

I guess you could say I get bored easily. My life wasn't really that uneventful, I'm just that oddball who actually likes change. I like the excitement of doing new things and creating new experiences with people! For several years, my life naturally brought new things to be excited about. I married my husband in 2013, just a year after graduating college. It was a beautiful, outdoor ceremony in July with all of our friends and family surrounding us under tall pine trees. Just a day after our honeymoon, we bought a little ranch-style house in a quiet neighborhood just next door to the town where I grew up. That year, we also adopted Cooper, our loud, always hungry, licking and sniffing Beagle! About a year after that, we found out we were having our first baby. I know every woman has her own thing to say about pregnancy, but I absolutely loved it! Those 9 months were so magical for me, and in 2015, our little girl was born (talk about life-changer!) Just before L's first birthday, we found out I was pregnant yet again! This time, it was a baby boy, and in 2016, T joined our family to add even more excitement!

Since then, it's been doing all we can to pay our bills, get rid of debt, and maintain our house, while creating the best possible childhoods for our kids. My husband and I have had quite the adventure so far, and rattling off these HUGE life events right now makes my life sound more exciting than I ever even realized! All I ever paid attention to was the lack of huge life events for the past 2 years...(wow, Sarah...calm down). I mean, how many life changing events does a single person even need to have in their lifetime? We were hoping to add a third child to our list, but I guess cancer is another life-changer!

I'm really not trying to be depressing when I say that, either... I am literally laughing as I am typing this right now. I wanted an exciting life thats ever-changing, and I am getting it that's for sure! Anyone want to direct my real-life movie?? Can Julia Roberts please play my character? I love her.

You're right, that's a whole other topic for a separate blog...

I guess what I am saying is 'be careful what you wish for'. We scroll through social media everyday seeing everyone's best life. Then, when other people share that their life is in shambles, we roll our eyes that they're complaining. We see these perfect snapshots of single moments in people's lives, but this is not their life all the time! No one wants to see a picture of you at work...(unless you're Mike Rowe or Ellen or something)...and no one wants a snapchat video of them nuking chicken nuggets for the third night in a row...(actually, I'm pretty sure someone's probably done that before, but that's besides the point!)We see the best sides of people's lives on social media because that's what we want to see! Yet, if all we do is compare our own lives to these unrealistic glimpses into other lives, sure we're going to be left wanting more for ourselves. In reality, though, the grass is not always greener.

I used to want an exciting life, something worth writing a blog about, and I sure as hell got it, but it comes with a price. Lately, I've been missing my boring life with nothing written on my calendar. Now, my days are filled with doctor's appointments and everything else is tentative depending on whether or not I can get up off the couch. Now, I wish I could go back to eating the same damn things for dinner instead of everything tasting weird or hurting my mouth when I chew. Luckily, I have been able to manage a pretty normal life for the second 10 days after treatment. It's on these days that I can go out with the kids on my own, run errands, take L to school, and save the relaxing until their nap-time. After each chemo, I countdown the days until I can do these things. I am actually looking forward to grocery shop! Sometimes, I'll even park further away so I can walk more, simply because I have the energy to!

Life before my diagnosis was almost like a checklist. I experienced all of these amazing things, but always rushed through them, eager to check off the next life event. Cancer has been my one life-altering event that you would think would be the one I'd want to rush through to get it over with, but instead it's convinced me to slow down. I can't look too far ahead or else I end up just scaring myself. Instead, I've learned to take everything one day at a time and truly embrace those boring days when I feel like myself again. It's days like these that keep me grounded and remind me of the life I used to live. They encourage me that I will once again have my life back and under control after all is said and done. This is a long process I am going through, but it is all temporary. In the meantime, I will keep living each day as it comes, just hoping for a day to simply run errands.

Behind the Locked Door

My husband and kids are in the kitchen. Lunch is served. Mouths are fed. I say nothing.

The bathroom door shuts behind me and I lock the door. Deep breath in...I turn the shower on and close my eyes for a second. I need this. I don't need to explain, I need a break. I need to be alone without interruption. My eyes open, and I see a girl in the mirror. I'm starting to recognize this girl - weak, bald, pale. I've seen her enough times before that I'm starting to forget what she used to look like. She takes off her shirt, pants, underwear...The rest of her body is just as ghostly, besides the constellation of freckles scattered all over her. The skin around her eyes are dark, making her look even more tired than she is. The hair that once covered her is no longer there like it used to be. There is a scar just below her collar bone, a new scar that reminds me of the truth. Stretch marks, goosebumps, tears watering her eyes. I used to see someone else staring back at me. I used to be more patient. I used to want to sit with my kids during lunch. I never locked the door. Now, I am torn. I want to soak up every moment, while also wanting to run as far away as possible. I want to smile more than ever, but scream just as much. Nothing is how it used to be, and I don't think it will ever go back.

I turn around and gently step over the tub and into the shower. The water is hot as it hits my body, running down my stomach and legs. I put my face in my hands and walk into the stream, trying to wipe away any fears and worries I had just moments before. The water hits my neck now as I turn and it slowly makes its way to the top of my head. My eyes are closed and I slowly circle my head around like someone not knowing which way to go. The muscles inside me are tight. I can hear them screaming as I massage them with soap, one by one. They need to stretch and move, but are too weak to even help me stand. I crouch my way down to the floor - much better.

My knees are now to my chin and my eyes are forced shut by the water rushing down my face. I sit there at peace, almost meditating to the echoing sound of the spout and the drain. Minutes pass by and the rain above me turns into a puddle. Water fills the tub around me as I lay back with paralyzed limbs and a cold head as it reaches the tile. I turn on my side ever so slightly until the buoyancy eases the pain of my tailbone sinking into the porcelain. The water slowly rises while my toes are left out in the cold. I should turn the water off, but that would require much more of me and I might hear the tantrum reality outside the locked door. I keep the water running a bit longer.

I now start to notice little dots. They are almost microscopic, on my arms and hands. Was this where hair used to sprout? These spots now show another reminder of the truth. I decide to turn off the water, then quickly return to the warm bath that I so needed. I lay there in solitude, just breathing in peace. I hear the faint murmur of life outside the curtain, but other than that, it is silent. I'm not moving. Can I move? My eyes focus on the spout in front of me. The hue changes from a green then slowly to an orange and back. Why? Part of me is concerned, the other part just doesn't even care. I take a deep breath and suddenly it's back to normal. My thoughts and questions are random and scattered. Though, life outside this bath is chaotic, too.

My fingers are now wrinkled. I hear a loud gargle as I release the drain, and the shock of the cold air reaches my arms and legs. It's time to get out. It's time to unlock the door and face my life outside. It's time to organize this chaos and get back to reality. My reality, my chaos, my life.

A Day in the Life

Well, here I am. I have been blessed with another day, and if you're reading this now, then you were, too - congratulations! Welcome back.

As I am writing this right now, I am sitting on my cozy couch, three days post chemotherapy #5. My fashionable attire consists of black and pink fuzzy socks, my favorite gray sweatpants (thank you TARGET!), a Magnolia t-shirt, a gray zip-up hoodie, and my fav cancer-friendly hat. All I can hear is the wind blowing the lingering leaves outside, the beagle slightly snoring, and the boiler in the basement stealing all my money as it keeps me toasty warm on this cold winter day.

I feel well-rested today, with the help of a late night Atavan to push me into that comatose state I so enjoy being in as I snuggle under my covers by 9pm. It was no later than 6:48am this morning, though, that I heard a gentle 'A-choo' followed by a much bigger 'A-thwew!'. A tiny pitter-patter escalated down the hallway and into my room. 'Mommy, I need a tissue'. L was awake and ready to start our day. After a wipe of her nose, and a quick trip to the potty, she climbed up into bed with me. We quietly talked about our sleeps while T was still dozing in his crib, and recalled what the plan was going to be for the day. But first, Fruit Loops.

Once we heard T waking up, L quickly rushed to his room to say 'good morning'. What sounded as a nice wakeup, turned into shouting and tears before I could even get up. Sometimes they can be so sweet, and other times just so very sour! Apparently, L took his sock off, something hit his head, and all was forgotten after a diaper change...Oh yeah, Fruit Loops!

We made our way into the kitchen for breakfast, when who should show up peering through the big, bay window, but Grammy! Thank goodness. L has school today, so Grammy picked her and T up this morning to have a much more exciting day than being cooped up in this house with me! Once a month, L's school has show & tell, which she is always so excited about. She always chooses to bring a stuffed animal with her, but she is always so proud and makes sure she remembers what their name is before heading out the door. Today is that special day. She decided to bring her beanie baby, 'Nibbler', with her. While she is at school for the morning, Grammy will take T to run some errands or go to the library.

I have the morning to myself. I always dreamed of this kind of day - staying in my pajamas, laying on the couch in silence, actually listening to and guiding the thoughts inside my head. Now that it's forced, though, it doesn't seem like that much fun. I miss my kids. I miss the background noise and chaos running around my house. As early as it felt waking up today with my girl, I love those cozy, quiet moments with her. How many more of those will I have before she's too grown to want to lay with her Mommy, or I am too sore to be able to cuddle with her? Sure, it's nice letting people help with your every day to-do's, but it's an even better feeling when you can get that control back and have the energy to take back the reins. Every week post-chemo, I dread not being able to do all that I can for my children and my family. I just need to remind myself that this state is only temporary. I am halfway through this round's fatigue, and I only have one more cycle left. One day at a time.

In the meantime, I will soak up every little moment I can, and embrace the little things that make up my most beautiful life. Sure, big trips and excursions, sports and dance classes, are good for anyone, but what really shapes your child is how they are loved. Let go of the pressure you face as a parent. Ignore that judgmental voice in your head questioning every decision you make. Slow down, listen to, and simply love your child. That is the most important thing you can do for them.

Bloom where you are planted.

Om (noun): The whole universe in one single word. The union of mind, body, and spirit.

Deep breath in.

Exhale.

Om.

Repeat.

Life is busy. Even before my diagnosis, life was busy. I currently stay at home with my two children, ages 2 and 3 1/2. For any other mothers (and fathers) out there, you know how draining, and wonderful, and chaotic that can be. One day is set aside for grocery shopping and laundry, another day is preschool and music class, then there's story time and Christmas shopping, errands and doctor's appointments, and the list goes on. I enjoy spending time with my kids, I do. I just have a hard time when all of these things are crammed into one day. The other problem is that when we try to have down time at home, it tends to leave us with hitting, fighting, constant redirection, and headaches. So, most days we try to get out of the house...

Since my diagnosis, I have wondered how much easier it would be to go through chemo treatment without my kids. I wouldn't need to plan for people to come over every day to make sure they are taken care of. I could sleep in as long as I want to. I would have a quiet house all to myself. Then, I recognized that these two lights in my life are exactly what keep me going. They get me out of bed in the morning, they give me energy when I didn't think I had any, and their little voices remind me that life is worth fighting for.

In the hustle and bustle of parenting, though, anyone can tell you that it is important to dedicate some time for yourself. Get out of the house, alone, and do something for yourself. Get your nails done, get a massage, pick up a hobby, go to the gym, just go for a drive! It doesn't have to be every day, because it's hard enough to make it happen once a week, but at least try to pencil it in your calendar to do something for you.

For me, this used to be running. It helped when the weather was warmer and I was a bit healthier, but I would get out and run four times a week. It was time by myself. I didn't have a diaper bag with me or a toddler on my hip. I didn't need to pack any goldfish or applesauce pouches. All I needed was my running shoes and a hair-tie. Sometimes, I would keep going simply because I didn't want to go home just yet (Is that bad?). Before my first treatment, I made it to 10 miles. My goal was 5 that day, because I didn't think my body could handle much more after learning about my cancer, but I started, and just kept going. I'm so happy I did it, too, because since then, I've only gone out once. I learned that my heart had a hard time keeping up, and I'm afraid to push it too much. I listened to my body and took a break from my summer passion.

Several weeks have passed since I last exercised, which means several weeks have passed since I last took some healthy time for myself. Sure, I've run an errand here and there without any kids in tow, but I needed more. Last week, I experienced my first, true yoga experience. It was exactly what I needed (and perhaps what you need, too). I was out of the house, yes, but more importantly I was in a relaxing space and able to release any tension I had inside of me - physically and emotionally.

When I decided to try out yoga, I had no idea where to go. So, who do I turn to when I need answers? Google. I came across a place called "Bloom Yoga Fitness Studio". It wasn't too far away, and the prices seemed reasonable, so I took a risk and signed up for a drop-in class. When I got there, I was alone, but I was immediately greeted by the friendly staff and met my instructor. She showed me where to put my things, and what equipment I needed. When I was hanging up my coat, I realized I only had on my warm winter hat. I wasn't about to go through the class with that on, so I rocked the bald look! It's funny, when I'm out in public and I take my hat off, it feels as if I'm stripping down naked. I don't know if it's because it automatically reveals my cancer or because it's a part of my body that no one has seen in 28 years, but either way it makes me feel extremely vulnerable. When I excused my 'bald head' to my instructor, she asked if I was going through chemotherapy, to which I responded 'yes'. She reassured me that I looked beautiful and told me about her friend who was just about to start her own chemo journey. I quickly felt much better about my self-image and walked into the class with 10x more confidence.

The lights were dimmed the slightest bit and there was soothing music playing. Six other women were sitting on their mats and I found my spot in between two other ladies. The instructor came in and lightly greeted everyone with a generic "How is everyone doing?" We all responded "Good" and we began. Deep breath in. Exhale. Om. Repeat. I was relaxed. For the first time in a long time, I was focusing on myself. I was focusing on the most basic thing I could do with my body - my breathing. My body was moving and I was able to stretch out these muscles that have been resting for too long. It felt amazing. It was the last five minutes and our instructor told us to lay down on our mats to get ready for  Shavasana, or corpse pose. She turned the lights off. The only light in the room was coming through the left door's window, and the song "Be Still" by Sophia came on. All we needed to do was lay there. Lay still with our palms up, completely relax our muscles and breathe. I laid there in the dark while tears streamed down my cheeks. I was breathing. I was alive. I was one with my mind, body, and spirit. My whole self was in that room and I was not worried about anything else. I like to think that they were happy tears, as if it was a complete release of any negativity inside of me. I wiped my eyes dry just as the lights came back on. We sat up on our mats with our legs crossed. Deep breath in. Exhale. Om. Repeat.

Class was over, and I walked out of there feeling absolutely refreshed. I went back again tonight and plan on making it a weekly routine. Cancer will not prevent me from living my life as normally as possible, but if it weren't for cancer, I don't know if I would have ever taken the risk to practice yoga. This disease continues to test me and I continue to prove how much stronger I am than it is. I am learning more about myself everyday, and for that, I am grateful.

Namaste.

Making Reason

Everything happens for a reason.

There is a reason for everything.

Make reason in everything.

I'm not saying I necessarily believe in fate. I'm not even saying that there's necessarily a puppeteer up above, making all of these things happen around us. Regardless, everything happens...and it is up to us to decide how to reason it.

You don't question the good stuff as often, but when the bad stuff rolls around, you always end up asking yourself, at least once, "why me?" It is up to you to answer that question the right way. This is not a time for you to start pointing fingers or blaming yourself. What did you do wrong? Not a damn thing. But you know what you're about to do right? Instead of finding everything you possibly did wrong in the past, you're going to focus on the good things that are coming in the future.

Every time you do something you wouldn't have otherwise done if it weren't for this 'bad stuff' going on in your life, you're going to be grateful for it. Every time you meet a new person, or reconnect otherwise lost relationships, you're going to be grateful. Even places you've gone before, that you're just able to see in a different light because of this 'bad stuff' that may be going on, be happy that you were lucky enough to experience the 'bad stuff'. Without the 'bad stuff', let's face it, we wouldn't have any 'good stuff' to compare it to.

Life is all about balance. There was a time in college when I wasn't all that balanced. I was focusing on the negative things in my life without being able to find the positivity in much of anything. My close friend had died in an awful car accident, another friend had attempted suicide, and my parents were going through a divorce all within my last year of high school. Let me tell you, I spent plenty of time questioning "why me?" I felt as though I had lost control of everything. My life was spinning around me and I didn't know who was going to be there when it stopped. I wallowed in self-pity. I cried. I bled. I starved. I screamed. Then, I finally started to see the light in all of the darkness.

I met my husband through all of this. Most days, it was him guiding me to see this light, and, now, I am grateful for that 'bad stuff' that happened. Our relationship wouldn't be what it is if it weren't for that 'bad stuff'. We would go for hikes, have secret rendezvous in the library, devour bowls of ice cream...all which seemed like little things, but it's those little things that bring the brightest light. Now, the two littlest in our lives, a girl age 3 and a boy age 2, are the brightest lights of all. And now I am forever grateful.

I would've thought, with my depressive past, I would have been more sad about my diagnosis. I was almost scared that I would fall back into that state of darkness. But, now, I think that it is because of all I experienced that senior year of high school, that I remain to be so positive. When you are forced to confront death at such a young age, you quickly learn how precious life is. Most 17-year-olds think they're invincible. They think they can do anything without consequence (or at least nothing more than being grounded). Just two days after I turned 17, I was told that I was never going to see my friend again. Never again hear her laugh or see her smile. It was in that moment, that I really grew up. I learned that I was not invincible, and neither was anyone else. I also developed a new way of viewing the world around me. Since then, I try not to take much for granted, because I have witnessed how it can all be taken away in just a brief moment. Now, my diagnosis just further etches this view of life I have, but I've been through hardships before and I persevered. I know what I am capable of and I know how strong I am. I know that it is through positivity that I will come out of this alive.

Cancer is what is happening right now in my life and I am finding a reason every damn day. A reason to love deeper and hug a little tighter. A reason to move more on my good days and rest more on my not-so-good ones. A reason to reach out to that friend I haven't talked to in too long. A reason to try yoga because I've always wanted to, but never committed. A reason to enjoy the tacos today because my sense of taste, today, is somewhat normal.  A reason to have a dance party with my kids while I have the energy. A reason to smile, simply because I still can.

Hey, I wouldn't be writing this blog and connecting with you if it weren't for cancer, right?

Me & Andrew, Sleeping Giant (2009)

Chemo 1, 2, 3...

First day of chemo was upon us. I found myself looking in the mirror more often, trying to engrave what I look like into my brain. I was afraid I was going to lose it, that view of myself with my nice skin, a big smile with a few wrinkles, long blonde hair. I tried to envision what I was going to look like in the months to come. Isn't it funny how vain we can be? I was just diagnosed with an incurable disease that could kill me, and I'm worried about what I look like...

I quickly got over the thought of me being bald. I've rocked a pixie style before, and I like to think I have a good amount of confidence to move past the hair loss. The nurses offered a special cap I could wear to possibly save 70% of it, but it would prolong my treatment by a couple of hours each time and sounded pretty uncomfortable. For me, it just wasn't worth it. It's only temporary, and it'll be one less thing to worry about in the morning!

I decided to invite my friend of 25 years over to do the big chop. The kids were home, which was good, so they could watch it happen and not be totally shocked! Meredith tied it up in a bunch of little ponytails and snipped away. It was so empowering! I felt fabulous and TOTALLY ready for my first round of chemo the next morning. I felt like I was putting on my warrior makeup, ready to fucking fight! This cancer bitch did not know who she was messing with!

Round #1 went very smoothly. I went with my husband, Andrew, and it was actually kind of nice just the two of us without the kids. We were able to spend quiet time together, playing cards, fiddling on our phones, and watching TV. I was in a recliner, he was in a less comfortable chair, and we were sitting in front of a bunch of nurses stations, but it wasn't so bad! We got there for about 8:30am and didn't get home until 4:30pm or so. They wanted to administer the medications a bit slower the first time, hoping to avoid any allergic reactions. Everything went well, so next time they promised a more private room...yay!

Three weeks later, I had Chemo #2! My sister, Stephanie, was able to fly up from Atlanta to come with me which was super sweet. Again, it was nice spending quality time with her without our kids around! We love our kids, but adult conversation without interruptions is also good once in a while! I spent a lot of time coloring, we chatted about family and holidays coming up, and she was able to get some work done. They administered the first two medications just fine. About five minutes after they started the third med, Taxotere, I started feeling odd. There was a weird feeling through my abdomen running from my belly button to my chest. I stopped my sister to tell her to grab the nurse. From the time it took her to step out of the room to tell the nurse just outside, and come back in, it went from being a small feeling in my abdomen to taking over my entire upper body. My chest and face were extremely tight and hot, I was having a hard time breathing, and I was seeing spots. Right then and there, for a split second, I thought I was dying. I thought for sure that this poison they were putting inside me was killing me. I tried not to panic, took long deep breathes, and closed my eyes. The nurses stopped the med, gave me a steroid, put me on oxygen, and administered a nebulizer. Within a couple minutes, I was feeling much better. Okay, good, I wasn't dying....I turned to my sister and said "Don't tell Mom about this!"... Unfortunately, I lost the private room privilege after this. Damn.

After the reaction scare, the rest of my second treatment went well! They slowed down the Taxotere and worked their way back up again to where it needed to be. I was able to enjoy the rest of my sister's visit that night before she had to fly back home the next morning. Three weeks later, and it was already time for Chemo #3! It was just after Thanksgiving so the timing was perfect! I was feeling great and able to really enjoy all that comes with this wonderful holiday! The food was fantastic and we were able to spend time with all of our family as normally as possible. My friend Jackie came down from New Hampshire that Sunday to join me in my next treatment. It was so special to have her here with me and I knew she would be a great person to have by my side, especially if anything went wrong like last time. It's always reassuring having another nurse next to me! Again, the first two meds went just fine, and then they started the Taxotere. Since I had a reaction before, they started me slow and were going to work me back up. Well, they started me slow and I STILL had another reaction. What the hell?? It definitely wasn't as bad as before, but I was starting to feel that chest tightness again. They stopped the med, gave me a steroid, and started even slower. After that, I was fine. Next time, the plan is to just give me a steroid along with my other pre-meds to hopefully prevent the reaction all together.... we will see!

And just like that, I have Chemo 1, 2, AND 3 in the books!!! Whoaa we're halfway there! (Thank you Bon Jovi!)

Know your body.

It was early September. My daughter, L, just started preschool. My son, T, and I were getting ready for all kinds of adventures just the two of us. My husband, Andrew, went back to work after a beautiful summer off, and I had just finished my five-week Real Estate course. I was busy studying to get ready for my exam, while training for my first half marathon!

One morning, I woke up and noticed a large bump on my left breast. I questioned it, but brushed it off. My body had been through two pregnancies in two years, I recently started exercising, and lost about 20 lbs. I figured I would give it a month to see if anything changed. Maybe it was hormonal? I am young and do not have a strong family history of breast cancer. Hell, I've never had a major medical concern in my life at all!

Over the next couple weeks, I continued to notice the bump. Though it wasn't so much as a bump, but a mass. It continued to bother me. I was training for my very first half marathon. I had never been so focused on something like I was when I was running and did not want to let this get in my way, no matter what it was. I was determined to wait to see a doctor until after my race at the end of October.

It couldn't be breast cancer. Google said I would have discomfort, nipple discharge, inverted nipples, change in color to my breast...I had none of the above.

The mass that I felt did not hurt. I did not gradually notice it. It was as if one day, it was just there, and it was big. It was firm. It was not normal for me. Still, I gave it time and I did not want to panic.

A couple weeks later, I remember cleaning out L's room, helping her organize all of her toys, when I felt a slight pain under my left armpit. When I touched it, it was the pea-size ball that really caught my attention.

Now, I may have been having some normal congestive symptoms with two boogery kids in the house and a husband who is a school teacher at the start of his school year, but I know my body. I have never experienced swollen lymph nodes when I get sick. Red flag.

I called my doctor right away. It was Monday, and they were able to get me in on the next day.

I met with my doctor and she could definitely feel what I was feeling. She said it could be a whole spectrum of things, but she ordered me an ultrasound and mammogram just to be sure.

I was able to meet with a radiologist Wednesday morning. First, we did an ultrasound, and followed up with the mammogram. I am 28 years old. I went to this appointment alone because I knew it would be nothing. Except, every step I had been taking so far, was not so reassuring. The radiologist came back into the ultrasound room and determined we needed to biopsy my breast because they could not factor out cancer.

This whole time I had been thinking it was nothing. I thought I was that annoying patient who went in for a minor concern that they see all the time. Now the gears shifted.

"Could I actually have breast cancer?"

I was alone. I left that appointment in tears when I should have been smiling. After a quick stop to the bathroom to take a breath, I made my way home to my family. As soon as I got home, I wrapped everyone up in my arms and never wanted to let go. The next few days of waiting were not going to be easy.

Friday was my biopsy day. This was no walk in the park by any means, but I made it through. Honestly, it felt as if they were taking a nail gun and shooting it at my chest. The needle was guided by the ultrasound so they could see where they were in the breast, and they placed little markers inside so we could see where they biopsied in a mammogram image. I was supposed to receive results either Monday or Tuesday. The nurse said if it's good news, they would call, if it was bad news, I would get a call from my regular doctor. Monday night I was supposed to take my Real Estate exam.

After a long weekend, Monday rolled around. My mom and I took the kids to a local pumpkin patch. It was cloudy and wet, but I needed to keep busy and wanted someone with me in case I got the call. Nothing.

Monday night came, and I still wasn't sure if I wanted to take my exam. I already paid for it, and if I took it I probably wouldn't pass because my mind was not in it at all, but if I rescheduled and this ends up being cancer, when would I ever take the test. I took the exam that night at 5:30pm. I passed the exam at 7:15pm. On Tuesday morning at 11:07am, my phone wrang. It was my regular doctor. My heart sunk. She asked me how I was, and said the words...

"I am so sorry, but it is cancer."

How was I supposed to respond to this? I don't even think I cried. My body was taken over by complete shock. I was already preparing myself for the worst, and hoping for the best, but the worst is what got me. I got off the phone and turned to my mom who was standing there with me in the kitchen. We hugged in disbelief and I looked at the clock. Life kept going, time kept ticking. It was now 11:17am, time to pic L up from school...

Still Sarah.

I am not really sure what to do on here or where to begin. Whether it is to help me, or maybe help someone else, though, it's worth a try. Regardless, I think it is time for me to share my journey, so here it goes...

On October 2, 2018, I was diagnosed with Invasive Ductal Carcinoma Breast Cancer. I was 28 years young, I was training for my first half marathon, eating healthy (most of the time), and studying for my Real Estate Licensing Exam. As far as knew, I was doing everything right, but sometimes that just doesn't matter.

Not to belittle anyone who has been diagnosed with breast cancer, or any type of cancer for that matter, but I was so quick to think to myself that it was all going to be okay. Maybe it was to make myself feel better, but I knew plenty of people who had been diagnosed with cancer and they're doing just fine. I knew I was going to be fine, too.

Then, that certainty quickly shifted when I was told that it had spread to my vertebrae, automatically making it Stage IV Metastatic Breast Cancer.

"Wait. What?"

To be honest, I didnt even know what the word 'metastatic' meant until that meeting. The doctor just seemed so calm when she said it, as if I shouldn't be concerned. Then I heard the words 'Stage IV' and 'incurable' tossed around and saw my husband shaking his head in his hands. My face turned to stone. I could feel my mouth open the slightest bit and just stay there. My eyes were dry without one urge to blink. It was as if, in that moment, my spirit escaped my body. I was watching everyone around me respond to this devastating news, without even being able to react myself.

I'm not sure my spirit ever returned, and if it did, it's definitely not the same. It is through this journey, though, that I will find out who I am and who I am meant to be. Rest assured, I am still Sarah.