Did You Ever Think Life Was Gonna Be This Way?

A cool late Friday afternoon was turning to early evening on this day five years ago as Nick and I arrived at home, shell-shocked and terrified with the new knowledge that I had cancer.  As we sat there in the car, I finally googled survival statistics for advanced stages of colon cancer (I wouldn't know if I was Stage III or IV until the following Monday).  Survey said: nine percent five year survival rate for stage IV. Nine. Nine? I couldn't breathe. I gasped like a fish out of water. Nine. My expectations of seeing my babies grow up had just plummeted. I likely wouldn't even see either of them make it to nine years old.  There's a reckoning that occurs when you're confronted with your own mortality, a disrobing of sorts. I felt so empty those first days - as though someone had turned me over and shaken me, and almost all of the things that I thought mattered fell away and lay broken at my feet. In place of all of that, a smooth canvas of pure white terror an...

Spoiler Alert: I guess it's possible: I finally complained too much. But I had no choice, with the complaining and the wailing and the gnashing of teeth and so on! I've spent about $9 kajillion on skincare solutions but my skin would not play nicely. I can't even believe I'm saying this, but it's not even the acne all over my face that has been bothering me the most. It's the fact that I feel like a cicada nymph about to become a glorious locust, but without the glorious locust payoff. Don't know what I'm talking about? Feast your eyes on this: If that's not interactive enough for you, it appears that you can buy empty cicada shells in a fancy jar on Etsy . And then you, too, can feel what it's like to have my skin, at least a little...by putting one of the shells on your thumb? (Seriously, though, what is going on with this, Etsy? I feel like I just stumbled into the dark underbelly of the craft world.)  Anyhoo, I'm gonna wh...

PSA: The rumors are true: I’m on the tweeterbox! Follow me @DrJLifeThisWay __________________ Sometimes, when the sun is shining and the crocuses are pushing their bright little faces out into the world and my lungs are clear and the dogs are quiet and children satisfied and my husband smiles at me in the way only he can smile  and I have a Starbucks iced soy latte in one hand and a book in the other, all feels truly right with the world. I had two of these days in a row this last week, and in honor of that achievement I went to Target and bought a new gratitude journal to keep on the art cart in the dining room so that anyone in the family could write down things for which they felt grateful at any time.  Going to Target for a rogue errand, as many of you know but may not be willing to admit, is the 21st century white girl equivalent of this:  the aisles are alive...with the cutest little tchotchkes... I mean, all was right with my world! Even cancer ...

Today was a biweekly doctor visit and infusion day and I also watched one of my favorite movies, so I have OSO MUCH to tell you, I can barely (am I the only one who just got my own pun?) stand it.  BUT! Before I regale you with stories: we have some grammar-ing to do, America, and I have chemo brain, so if I don't blurt this out at this very moment, I may forget to discuss it for weeks.  I know the Republic is on the brink of collapse and everyone is getting their nuclear bunkers ready, but let's consider the TRUE CRISIS FACING US RIGHT NOW: the bi/semi prefix crisis. It's very clear in my own head: generally speaking, "semi" (as in semiweekly) means "twice in a" and "bi" (as in biweekly) means "every two." That's just how it works.  Can we all just agree to this and stop feeling befuddled by whether a bimonthly suubscription means you get something every other month or twice in a single month? I can only take so much confusion a...

“[M]y experience this year was, well, a bit of an adventure. By which I mean (cover your eyes if you’re pure of heart and vocabulary) that it turned into a clusterf*ck.”  - me, about 700 words from now    Hooked, aren’t you? I know. It’s the American way.  We all love disasters - and near disasters are even better! Read on... About two years into my diagnosis, back when I still read all of my email every day, I stumbled across a notice for a conference taking place at my cancer center. They were training people to become advocates for the colorectal cancer   (CRC) community. Specifically, they were going to teach people about the latest research developments and innovations related to CRC. This sounded awesome - a conference that would help me be more pro-active, knowledgeable, and engaged in the research and development of the innovations that were saving my life? Sign me up! The only problem? It wasn’t actually a call for participants - it was...