Cancer Faux Real

All rejoice! I have a new favorite word!! Just. No, seriously. That’s the word: just. Ahem , I’ll explain.  There’s a VERY real reason that the brilliant advertising company behind Nike’s famous slogan led with this power-packed word in their “Just Do It” campaign [ that’s still printing money for breakfast BTW ]. It’s a teeny , tiny adverb that unlocks REALLY big things by making them seem… just do-able.  In FACT [ activating ultimate linguist mode ], the Latin root of just is justus , meaning RIGHT. Yep! Which, of course, in recalling this etymology spurred yet ANOTHER whoa moment for myself. Including two VERY meaningful hidden messages standing in plain sight before me: 1) Whenever I say just , it must be the right next step, and 2) I should just WRITE. See what I did there?  So, seriously, how could you NOT love this tiny power-packed adverb to the gods?!? It’s so beautifully simple yet could seemingly move MOUNTAINS!! I mean, give it a try: Think of the last good time you put

So, I met a girl. Tall drink of water, stems for days... articulate, chic, hilarious. Never met a stranger in her life. In fact, everyone she meets pretty much has a better day because she was in it. And you know what? She's facing some serious adversity right now. But dammit if I haven't seen a stronger force of nature put up a fight because of it. Like, HOT damn. 🔥 Technically I've "known" this glamazon my entire life. But wouldn't you know, I've treated her like dog$hit. I've called her names straight to her face. And worse still, I've deprived her of nearly every form of care you can imagine... for YEARS. Every time she's had a big dream, I've told her to hang back because she probably doesn't really deserve it. And if it ever actually came true, I told her it was only because she was sufficiently likable, not deserving.  So, if you haven't put two and two together yet... yeah, the girl is me. And I'm apparently the world

I’m writing this blog post from the cold, hard tile of my bathroom floor. I’d make some joke about how the rug has been pulled out from under me, but the truth is… it’s the only thing that’s keeping me comfortable right now. I woke up this morning feeling no different than any other day. I helped my girls pick out their school outfits with a smile and giggle as always. Our conversations circled around whether or not to bring a second set of shoes when my 10-year-old wanted to wear her 3-inch tall wedge heels and whether or not my 8-year-old should sport the neon Fannypack that’d so perfectly lined up with the color schema she'd prepared. I should have sensed the foreshadowing. So about that bathroom floor… when I came downstairs for breakfast, I made myself a delicious bowl of something healthy Devon bought, took a bite, and immediately the cold sweats kicked in. It was in that moment that I knew I could no longer run away from the more serious side effects of this God-awful cockta

I believe the children are our future. Teach them well and let them lead the way. Show them all the beauty they possess inside... [ Sigh. ]   Ever since I got sick, I can't stop thinking about the negative affect my diagnosis could have on kids. When I first found out I'd have to undergo chemo, it wasn't my side effects I was concerned about as much as those that the little ones on our street, at the bus stop, or the local restaurant would have to endure. The thing is, I've always been able to discern the distorted look of simultaneous curiosity and concern in a young child's face when they see someone that looks unwell. There's a hint of pain there. As if it breaks just the tiniest part of their belief that the world is one big, happy, magic-unicorn-filled sparkle party. And, dammit, it just couldn't be ME to send THAT kinda message. I'm the master of ceremonies in that universe! So far, I feel like I've done the best I could do given the circumstan

Dearest Reader,  After enough weeks of following along in my fantastical journey, I thought perhaps you had a few questions for me rolling around that ol’ noggin’ of yours that I might be able to relieve so’s you don’t go ailin’ on curiosity… Please allow me to address: Q: What would you say ya DO here? A: Well, on a day-to-day basis, I’m just bee-boppin’ around trying to entertain myself with my freelance consulting work, nurturing my bibliophilic tendencies, or trying to convince my psyche that I’m a character in a variety of alternative made-up storylines, ALL far more thrilling and/or enjoyable than this one. For example yesterday, as I was driving through the sloshy rain puddles of my small town, I definitely began holding my steering wheel like a pirate captain at the helm of her ship… I mean, the moment the metaphor of my life as “trying not to capsize through a violent storm” was created, it simply became impossible NOT to gurgle out a thar she blows!  and turn the street corne

Hey friends, just got off another super fun ride on the coaster yesterday... but yeah, definitely not for the weak at heart.  I will say, with all of the showering of affection from the day prior (THANK YOU ALL), I woke up in a much better mood and feeling ready to face the day. Pink hippie hair did a lot of the heavy lifting there, too. Thank you, Asian hairpieces off Amazon!  On the health update front: happy to share that my vitals were wicked strong, BUT my red blood cell counts were dog $shit. Chemo LOVES to do that to you. In fact I may be looking down the pike of a blood transfusion or two over the next few months, but we'll cross that not-so-scary bridge if and when we get there. NBD .  Ready for the BEST news of the day, though?!? My 3 centimeter mass is now only ONE centimeter after only ONE round of chemo under my belt. Science. Is. INSAAANNNNEEE!!!!   On the flipside - worst news of the day? Turns out I'm remarkably and super predictably allergic to one of my two

I began wondering what the end looks like for me. Not THE end, just at least one of the final culminating chapters of this story I’m clearly writing. And I’ve decided it’s a dance number. 💃🪩  Ready to put even Footloose to shame. One of my MUCH loved work besties I’ve “collected” through my life, Mary, came to visit me last night as a send-off to my second round of chemo. After the Leah-turned-fixer-upper-realtor tour through our 108 year-old money pit, we brought our chat outside around a marshmallow-sticked and kid-sticky-lipped firepit. Hours later as we prepared for final evening send-offs, I revealed a little working secret like I’d done so many times with her before. I trust Mary completely, so I knew she’d not only support the idea, but bolster me enough to continue making the steps necessary to manifest my destiny. 🚀 The idea? A blow-out remission party the likes of which have never been seen. Why? Because if celebrating life DIDN’T come with loud music, dancing in the stre

Lots of emotions today heading into my round two chemotherapy treatment tomorrow. Better expressed again through video. Bring tissues. xoxox 

Hey, y'all. She's baaaaccckkkk. And today, she's ANGRY. OK, I don't want to confuse you. The "she" is me. But it's only partly me that's got me riled up. Yes, today, I'm angry in part because my round 2 chemo is tomorrow, which comes with it its own set of fears, worries and risks which rob me of my carefree joy. It is, however, massively offset by being one step closer to the end of this breast cancer journey. And saying one final 🖕 addio 🖕 to this mother ffffff-fighter .   But me aside. Today I'm angry because in the last month of my life I have been exposed to more stories of other vivacious, beautiful breast cancer warriors than should EVER be told. And it makes me steamin' mad. One in particular is my good friend and former co-worker Paula who is, as I write , stepping into a TEN HOUR surgery to " celebrate " the end of her year-long chemo journey wherein she will get to have her insides ripped out then reconstructed all

Ugh. Imposter syndrome. Yet another disease I can’t run from. And unfortunately just like cancer, it does NOT discriminate. No matter the credentials, no matter the situation: it can strike when you LEAST expect it like a scary, sad-faced jack-in-the-box clown. mmm...  Boo!  Some backstory. See, my stepfather lost his sister Jane to breast cancer thirty years ago. Someone I'd never had the pleasure of meeting, but can only imagine was the female equivalent of my stepdad John. Likely a beautiful soul simply robbed of a beautiful, long life. He's been walking in the Race For The Cure in her honor ever since. A few days ago, he invited me to join. I hesitated because, if I must admit , walking and/or running and I are kind of frenemies. 😬 Nonetheless, I suited up in my best " please donate to this cause, but please don't pity me " ensemble and we hit the streets of downtown Columbus ready to slay both the day and cancer away. A few minutes later and we were stomping

Come one, come ALL! Come on DOWN! Get your tickets HERE!! And step right up... into the fun house  called "My Life Right Now". Move over, final dance number in Grease, this one'll give you chills, they're multiplyin' ... There I was, the day I hadn't expected so soon to face. But would not only be forced to  that day, but then every one thereafter for the next 6 months of my life or longer. I was about to lift the curtains I'd been so cozily hiding behind for forty years -- otherwise known as my hair. It was gutting. So I had to throw a party. [ Record needle falls off player from overuse. ]  Some context? I'm a control freak. The least compromising when it comes to my life goals and happiness. And Cancer just hates that. Worse than how an RBF woman hates my incessant smiling. Instead Cancer wants to play hide-and-seek with my greatest fears like we're wavy-floor dancing through a house of mirrors until I just give up. Trouble is, I just keep b

Yesterday. What a day. One that, for me , will go down in infamy.  Yesterday was a day that began with uncontrollable happy tears when I awoke to the news of the 8-days-early birth of my sweet cousin’s first child - a healthy, bouncing baby boy made only more perfect by being named after my most adored and Leah-character-molding Italian Grandfather. Whose namesake I also boast . From there it was filled with an unironically, TRULY fulfilling 9 hours of crafting a beautiful body of work with my freelance business partner fueled by unadulterated passion. The kind of work I don’t HAVE to do, I GET to do. And like only a perfect day can pull off as serendipitously as an impromptu fête, it ended with an idyllic evening under a vanilla-painted-moon-kissed sky accompanied by our where-have-you-been-all-my-life next door neighbors and their fairytale storybook children serenading us with spontaneous songs and parading around acts of self-written drama. Like pinch me.  Then, to my surprise, y

I'm somewhere roughly 1 1/2 weeks out from buzzcut day. So, I bought waterproof mascara. I mean, I'm gonna be bald , I'm not about to be a raccoon, too! And, statistically speaking, I'm forecasting a downpour.  I should know. I've spent the majority of my career as some form of an analyst. In fact I must admit, I love numbers like some people love coffee and croissants in the morning. I just think they're delicious like nummy nummy numbers num num . No, I'm not a statistician ( I'll never be as cool as YOU, Uncle Rocco ). But I AM one dangerous stat-slingin' consultant cowgirl. Mandatory round-up skills, sassafras attitude extra credit.    Which is why I know that my forthcoming invite's-in-the-mail buzzcut party will come with tears. Just like chemo round two. And this Saturday's Susan G. Komen Race For the Cure I'll be attending. I know I can fight cancer, but I can't fight those kinda probabilities. In fact,  I've been thinking

My husband and I like to joke that if I were a car, I'd be a scratch and dented FIAT but with well-worn baseball glove leather interior. You know, the kind of car you're certain has driven around more than a few times with an open bottle of Montepulciano in the cupholder and a few drips on the dash? But then you saddle up inside and you're transported to an olive grove ching-chingin' Sicilian seaside with George Clooney. Like Salute!  But allow me to explain those dents... I'm pretty sure growing up I was field research for Mean Girls . It mostly started in middle school but really hit its stride in high. Week 2 or 3 of freshman year to be exact. Some may say I brought it upon myself. I mean, I went and did the thing that invites more teenage eyeballs and ridicule than you can wag a neon-paint-chipped finger at -- as an incoming freshman, I started dating a JUNIOR. [ Open mouth slap and   GASP! ] My fashion preference for the heart-on-my-sleeve model done got me

I’m a sucker for a good oxymoron. Always have been.  If I had to guess why, I think it extends way beyond a love of words into a deeper realm of my psyche. In fact,  I’d say it’s rooted somewhere inside a personal narrative wherein I’m cast as the underdog, developed as an acquired need to compensate as an oft-teased younger sibling. Therapy   bill’s in the mail, you crazy Beast.  Lately, though, I’ve loved them because my entire life has been feeling like one. Here I find cancer  mayhem in my body, and I go and make peace with it.  I found out I’m sick and I in turn get healthier than I’ve ever been in my life. Everything is defying logic it seems.  [cue up Madonna’s What It Feels Like For A Girl ] Now come the antithetical realizations of my last few days that make the least amount of sense. Most of the most-loathed things about being a woman — think: periods, hairy legs, plucking eyebrows, monthly root touch-ups and flat hair days leading to the daily abuse of the wet-bun-backup

I have one big, LOUD, hands-waving-all-over-the-place Italian family. And beyond me being sick, [ Leah, maybe you put on un'undershirt and I make-a you something to eat ], we're actually all living our best lives. A BABY is on the way!!!!!!! [ My cousin’s, not mine, whew! ] For Italians, and specifically our family, this is one BFD. It's a BOY! So, yeah, we're over the moon [ cue Dean Martin STAT and grab the bottle o' red ].  This particular baby boy is in for such a treat, you have no idea. His father is a stunner, the closest thing I've ever known to a rocket scientist, and is so kind and full of life when you meet him you may not be able to prevent the compulsion to reach your hand out so he can pass along whatever he's on . Just a gem. Now, the mamma? Oh, get ready for this. Built like Yoga Barbie. Skin so beautifully olive you'll bring her pic into the spray tan artist as the I'll take this one . A laugh and sparkling smile that hook and reel y

I was born to stand out. I mean, look at the facts. I'm nearly 6 feet tall, I rock a crooked Italian nose and eyes so big and round I've actually been ASKED if they're real. Oh, and I've got more energy than a slice of Doc Brown's plutonium.  So, you're likely unsurprised to hear that lately I've been singing, dancing, writing, and striking up spontaneous conversations with strangers. Why? Because it’s literally been saving my life.  And, I've decided " Dance like no one's watching " is getting it COMPLETELY backwards. Dance like EVERYONE'S watching is what the world needs!!! I mean, when you are so filled with joy that your body simply can't NOT move, why oh WHY would you not share that!?! Oh, and p.s. that applies to ANYthing that brings you joy.  Yet I’ve seen it all too many times: people hold themselves back. And in the MOST inopportune ways it'll break your lovin' heart.  I’ve listened to students " try " sp

Day 9 post-chemo #1. Week one, doctor's told me, would feel "close to normal". But number two? Expect "hell week" they said. Well, listen. I did my first Masters in Italian. I've read all 3 parts of Dante's greatest work. And somehow, I'm skating through this phony  inferno doing triple toe-loops in a sparkle leotard!  If I haven't yet convinced you that I'm certifiably crazy, this may push you over the edge... what I'm experiencing right now? You should all be so lucky. OK, now pick that jaw back up and hear me out.  Yesterday was the fourth best day of my life. I simply MUST put my wedding and births of my two girls in first through third place, but let me tell you, I almost had to think about it. I mean, I popped up out of bed with what's now become a daily morning mantra of  holy $hit, I still feel good !? and could almost not propel myself fast enough from the comfort of my bed to take a long haul trucker-sized big gulp of life!