This Guy 

Possibly 2005?

The moment John fell out of that revolving door at Trophys, I knew I was going to spend the rest of my life with him. I was positive. Intense right? 

I wasn’t too sure about marriage at the time but I was content with being life partners. My forever Sig O. Eventually, we both warmed to the idea of marriage and here we are.

John is my lobster. The person who gets me most. I’m not saying that everything is perfect all of the time. Because, welp, this is life and sometimes life gets hard. But we always manage to pull through and end up stronger. 

John loves me for who I’ve been, who I am, and who I am becoming. It’s safe to say, he is my biggest cheerleader. And I, his. And I’m pretty sure that’s what love is. Am I right?

When my anxiety starts to get the best of me, he’s right there to bring me back. Somehow, he always knows the right things to say. Sometimes I wonder if our roles were switched, would I be able to be as strong and supportive as him? Or would I crumble? How would I know what to say to make things easier for him? 

With this week’s chemo postponed, I will admit, I have not been my strongest. It’s scary to be doing “nothing.” Also, there has been a longer than usual break inbetween Oncology appointments and I am missing her reassurance. My mind has been slipping to bad places and fear has been rearing it’s head again. But John isn’t having any of it. He reminds me that chemo alone doesn’t beat this. I must stay positive. Tonight he said something about us being like water, fluid to fit any situation. I mean, he says it all way more eloquently than that but you see where I’m going. He stays strong. 

Lately, I have been thinking about my reconstruction options. Maybe you remember my post about my visit with the plastic surgeon. If not, I’ll remind you. Reconstruction scares the fucking shit out of me. And I’m not sure if it’s a step I want to take. But I love knowing that John supports me no matter what decisions I make. He has made it clear that he will never love me any less if I decide to skip reconstruction. 

It’s easy to say no to reconstruction now but I don’t know what I’ll feel like after the removal of the girls. I mean, I have lugged them around for so long, it might get lonely. But I’ve been doing some research for when it’s time to make that decision. There is a really inspirational and motivating movement I have been introduced to. #flatandfabulous has helped me realize that I don’t have to have the reconstruction to still feel like a woman. Now, again, I don’t know if that will be my path. But at least I know it is an option. 

While submerged in #flatandfabulous, I found several strong women who have chosen to not have reconstruction. Deep in that hashtag, I stumbled upon Tig Notaro. Now, I realize I am late to the Tig game. But hell, if she is not someone who needs to be in my rad lady posse. She has been through some shit and came out stronger. If you don’t know who she is, she’s a very talented and insanely funny comedian. Last night, John and I watched Tig on Netflix. So many times, it felt as if she entered my body and spoke directly from my heart. Not even just about cancer, but about so many things. Including the feelings that go with the loss of a parent. Or two. 

She is bold and unapologetic and so hilarious. I really hope we can get to one of her shows in the new year, maybe after chemo is complete. Even more, I hope that I can keep my sense of humor like her. Because I can choose to laugh about it all or be pissed and cry. Laughing sounds way more fun. 

Alright, enough emotions. 

Fun fact: Things I wanted to be when I grew up- a veterinarian, a Fly Girl, a stand up comedian. 

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No Chemo for Me-mo 

Well crap on a cracker. No chemo today because my counts were all low but more specifically, my platelets were crazy low. So what’s that mean? It means my 12th Taxol will be next Thursday as long as my counts go back up. And then that means the AC will begin on 12/29. It also means I need to be very careful to avoid injury. So, like, no walking into fire hydrants and shit. 

Don’t stop believing 🎅🏼

The good part about the shift is that I won’t be sick on Christmas and can be fully present with my family. The bummer is that everything is pushed back a little. But I guess this is the universe’s way of making me take a break. To try and filter some of what has accumulated in my body. Another bonus is that I get to spend some quality time with my husband at our favorite coffee shop- minus being connected to a pump. It was a super shocker though, because I have been feeling fantastic lately. So now I’m choosing to happy instead of my initial feelings of frustration. 


I’ve recently added a new member to my rad lady posse. I met with an energy healer yesterday at my acupuncturist’s office. Another person who I was meant to cross paths with. She was just what I needed at that time. 

Daily, I am in awe of the strong, inspirational, and incredibly smart women I have met in my life. And I’m not just talking recently, although this diagnosis has really put me in touch with some gems, I’m talking throughout my life. The feminine energy in my life is unmistakable and mighty. Always has been. And if you are questioning if I mean you, I do. 


Not much else to report. So I’ll leave you with this question. Have you felt up your your boobs yet this month? 

¡Feliz Navidad!


Monday’s get a bad rap. I get it, it means the weekend is over and back to work for most. And if you don’t absolutely love your job, it can be rough and you just end up spending your week waiting until Friday. But then you lose so much time. Time that could be enjoyed rather than dreaded. 

And it’s easy for me to say this. I loved my job before I went on maternity leave. And I absolutely love the people I have had the honor to spend my weekday hours with. But I learned a while back that the next day is never guaranteed and because of this, I love Mondays just as much as Fridays or Saturdays. 

One major example in my life- one day my dad dropped me off for a Christmas party. The next day he was in a coma. It all changed so fast. Therefore, I love everyday. Even the worst ones because it means I’m still here. 

The holidays really remind me of how thankful I am for these days and that I can spend them with the people I love. I have spent 2 Christmas days in the hospital watching my parents slip away from me. This Christmas, I will be fighting for my own life. So it’s sort of silly how much I still adore Christmas but I do. The music, the decorations, the spirit, family. Christmas reminds me of some of the most special times. 

I have wanted to get Harlon’s birth story down on paper for a while now. And since Wyatt’s is on here and because it’s my blog (and I do what I want), I’ve decided to share Lil’ Har’s with you all. And because his story sort of begins with Christmas, I feel like I can tie it in. So if you have never heard the story, here you go. 

The Friday before my due date, I headed in for my regular prenatal appointment. The radio had just started playing Christmas music and I rocked out the whole way there. My OB checked me and I was 1cm dilated. She was confident that she would not be seeing for my appointment the next week. 

So I went on with my day- ate breakfast at Dick Church’s at the counter. They have the best hot chocolate. Ever. Shot the shit with the waitress for a bit. Enjoyed my last meal alone. Then I went to get a pedicure.  

Afterwards, I went home to take a nap. When I woke up around 4ish, I used the restroom. Walking to the couch, I felt a trickle. I thought I peed myself. So I went back to the bathroom to try and finish what I thought was already complete. Sitting there, some other stuff happened (I’ll spare you). But it was enough for me to google “it”. I called labor and delivery and they confirmed, I was in labor! She told me to get my stuff together, take a shower, and then head in. So that’s what we did. John finished a work call, we showered, we joked around. 

Right before we left the house. I made sure to put a shirt on.

Then we hopped in the car to go to the hospital. At this point, my contractions were so mellow that I had John stop at the local acai place to get me a smoothie. The thought of not eating once I got to the hospital freaked me out and pissed me off. So I wanted something in my stomach. It was a bad call. But more on that later. 

We were cruising the surface streets to the hospital because it was now about 7pm on a Friday and the freeways were packed. The Christmas music was still on the radio. Feliz Navidad was playing. Then, out of nowhere, SHIT!!! The contractions filled my body. And SPLASH! My water officially broke, flooding my seat. My pants were soaked, I was not prepared for this. From that point, the contractions were crazy strong. John was secretly so excited because he thought I would forever relate the Christmas music to the pain. Nope. 😊

John pulled up to the round about to let me out and he sped off to go park the car. I’m waddling in my fluid filled yoga pants to the elevator up to the Third floor and along the way, two different men offered me wheelchairs but the thought of sitting back down was not pleasant. So I politely declined and shuffled along. By the time I made it to labor and delivery, John was right behind me. 

After I was all checked in and checked “out” it was confirmed that I was 4cm dilated. My birth plan (HA!) was to deliver naturally with no drugs so I hopped in the shower to ease the contractions with hot water. I like really hot showers. Like super hot. So hot that I set off fire alarms. Yup, I set off the Kaiser fire alarm. The firefighters had to come up to the floor, I was moved to another room. It was a big fucking deal. John and I laughed but no one else seemed to be as amused. 

In the middle of the fire alarm fiasco 🚨

In the new room, things really started to take off. My contractions got much stronger, so painful. None of the birthing class techniques were helping and I puked. Puked that smoothie right up. That’s when the nurse came in to check me. Harlon was sunny side up. He needed to be faced towards my back and that was why I was in so much pain, I was having strong back labor. I had only progressed a tiny bit and the thought of continuing in that pain sounded awful. So I opted for the epidural. The nurse quietly erased “natural” from the white board in my room and I got prepped for a massive needle to enter my back.

But who cares about a needle that size when you’re not sure if the next contraction will literally make you pass out? Not me. That shit was amazing! I felt no pain at all. And bonus, the nurses were able to get H to flip over night since things had slowed a bit. 

By 8 am the next morning, we were watching college game day and feeling good. The midwife came in and we decided it was go time. She had told me that most first time moms push max. 3 hours. It sounded totally doable. By the third hour, I wasn’t sure anymore. Heading into the fourth hour, the midwife tells me I have 20 minutes to get him out or I’ll have to get a C section. I start bawling because I already know what my lady bits are like at this point and I’d rather not have my stomach cut open too. So I pushed a few more times and BOOM, John and I had a kid. 


I have been thinking about this crazy story more so lately with all of the Christmas tunes on the radio again. Just yesterday, H was singing along to Feliz Navidad. If only he knew. 


So thank you Monday. For letting me visit with family, play with my kids, cuddle with Petey, grow with my husband. 💖