Breadcrumbs

Just a quick stop to say I'm doing OK. People who see me keep telling me I look like I'm doing well so that's something? I'm up and about around the house, taking walks in the evening just a little, though have yet to try the hill up to the green. Ice packs and various sized pillows are my friends. Pain hasn't been terrible and I'm making very good use of those Costco sized bottles of OTC drugs that previously seemed silly to purchase as in "there's no way we will finish this before the expiration date." Well, maybe this time around we will.  I slept so much for the first 2 days home, napped like I have never napped before. I'm still resting a lot but not necessarily sleeping like a newborn. Buoyed by Michael as an extremely lovely and attentive caregiver and yes there are charts for when I take my meds and empty drains and he is on top of things. But mostly he's just very kind which is what I need. Had some time with watch silly TV with Jo...

Michael writing. We could have stayed the night in the recovery room, but chose to go home instead, a decision we made about 4pm and left the hospital about 7. The main upside of this was being with the kids, tastier dinner, and possibly better rest.  The main downsides was the drive home (20 minutes or so, not too bad), no hospital bed that can be easily adjustable in hundreds of ways, and the possibility of being tempted to do too much.  All of the upsides were really up, and the downsides were not too bad, though we had to try many different resting places and positions with pillows acquired in expectation of this and additional pillows in the house.   Cat fell asleep on the couch after a yummy dinner provided by friends (thanks LBs!). The idea was to take a short nap and then maybe watch some TV as a family.  The short nap was turning pretty long and she was deeply asleep, so I told the kids we might just be done for the night and then fell asleep myself....

Cat is out of surgery and everything went as planned. Just before surgery, our pastor Ben came to offer a prayer with the two of us and our surgeon.  She's a little groggy and starting to eat a turkey sandwich.    

One last thing. I mean, yes, it is already technically "tomorrow" as in surgery day but my body is still vaguely on West Coast time so maybe in my spirit it is still the day before surgery. Which means earlier today (i.e. Sunday August 17) I got injected with radioactive tracers/dye/something-or-other over in the magical nuclear medicine building so they can find my sentinel lymph node because that all sounds very normal. You know who else was radio active?  Peter Parker. And also Mile Morales. AKA you friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man. Spider-Men? You get it. Lots of you know I have a strong affinity for super hero movies and genre tales and lore. And if you want me to go real nerdcore on you ask me sometime about the fantastic film Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse and the thoroughly Anabaptist take that "anyone can wear the mask" as good Marvel theology. I'm not claiming any super hero status I'm just enjoying the confluence and living into thinking about...

At the very beginning of all this cancer business I was told that I would probably have some choices to make about my treatment, particularly regarding the kind of surgery I would have. That, yes, I would need to have surgery. But that given the size (small), shape (well circumscribed I believe is the term), and some other details (insert medical medical medical) I had options. Without going into all the gory details, either the fleshy gory kind or the emotionally vomitus gory kind, I thought I would say a few things about the decisions I came to and how I got there and where it might be going. I've had bits and pieces of this conversation with lots of people over the last 5+ weeks, from my medical team, to my family, to my therapist, to friends, lots with Michael, but also with strangers I met on the internet who are cancer survivors and strangers who are friends of friends who took time to talk with me on the phone, over email, over chats. The conversations have been helpful and ...

It's all very humbling and not a little overwhelming and leaves me not really knowing what to say what with the way people want to and do take care of me. I, like lots of people, like lots of caregivers, am a whole lot better at taking care than receiving care. I have been and am preparing myself to have lots of opportunities to stretch at those "growing edges." (Bleh. Growing edges?!? Who needs 'em?!?) Like today. When my book club whirlwind showed up at the house and spent 2 hours cleaning it top to bottom. I mean: I can't even. (Some of you have heard stories about my book club before. They really are just the best ever). And my sister and brother in law, who have been there, and sent me care packages while I was out of town with things like wash cloths for when I can’t shower post op and extra support pillows. And another friend who thankfully no longer needs that special mastectomy pillow who made the hand off festive with a fancy gift bag.  And the the const...

I have known for months that July 7, 2025 was going to be a batshit crazy kind of day, but it was not supposed to be the memorable kind. Mennonite Church USA planned its biennial convention for July 8-12 in Greensboro NC and at Chapel Hill Mennonite Fellowship we had decided to make hay of the fact that MennoCon would be a 45 minute drive from home, the best chance to get as many CHMFers as possible to convention as we would ever have, especially for youth. So I knew that Monday, the day before, was going to be nuts, working a full day at Transitions (because there is only so much PTO in the bank) while also reviewing a thousand last minute details to organize the shepherding of 10 youth for a week long trip. The day was predictably wild. I managed the admin for work, saw patients, rounded up info for the person covering me for the rest of the week, while intermittently sending emails and texts to church people and checking off lists. I finally made it to Costco at 6p, wandering the ...

Details, for those who know the lingo or the worlds of general medicine or oncology, or who find details helpful. I have learned a lot in the last month, but I still can't necessarily explain all of this. It is, however, becoming more a part of my world and I am becoming more fluent, and comfortable, with understanding the specifics. I have invasive ductal carcinoma, grade 2, about 5mm. The tumor is strongly ER+, PR+, HER2-. In layman speak, that means the cancer is small (very small) and the biomarkers and the combo of them (ER+[estrogen receptor], PR+[progesterone receptor], HER2-) are a "good" combo in terms of being treatable. I did some genetic testing which all came back clear, meaning I do not have any genetic predispositions for cancer, at least none that they know of and are testing for these days, including the BRCA1 and BRCA2 mutations. There's so far no indication of lymph node involvement, but they will do a sentinel node biopsy when I have surgery to tes...

One of the gifts of my job is that I work with amazing people who are really good at walking with others through hard things. Some of them are good at that not only because they are talented and skilled and plain old gifted, but because they have done hard things themselves too. And then they tell me about what helped them get through those hard things. I have the privilege of learning from them, and "learning" sometimes includes straight up stealing and riffing on their very good ideas. This one I guess isn't really stealing because she told me about it in a graciously open-ended "if this makes sense to you go for it" kind of way. So with idea credit to an anonymous source of wisdom, creativity, and mirth: Lots of you have told me you are thinking of me and praying for me in and through all the cancer things, and that you would love to know if there are particular ways you can think and pray and help. If you are one of those people, here is a thing that I think...

Welcome to the little blog that none of us ever really wanted anyone to create. But here we are. If you are reading this you probably already know that I was diagnosed in early July with breast cancer. As I have written in countless texts and emails, and said so many times already, the cancer is very small and was detected very early, so the prognosis is so far “very good.” And still, it is cancer. Which is scary, no matter the size and kind. Cancer sucks. So here we are. I have been thinking about how to communicate with all the people in my life, my community locally and in far flung places, my church people, my work people, my friends and family. So far that has looked like sporadic messages and updates and conversations where and when possible. Two things that have been consistent for me so far in this journey are 1) a sense of relief when I tell people and know that people know what is going on and 2) the comfort of words, and offers of support, and hugs, and angry emoji fac...