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�Without the dark there isn�t light. Without the pain there is no relief. And I remind myself that I�m lucky to be able to feel such great sorrow, and also such great happiness. I can grab on to each moment of joy and live in those moments because I have seen the bright contrast from dark to light and back again. I am privileged to be able to recognize that the sound of laughter is a blessing and a song, and to realize that the bright hours spent with my family and friends are extraordinary treasures to be saved, because those same moments are a medicine, a balm. Those moments are a promise that life is worth fighting for, and that promise is what pulls me through when depression distorts reality and tries to convince me otherwise.�    - Jenny Lawson : author, blogger, mental illness sufferer, lovable oddball *** A year ago today I got probably the least fun phone call ever from my Ob/Gyn . I knew what was coming, and I thought I was prepared to hear it. But like who�s ok with...

If the massive Pink Ribbon flags hanging from the streetlamps up and down Main Street didn�t clue you in, October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Towards the end of September, I began to dread the arrival of �Pinktober.� And this is why - I find everything about it incredibly polarizing . There are your tutu-clad marathon fanatics who welcome the onslaught of everything pink with eager enthusiasm. And then there�s the vexed anti-pinkers who find the current theme of Breast Cancer Awareness Month to be both alienating and misdirected. So where do I stand in this Sea Of Pink? Where do I fit into this equation as a young breast cancer patient still undergoing treatment? And what more can I possibly offer to the dialogue already being had on other (much more lucid and far-reaching) cancer-related blogs? I�d rather not piss and moan about things. Negativity like kills my vibes, ya know? But still. I think this whole Breast Cancer Awareness rigmarole is something worth addressing. Last mo...

I originally wrote this piece a couple of months back, while recovering from my first mastectomy . Then I got crummy news  about my cancer, and this post seemed totally irrelevant so I never published it. I've been saving it for the right time. Which is now because the writer-y part of my brain is kaput, and I am so overwhelmingly TIRED.  "Be kind. For everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about." Yes. I did  just open this post with an authorless quote that sounds like it was swiped from the Pinterest board of a delusionally optimistic sorority girl. And yet. Read it again. Because it's actually kind of important. When people see me in a bandana trying to wrangle a Hershey bar out of my toddler's death grip, they already know my battle . It's visibly obvious I've been through chemo. Either that or my fashion sense is tragically rubbish. But most people (I hope) assume the former. This does have its benefits. Strangers are ever so nice to...

This space could use a little jolt of happy, wouldn�t you agree? I had my first post-op appointment with my surgical oncologist yesterday. Remind me to stop scheduling things in the afternoon. Waiting around all day turns me into a strung out lunatic. By the time we were ready to leave, my stress level had surpassed its breaking point. Paul drove. I cried. Perched on the examining room chair, I fidget with the ties of my pink cover-up. My doctor pokes his head in the door, smiling. Smiling is a good sign. I like smiling. We talk about how I�m feeling. He takes a look at my incision. He decides it�s time to remove the sutures. �I�ll be right back. I�m just going to run and grab a suture removal kit, ok?� Ok. But um, like -- do I still have cancer? I love my doctor. He�s the best. He�s brilliant. And sometimes brilliant people are�slightly scatterbrained? Or eccentric. So I forgive him for not launching into my pathology results the moment he walked in the door.  As he�s pulling...

In case you were wondering, here are ten ordinary tasks that are impossibly hard to do after a mastectomy: getting out of bed  getting into bed getting comfortable enough to sleep in said bed  opening the refrigerator  opening pill bottles  opening anything  staying awake for more than a few hours at a time  putting on t-shirts  sitting on the same couch as a squirmy 3-year-old  updating your blog, apparently Things went fine on Monday. As fine as these things can go. No complications, unless you count a bout of nausea so severe it made me reach for the call light. I LOATHE using the call light, so yes, it was that bad.  No skin grafts were necessary for the wound closure. Thrilling news! We are so, so pleased about that. By Tuesday afternoon, I was home. I�ve been sleeping ever since. I wouldn�t be surprised if Ingrid equates adulthood with perpetual naps and constant doctors' appointments. Because that is what the adults in her life do: sle...

I�m a little late to the party, but a fellow breast cancer blogger, Nancy Stordahl , whom I admire greatly, proposed a summer blogging challenge last month. Though the grocery stores here in Western New York are stocked with Oktoberfest, and our temps are hovering right above sweater weather, the calendar agrees with me: it's still technically summer. I got Paul�s answers for these, too. And they�re good. 1. Share anything you want about your cancer diagnosis (or your loved one�s). Share your age, cancer type, stage, when you were diagnosed, family history (if any), your reaction, how you learned the news, or whatever you�re comfortable sharing. Liz: I was diagnosed with Invasive Ductal Carcinoma, stage IIIb, in February 2017. The cancer was in my right breast and had spread to my underarm lymph nodes. I was 30. No family history, really. Just one cousin on my dad�s side who was also diagnosed fairly recently. Because a lot of people ask: I found a lump so I went to the Doctor. P...

I was not in a good way last week . This Monday didn't help (does it ever? What a jerk.) We kicked things off with my (super genius) plastic surgeon. He filled us in on some things. Like the terrible (but super genius) stuff he is going to do to my body. Paul: "I don't know if it's my super low hemoglobin or the description of your surgery, but I felt really lightheaded in that appointment." You and me both, dude. I don't do gore. Put on an episode of Game of Thrones and I see maybe 20%. The rest I mostly spend with my face covered, shrieking, "no no no no no no no no no stop stop stop stop stop stop." But surgeons don't mind talking about blood and muscle and great green globs of greasy grimy gopher guts. It's their thing. They like   it. And thank God they do. I'll spare you the parts that had my head spinning. Basically, this is what's going down on Monday September 11th: My surgical oncologist will remove the implant in my right...