Author: kugrad2003

It’s been one year (and six days). One year (and six days) without cancer. One year (and six days) since I finished my last immunotherapy treatment.

The date snuck up on me. It was a look back at my Facebook memories last Sunday that told me it’d been exactly a year since my final time in that brown recliner at the Cancer Center. I can tell you the date that I found out I was sick – December 7, 2022. (The irony of that fact that is not lost on me.) Wasn’t the date that I claimed victory one that I should also have etched in my brain?

I haven’t been dealing with the debilitating side effects of chemo for a year, but I continue to discover ways that cancer is still present each and every day. First, my toenails are weird and I do not like it. Apparently this is a side effect of treatment and one that I am not pleased about. No more shall be said. And no, I won’t show you my feet. What kind of weirdos are you, anyway?

But the biggest issue for me is post-traumatic stress. It’s pretty obvious (at least to me) that I’m a little off-kilter when I have an appointment or labs coming up, but it manifests itself in other ways too.

Back pain? Cancer. (Not the fact that I sat like a pretzel on the floor.)
Headache? Cancer. (Not the astounding lack of caffeine.)
Upset stomach? Cancer. (Not the stupid amount of Nerds that I devoured.)

I’m hopeful that the further away my diagnosis and treatment appear to me in the rearview mirror, I’ll jettison some of the anxiety and stress. But I know that there’s always going to be a little bit of me that will still wonder “what if?”

Weird toes and anxiety aside, it’s time for me to get moving and live the rest of this cancer-free life that I’ve got. I intend to make the most of it.

“If you had a friend you knew you’d never see again, what would you say? If you could do one last thing for someone you love, what would it be? Say it, do it, don’t wait. Nothing lasts forever.”

One Tree Hill is one of my favorite shows. It’s one that I turn to time and again when I need something familiar, something comforting when I’m having a day. So it’s all too fitting that this quote came to mind today, on Andy’s birthday.

I wish I had known when I saw Andy on his birthday in 2023 that it would be the last time. I would’ve stayed to take in the evening just a little longer, laughed just a little louder, and listened just a little closer. I would have made that last hug a little tighter. And while I’m sure that he knew, I would’ve told Andy how grateful I was to have him in my life, how lucky I was to have him as my friend, and how much I absolutely adored and loved him.

I’m thinking about you and missing you especially hard today, my friend. Happy birthday.

Bet you thought that I’d forgotten about you. Fear not, friends!

Yes, it’s been a minute – okay, months – but I’m back. Why now? Well, it was something that my friend Megan said.

I was sitting in the office not too long ago, kicking around ideas to sort out what I should write about in upcoming articles. I’d hit a road block. Breast cancer was the next topic I needed to tackle, but I felt like I didn’t have anything new to say.

Why don’t you share your story?

When Megan said it, I wondered why I hadn’t really considered it before. Maybe it was too personal, would make me too vulnerable – maybe it would make me realize how tough the journey actually was.

Maybe that’s all true. But I bet that it would also help someone who is scared about their own diagnosis, who doesn’t know what may be coming next.

So stay tuned, friends. There’s more on the way.

Thanksgiving this year shines in a whole new light, with a renewed sense of thanks and grace. I couldn’t have known it at the time, but last year’s celebration would be the final “normal” holiday I would have BC – before cancer. 

I’m ashamed to admit it, but I don’t remember a lot about the day. We spent the day in Kansas City with Brian’s family and the kids and came home after a ton of food, conversation and football, but I wish I could grab on to the little memories. It’s not that I want to hang on to those so tightly because I want to return to life BC, but because I want to realize how different things are for me now. 

I made it through the biggest fight of my life. I made it through days where I was so sick that I didn’t want to move an inch and when I was so tired that I just couldn’t keep my eyes open. I made it through panic inducing moments like watching hair come out of my head in clumps and days where food tasted so awful that I didn’t want to eat. But I did it. I made it. 

It hasn’t been an easy year. I’ve experienced the loss of beloved family members, grieved changing friendships and coped with ways that cancer will forever define my life. But one thing I have not done is given up. 

I have so much to be thankful for this year. I became the Mimi to the sweetest boy in the world two months ago. I get to watch my niece continue to grow and learn. I get to spend time with my folks, my family and my friends. I am beyond grateful to have been here for the whole experience. 

Take stock of everything you have to be thankful for and take it all in. Savor those experiences and make tons of memories. I intend to make the most of this beautiful, scary, messy life and I’m glad to spend it with all of you. ❤️

It’s been exactly two weeks since my surgery, so I think it’s time for an update. Since this is the first time that I’ve really sat at a computer for any length of time, who knows how long (or short) this might be. Off we go!

June 21 will forever be a date that’s seared in my mind. It’s the date that marked the end of a dark chapter in my life and blew open the doors to an entirely new and foreign adventure. It’s not a route that I would have chosen or one that I wish on anyone, but this is the hand that I was dealt. It’s time to play.

For those of you who are new here (or those that just want a quick recap), I was diagnosed with triple negative breast cancer just after Thanksgiving 2022. Six months later, after what felt like an eternity with chemo, I elected to undergo a bilateral mastectomy with the hope that it would wipe out the remaining cancer that decided it’d like to hang out in my body a bit longer.

So in the wee hours of Wednesday, June 21, 2023, Brian and I got up, got ready and drove out to the Lawrence Surgery Center for a day that would change our lives forever.

The “wee hours,” Autumn? It couldn’t have been that early.

Au contraire, my friends. I was up at 4:30 in the a.m., a time that’s rarely been seen by these eyes unless I was coming home from a closing shift at the bar. It certainly isn’t a time that either of us are accustomed to starting our day, but that’s exactly what we did. Brian had coffee and a shower, I had a shower and no coffee (no fun), we did a few last minute things around the house and we were off by 6 so that we’d make our 6:15 check-in at the facility.

The very kind woman at reception started the day off right – she told me that her first name was Rachel and her daughter’s name was Autumn – and that calmed this nervous wreck enough that I don’t think my hands were shaking any longer. At least, it felt that way anyway. Brian and I sat for a few minutes before they called my name and whisked me back to pre-op, where I got a nifty cap, gown, compression stockings and some contraptions on my legs that gave me a nice massage every couple of minutes. I know they’re meant to keep blood clots from forming but really, that alone might have been worth admission. There was also a blower that pushed warm air into my fancy pants blanket to keep me warm throughout the procedure, which I learned is meant to help reduce the risk of infection.

Once I was all fancied up, Brian came back and sat with me as I got some pre-op meds and had the IV placed. My folks came back shortly afterward to hang out as well and got to witness the myriad of doctors and nurses coming in and out of my curtained room. I repeated my name and date of birth more times than I can count (which I don’t mind at all, as it’s meant to ensure that I am the person whose boobs they want to whack off), got drawn on by both of my surgeons and had some more fancy drugs to finish off the prep before it was time to go.

I remember being wheeled down the hallway and into the operating room and thinking that this might not be so bad. I was going to be totally asleep, after all. We got to the OR and what struck me is how bright and white the room was, not like what you see on Grey’s Anatomy with the muted blue and green walls. This was bright, like I’m not sure it could’ve been any brighter in there without sunglasses. (You have to remember that I was as high as a kite, so my memory may be a bit exaggerated.) I scooched my behind from my bed to the table, had a little conversation with a nurse and that’s where the memories stop, my friends.

The next thing I knew, I was in the recovery room chatting away with my family. How long I’d been chatting before my memory comes back is entirely unknown to me, so God knows what actually happened. I am told that someone asked what drugs I was on and when I heard that I was on fentanyl, I asked if it was the Narcan kind. Fortunately, I was told that it was not that kind and I was pleased the docs had it all under control.

After a few hours in recovery (and some amazing pudding), Brian brought me home to begin resting and the journey of getting to our new normal. We aren’t entirely there yet, but we’re headed in the right direction.

It’s been a minute since I’ve felt like sitting down, taking a breath and sharing more about my journey. I think it’d be appropriate to say that I’ve been overwhelmed over the last couple of months with chemo, a myriad of doctor’s appointments and getting ready for what comes next.

I survived my dance with the red devil and came out the other side unscathed. That’s not to say that it was a pleasant experience. If anyone tells you that it was, they’ve probably also got a bridge in Brooklyn to sell you. I give the experience 0 out of 10 stars.

Now the countdown is on to the next step – surgery. Yes, friends – it’s almost time to get rid of these things that are actively trying to kill me. We’re having a double mastectomy.

It’s a strange feeling knowing that at this time next week, I’ll be asleep on a table while two skilled surgeons whom I trust will be taking me apart and putting me back together again. That parts of me that I’ve always had, straight from the original manufacturer, are going to be taken away and replaced with something new, something foreign.

Am I nervous? Yes. The closer it gets, the more anxious I get about the unknown. Am I ready? Also yes. It’s time to get this show on the road.