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I'm pretty careful about what I listen to these days because I'm a great jumble of unchecked emotions and just about anything can (and will ) set off waterworks. And when I say "anything" I mean that in the most literal sense. Like yesterday I cried watching a dad tow his kids behind his bike down the street. And then I laughed because that is 100% insane. Anyway, Pandora Radio sometimes thinks it's a fun time to casually throw a tune into my queue that will completely destroy me. This is my attempt at paying it forward. Enjoy the cathartic cry! Each Coming Night by Iron & Wine   Will you say when I'm gone away: "My lover came to me and we'd lay In rooms unfamiliar but until now" Will you say to them when I'm gone away: "I loved your son for his sturdy arms We both learned to cradle then live without" Will you say when I'm gone away: "Your father's body was judgement day We both dove and rose to the riverside"...

�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...

After she took my vitals the other day, my radiation nurse popped her head back into the examining room. �Hey, I meant to ask - how�s your husband doing?� �Oh, he�s ok. Well. No. Actually�� I paused, not sure how to finish that sentence. I mean - how do you casually insert the fact that your husband is dying into a quick conversation? I stumbled through the key points:  He stopped taking the chemo pill he was on.  He may not pursue additional treatment.  He�s focusing on enjoying what time he has left.  See? It�s like dropping a bomb on people.  It�s also been a major reason for the gaps between my evasive blog posts lately. It hurts too much to think those thoughts. It hurts even worse to give them shape. We had a great Christmas. Absolutely, we did. It was very special. But. Everything has taken on this weird blend of light and dark, happy and sad, gratitude and grief. About a month ago, Paul went into the clinic for routine bloodwork. It was the usual state o...

My original goal here was to write at least one blog post per week. But I was busy watching season 2 of Stranger Things last week. And by week, I mean 3 days. Because how could you possibly take longer than 72 hours to watch it? If you have no clue what I�m talking about -- I�m sorry, but if you haven�t watched Stranger Things , are you even living? So. Why are you still here? Go. Watch. And then come back so we can fangirl together until our heads and hearts explode over how awesomely awesome that show is.  The past is in the past. Let it go. Now that Halloween�s in our rear view and we�re clipping along at a furious pace towards the holiday season, I find myself glancing back at the contrasting landscape we found ourselves in a year ago. Because I�m a well-adjusted individual who participates in healthy activities that foster self-love and contentment.  Sure, most people might think brooding over the past is self-destructive and demoralizing. Tomayto, tomahto...

Some awesome things that have been happening: I can wear mascara, finally. (I have a full set of eyelashes!) It�s always been my favorite, and I went 6 months without, so no -- I will not downplay my excitement. In case you didn�t hear, my second mastectomy was a success . Probably should�ve opened with this one, but gawrsh I love mascara. I am far enough along in my healing to wear a specially-fitted breast prosthetic. Which I realize is one of those things you might wish to leave out on a blog that�s read by your parents and maybe your high school teachers. It�s sort of like talking about a shopping spree at Victoria�s Secret: a cool thing, but a keep-to-yourself thing. But it�s also sort of exactly NOT like that. I have cancer. (cancer card! It�s happening!) I do (and write) what I want. Anyway, it�s great fun because when I go out, I no longer need to decide between the very unbecoming one-boob look or futilely stuffing a wadded washcloth into my bra. It�s a massive relief to we...

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...

4 days until surgery. The madness Richter scale is rising. I'd say we're at a 5. No, 6.  6 and mounting steadily. I recall informing people during the early stages of my treatment that I was "quite zen" about things. I wasn't being flip here. Or arrogant. I wasn't trying to downplay the gravity of our family being handed a second cancer diagnosis. I was just telling the truth. I felt peaceful. I don't know why. I'm a freak. I'm a weirdo. I don't belong here. If you approached me anytime from late February until maybe a few weeks ago and asked me how I was doing that's probably the answer you got: I feel fine. I'm at peace. Life, I love you; all is groovy. Of course, timing is everything. My sometimes fragile mental state has been subject to a rather extreme yo-yo effect since diagnosis. The first two weeks? Zen is not the word I'd use to describe...anything. Things were more like... a rabid runaway train heading full-speed towards a...