Cancer Faux Real

There's something in the air reminding me of Italy. Maybe it's my hot-sticky sweat. Or the laundry detergent with just a hint of sea salt. Maybe the coffee beans left over from morning. It's intoxicating. All it takes is one note and I'm there in my mind. Maybe it's my pace. Maybe it's not needing answers and being ready at any time to pour a short glass of red. Maybe it's the loaf of bread half-torn. Maybe it's the way the sunlight hits the basil outside or the hummingbirds that keep swinging past my window. I opt for the matches to light the candle sitting next to the milk glass candy jar. It makes the room just one tick warmer and I relish it. I can feel sweat on my upper lip, the back of my pajamas, and the top of my bald head. I think I'll tear off lettuce for lunch today and mix it with olive oil, white wine vinegar, salt, and pepper. It reminds me so perfectly of my grandmother. It needs nothing more. Or maybe just a splash of lemon. Maybe I w...

They say, yesterday is history, tomorrow a mystery, and today is a gift, that's why we call it the present. Lately, I couldn't understand that more. It's nearly 7am and I find myself seated alone at our small kitchen bistro table, with only the sounds around me of a ticking clock and now click-clacking keyboard strokes. My babies sleep, husband too. I see the street is wet from rain, although I never heard a drop. Birds chatter for their mother in the small nest outside the nearby window tucked inside somewhere safe. I sip my espresso and remember the European lifestyle I was raised on, and the standing-only Italian bars I'd visited for a quick morning sip. I notice a streak of blue paint on the side of my coffee cup, remnants of young ones who'd needed to rinse a brush as they created small masterpieces weeks or months ago. My hands type more slowly as the anti-nausea medications hold my energy back. I imagine I'm being slung backwards by a force that makes it ...

When I was 9 years old, I made a small mistake that changed the course of my entire life: I looked up my name in our family dictionary. And can you imagine what I got in return? Weary. Yep! WEARY. And it didn't stop there. It tortured me further by unfurling a biblical story of Leah, the girl who could not bear children and a sister who could, thus rendering her useless and a familial disgrace . This "defining moment" at NINE years of age sadly  shaped the way I saw myself for the subsequent 3 decades of my life.  I mean, WEARY... tired, connotations of frailty, the opposite of strength, courage, bravery... just. plain. weak. Ugh.  Enter Cancer. Flash-forward to Round 3 of 4 chemotherapy treatments. Right in the depths of my fight. Because I've never forgotten my "namesake", after 5 solid hours of treatment [ without an allergic reaction or a single drop of tears ], I was compelled to inquire about the strength of the drugs I had just endured and understand ...

Oggi mi sento piena di fortezza Ma faccio finta Oggi ti prometto che verrò Ma non so quando Oggi prego a Dio e tutto l’universo Ma ancora mi preoccupo Oggi mi ricordo quando mi sono innamorata di te Ma sono passati molti anni Oggi ho bisogno di te Stai con me Nel cuore Italia mia  

Since getting diagnosed, I’ve been more obsessed with my looks than a tween girl who just got her braces off. And you know what? I’m not even fighting it. See, it’s more than just desiring beauty , it’s about CONTROL.  Even more than that , I’ve learned of the irrefutable link between how I feel   about my outside and how I feel  physically on the inside. So, I’ve become my new favorite girl crush. Need proof? Exhibit A: I’ve started wearing SHORTS and above-the-knee DRESSES!! [ Gasp! ] Note: I was roughly seventeen years old the last time that happened. Now every time I do, I skip and smile more. Fact. Exhibit B: I've FINALLY started doing an evening skin care ritual before bed. [ You were right all along, big sister... ] And I'm waking up feeling confident when I look in the mirror. Watch out world. Exhibit C: I've started wearing wigs even when it's just me around the house. And that small step toward feeling "normal" is tricking my brain enough to near...

Up-down, side to side, round and round, reverse, round and round. Two days before or two days after your period. Do monthly self exams and you’ll feel better when you’re dancing. 

At my first school dance in the 6th grade, a horribly mean girl approached me with a quarter in-hand. She held it straight to my face and uttered ever-so snarkily, " Here. Take this. I'm PAYING you to stop dancing ."  Today I find myself recalling that moment, thinking... Oh, honey. Jokes on you. I've never STOPPED! But thanks for the payphone call for my ride home. 😉  Read between the lines, quarter girl In fact lately, I've REALLY been embracing my moves AND my magnificent "weirdness". So much so, I'm now fully in awe of all the "wrong side of the wall" kids from high school [ Westerville North grads, you know what I'm talking about... ]. They were, perhaps unknowingly, embracing their weird and wonderful uniqueness. Enough to be OUTCAST! What a COMPLIMENT! Like I've always said, being "normal" is a fate worse than death. Those kids were ahead of their time. #praise  But it's sad, really. Ever notice how incredibl...

So I'm fully convinced: once a strategist, always a strategist. Spend enough years creating strategic frameworks for clients and it changes. your. brain. Which is why I have one... even for this blog. Yeah, major nerd alert, I knowwww. And like just about EVERY meaningful thing in my life, it came to me in a lightening strike epiphanic way when I took a small pause a few weeks into writing and asked myself - Leah, why ARE you doing this?  And my little inner voice responded, equipped with tiny whiteboard, laser pointer and all. Allow me to unpack the Strategic Experience Principles that underpin my work... [ Bingo! says the girl from the back row playing agency buzzword Bingo, approaches desk to claim her award ] Positivity 👉 The glass. IS. half. full. And truly knowing that is the ONLY way I'm getting through to the other side while remotely enjoying the journey ( same goes for you, too, buddy ). Silver linings, laughter, play time... good vibes only. The whole WORLD...

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...

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 str...

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 t...