My Bad Boob

  October is breast cancer awareness month. So here's some real talk. Two and a half years into my metastatic breast cancer journey, I have declined significantly in less than two months. Mid-August I was enjoying NYC with my girls, averaging 20,000 steps a day. I planned that trip even though I couldn't afford it because with this disease you just don't know what the future holds, so best to do stuff when you can. I'm glad I did because now, two months later, I can barely walk to my car. Not sure if it's because of cancer pressing on my spinal cord or if I've just coincidentally developed sciatica, but my left leg has been weak and very painful ever since I found out I've had progression into my bones at the end of August. I've also had horrific pain in various places around my ribcage. At first I thought I'd pulled a muscle, or trapped a nerve. Then the pain moved but was just as intense. So intense I haven't been able to take a deep breath fo

It's time to fire this baby up again. I quit writing during my first diagnosis because I grew weary of getting bad news, of sharing bad news, weary of fighting, weary of feeling frightened and sad, weary of being Carrie-the-brave-cancer-warrior. Two years of constant assault on my body and spirit got the better of me, I guess, and I lost the will to write about it. And life sort of went on, too. Lots of other stuff happened. Non-cancer stuff. Which was nice, even when it wasn't nice. But I want to write again, and though I'm doing other writing elsewhere, it felt like a good time to revisit this little corner of myself. If you've stopped in to join me...well, hello there. Welcome. And thanks for coming.  Eight years ago today I went to sleep to a fentanyl lullaby and woke up a breast amputee. After looping the loop on the cancer coaster a few times in our quest to eradicate disease, I finally submitted to a completion mastectomy with immediate DIEP flap reconstruction (