What Awareness Means {to me}

I'm sitting here on the couch SIX WEEKS after my last post. It's been SIX WEEKS since I had my tissue expanders exchanged for my "permanent" implants, and I never told you all how it went. Well, it went very well...until it didn't...until I was massaging scar tissue like I was told to do and I put my hand through my incision exposing my implant. So it's been almost THREE WEEKS since I earned myself an emergency surgery to remove and replace the possibly contaminated implant, THREE WEEKS since I spent the night in the hospital receiving IV antibiotics to try and prevent an infection after the exposure, THREE WEEKS since I spent hours in OR prep crying my eyes out while trying to explain to the anesthesiologist nurse that no, I will not be calmed down to talk in a couple minutes so you don't need to leave and you better just go ahead and say what you need to say, THREE WEEKS since I yelled at the nurses that I know they don't like doing implants with radiated skin, but that I didn't ASK for any of this so I was tired of hearing about it, THREE WEEKS since they pumped my stomach because I had eaten too close to the surgery, and THREE WEEKS since I had to start the whole healing after surgery process again, this time with mismatched implants {because the kind I had wasn't in stock}. In the past three weeks I have heard a couple of times how this was "really my first setback" and I guess I am supposed to feel good about that, but here's the deal, I'm pretty sure getting cancer at THIRTY FIVE years old was the first major setback...and I can think of a few others since then. So in this time of "awareness", I feel compelled to share what "awareness" means to me, beyond the smiling faces and pink ribbons...

Breast Cancer Awareness is:

• Accidentally brushing your hand across your chest in the shower and feeling all the blood rush from your body when it hits a very obvious lump...
• Knowing that "monthly changes" can sometimes make young breasts lumpy, so deciding to wait a week before calling the doctor to see if things "change", but still knowing somewhere deep down that this isn't good...
• Waiting until Mother's Day passes and then your birthday because you just know that something is very wrong and you want those happy memories first..
• Seeing a young woman in a scarf dancing with her friends when you are out for your birthday and thinking to yourself, "that's going to be me"...
• Calling the doctor and again feeling all of the blood leave your body...
• Seeing the faces of the mammogram and ultrasound technician, hearing the radiologist say, "this is not good, you need a biopsy very soon"...
• Looking through the pictures on the disk given to you by the radiologist and realizing that, no, this doesn't look good and wait a minute, there are TWO HUGE LYMPH NODES INVOLVED...
• Laying in the dark cold room on the ultrasound table while having a huge needle shoved into your breast and armpit ~ all of this while holding your lucky stuffed dog in your hand, because even adults need that sometimes...
• Being handed information on breast cancer right after the biopsy, knowing that they are sure, even before the news comes...
• Laying in bed on a rainy Thursday morning, thanking God that your boys are sleeping in, for the first time ever, as you lay there wrapped in the blanket your friends gave you, picturing Jesus sitting beside you with His hand on you for comfort, which is strange because you have never been super religious, but you are terrified and you need that image, because you KNOW you will be getting "the call"...
• Getting "the call" while driving to a play date with friends, it's still raining, pouring actually, but you take the call anyway because you swear you aren't going to be shocked by the news, but you still are..
• Calling your husband, knowing you've just crushed a big part of his heart...
• Walking into Little Monkey Bizness, but not really being present, feeling that this is all an out of body experience and that you are watching it, but not really EXPERIENCING what is going on...
• Telling your friends you got "the call", being too numb to cry, but seeing the fear in their eyes...
• Watching your children and their children play and thinking about how unfair this all is and how you might not get to see your children grow up...
• Calling your mom and giving her the news, being careful to sound detached and like it's not really a big deal, which is ridiculous, because obviously you have just broken someone's heart...
• Guarding your emotions with everyone except your husband and doctors, so that nobody else knows how scared you really are...
• But then, going on a run one night and crying so hysterically, that you are gasping for air and pretty sure you are just going to drop dead right there from heartbreak...
• Lying on your stomach with your breasts hanging through the holes of the MRI table as the radiologist repeatedly sticks a needle into your breast to try and find the correct area to biopsy, the needle breaking and the doctor acting like it's your fault for having "very dense breasts"...
• Shaking uncontrollably for half an hour after the MRI because you are FREEZING and have been bleeding from the breast for about 45 minutes...
• Watching as the nurse hooks you up to chemo for the first time and feeling an overwhelming fear of the unknown...
• Laying on the couch and accidentally pulling out handfuls of hair, watching your ponytail become thinner and thinner...
• Sitting in a chair on the deck while your husband shaves your head and you give handfuls of your hair to your children to "give to the birds so they can make a nest"...
• Not letting anyone outside of your husband and children see you without a hat for the next 6 months {even when you have surgery} because you are embarrassed, but also because you don't want them to see you looking "sick", because that makes it too real...
• Being afraid that chemo will make you SO sick that you won't be able to go to your children when they call for you in the night and thinking that if that happens you will just sleep on their floor, but then being grateful that that doesn't happen...
• Being devastated when your niece is born, and you are having a "bad phase" because of the steroids and can't bring yourself to get to the hospital to see her...
• Realizing that some of the people that you thought would definitely be there for you really aren't and being sad about that, but at the same time knowing how hard this is from their standpoint, so learning to forgive and to just move on...
• Knowing that you will never look quite the same to yourself in the mirror and that your breasts are only part of that realization...
• Having to constantly explain to people that "yes, you, caught this early", but it can still come back, because you want people to know how serious this really is and how awareness IS NOT ENOUGH...
• Analyzing every single ache and pain and immediately having to talk yourself down from thinking the worst, because once the "impossible" happens nothing seems off limits...
• Hearing you are "brave" and "inspirational" and knowing that that's pretty much just a lie, because you aren't those things, you are just doing what anyone would do...
• Getting angry when you know that some of your friends aren't checking their own breasts, even though they walked through this with you, you know they are scared, but still...
• Knowing that for the REST OF YOUR LIFE you will have a voice in your head telling you to "watch out" sneaking right in there and making you aware of all of the scary things that other people your age don't have on their radar...
• And, wondering every day if you are doing "enough"...

You guys, I feel like I could go on for days with this list and I STILL wouldn't be able to really help you to know what it's like to be in this situation or to be in my mind, and I honestly hope that you never do KNOW what it's really like, because well, there's only one way to really know. I want you to know that even with all of that, I could fill an even longer list with all of the GOOD things that have happened over the past year and a half, but it's not pretty pink ribbons and sisterhood and cancer that made those good things happen, it's not BECAUSE of cancer that they happened, those good things happened IN SPITE of cancer. I had a lot of good in my life BEFORE cancer and that good continued, it didn't just appear out of nowhere because I got cancer. Cancer is not pretty, it's not pink, it's not a gift {at least to me!}, it's not glamorous, it's not sexy. Cancer can not be cured by women going bra-less or posting their underwear color on facebook, cancer is not a game and it should not be treated as one. Cancer is dark and insidious and ugly. It's grey and stormy and sneaky and terrible. Cancer will not be cured by continuing the charade of "pretty pink awareness" or by purchasing items just because they are pink {without knowing where the money is headed ~ but seriously if it's something you were going to buy anyway, certainly don't feel bad about buying it!}, cancer WILL be cured by ACTION, by donating directly to organizations who do cancer research and by making it known that MORE research needs to happen in regards to metastatic cancer, because no one dies from a lump in the breast,  but people do die when cancer spreads, so THAT is where research should be headed. So this "pinktober" and all the months really, just please try to research where your hard earned money is going, remember that behind all of those ribbons and bows are REAL PEOPLE and "think before your pink". And also, GET YOUR MAMMOGRAMS and DO YOUR DAMN BREAST CHECKS!

It's Not You, It's Me...Oh Wait, No, It's Definitely YOU!

Dear Tissue Expanders,

We have been together a while now, since November 15, 2013 to be exact, but our time together is coming to an end. On Thursday, we are splitting up, hopefully for good. I could take it easy on you and say "it's not you...it's me", but I fear that just isn't true and by lying to you I would be doing you a disservice. On the surface, to the unknowing observer, I'm sure things always seemed okay, good even. I can admit that you have given me shape and helped me to keep up appearances. I can even concede that you have done a good job of preparing me for the future and the better things to come, but appearances aren't always what they seem. I have gotten to know you pretty well in the past nine months and let's face it, although I am generally an easy going girl you've been down right inflexible, some might even say rigid and a tad bit bossy! I mean, who doesn't ALLOW someone to lay on their stomach for crying out loud?! And don't even get me STARTED on the fact that my boys no longer have a soft place to lay on my chest or that I could pretty much knock someone flat with a simple hug! You've hurt me at times, you've made me feel as though I am wearing some sort of medieval "iron bra" torture device, you've made it difficult for me to sleep comfortably and an accidental brush of my hand is a constant reminder of your "hard" attitude, so I just think it's really time for us to part ways. Even with all of the inflexibility, the bossiness and the hurt...it's still difficult to say goodbye...change is hard, and you are what I know, you have become my "normal" and lets' be honest, the process of getting rid of you is no walk in the park. Still, it's time to move on, to find a better fit for me, to find someone more flexible who will allow me to feel a bit more like myself. I do thank you for what you have done to prepare me and for helping me to at least LOOK "normal", but looks aren't everything and I am moving on.

Sincerely,

Longing for Squishies

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Just in case anyone is wondering, my oncology appointments have been deliciously BORING {let's pray that they stay that way!!}. I finished Herceptin a couple of weeks ago and I am continuing with Zoladex and Tamoxifen.

For those of you who want to know where to direct prayers/ energy/ chants/ whatever, here you go! THANKS FRIENDS!

1. That the exchange to implants {read about the process here} goes as smoothly as possible, that everything looks healthy and that there are NO SURPRISES! 
   
2.  That Dr. B and her staff are well rested, well fed and have steady hands and minds.
3. That going under anesthesia and coming out of anesthesia goes smoothly.
4. That my radiated skin and tissue has held up well so that proper healing can take place after the exchange.
5. That Matt, my boys, my parents, Matt's parents and the rest of my family can have calm hearts and minds during this surgery.
6. That I can remain Dr. K's most boring and completely uninteresting {at least medically!} patient. 

A Lot of Life

It's been almost a year since I began this blog and just over a year from when I heard "the words". I still think about cancer every single day, but I no longer wake up every morning in a panic feeling like I am going to throw up. I still worry about having the pleasure of seeing my boys grow up and about growing old with my husband, but now I try to remember that NO ONE knows what their future holds, it's just most people my age haven't yet had to look something so scary right in the face. A lot of life has happened in the past year. Many things have changed. I see WAAAAAAY more doctors and have WAAAAAAY more appointments than I ever have before {This is the FIRST time I have gone 3 weeks without seeing a doctor in over a year!!!}, I now have a self proclaimed PhD in breast cancer research and treatment {I mean, I've always been into science, but this it just nuts!}, I have acquired a whole separate friend group full of other young ladies who have heard "the words", and I am ENORMOUSLY and acutely aware of the fragility of life which has led to some interesting positive changes {such making most Fridays "family moving night", trying to take more little trips, starting Courage Kits of Kansas City and apparently trying to start my own homestead by raising chickens and joining a farm share!!} but even more things seem to  have stayed blissfully the same. I still have the most supporting and loving family, I still have the best friends in pretty much the entire world, I still enjoy running and playing and hiking and getting dirty and being outside, I still go barefoot almost all the time {and according to my husband I have "hobo feet" ~ which reminds me, I need a pedicure}, I still get annoyed with my the love of my life when he doesn't remember something I have told him {more than once!!} and exasperated with my sweet boys when they REFUSE to use the potty and continuously talk about "poop" at the dinner table, I still HATE putting the laundry away {in fact, I have several baskets full of clean laundry around the house right now!} and I still love cooking for my family and eating outside on our deck, I'm still me. I was afraid after I heard "the words" that some of what makes me ME would go away, but I am ever thankful that it hasn't. I'm still here, just maybe a little less happily ignorant than I was before.

Since I wrote last, I have had one more 3-month follow up with Dr. K. We spent the majority of the appointment laughing at a video from Late Night Staring Jimmy Fallon {waiting for it to load really} and a few minutes talking about the side effects of ovarian suppression and tamoxifen {hot flashes, joint pain, feeling like I am 100 when I wake up!}, scheduling my LAST herceptin infusion {Yay! but also, SCARY!}, discussing any new symptoms or complaints, of which I am grateful there are currently none, and of course, giving my boobies a good once over. My hope is that I stay an intensely boring patient for Dr. K. That we can always spend our appointments chit chatting about late night TV and the fact that we appear to be wearing very similar shirts and that there is no reason to discuss anything more serious, ever. So, if you want to join me, that's my prayer, staying boring to Dr. K ~ so boring that he yawns when he sees me. :~)

Also since we last "talked" Courage Kits of Kansas City has really taken off! We had a bag stuffing party and are making our first grand delivery to the KU Cancer Center tomorrow morning {after I get herceptin}. This is super exciting and not only because it means we will get our basement back {it's currently FILLED with bags!} but because I KNOW first hand the difference these kits are going to make to so many women. I have been told that there are 7 or 8 new breast cancer patients A WEEK at the cancer center, which is just staggering. So, friends, THANK YOU for supporting Courage Kits, it really fills me up. I'm going to leave you today with photos from our bag stuffing party and I will post again soon after they are delivered tomorrow. Again, thank you for you love and support over the past year! XO

I'm sorry the lighting is AWFUL!!

And Then There Were Chickens...

How did I let March go by without even a snippet of an update? Oh yeah, it's because we have been GETTING BUSY LIVING, which is exactly what we should all be doing, right? But before I jump on the treadmill {running has been linked with lower chance of cancer recurrence ~ and hey, stress relief!} I do want to go over some of the highlights with you.

• I had my first 3-month post chemo follow up visit with the Good Doctor. I was really nervous before this appointment, because of not knowing what to expect, but nothing really exciting occurred. We discussed what the follow-up guidelines are for breast cancer, you can read about them here if you feel so inclined. We discussed whether or not I should look into clinical trials {there are some exciting vaccine trials out there and I wanted his opinion} - he said I could if I wanted, but that I was already doing/ had done everything that was tried and true {chemo, surgery, radiation, ovarian suppression, and tamoxifen}. Then he felt up my boobies and sent me on my way to get my herceptin. Just to clarify, because I have been asked this question several times, I get herceptin every 3 weeks for an entire year. This is standard of care for someone who had a slightly positive HER2 tumor. This DOES NOT mean that they didn't get the cancer out at surgery ~ but because there is always the chance of rogue cells floating around, we attack {hopefully nothing} with the herceptin. Most everyone who has had this kind of tumor goes on to do a year of herceptin. I am happy to be getting the herceptin, even if it is mildly annoying to be back in the "spa chair" for a couple of hours every 3 weeks.  

Reading over the ASCO Guidelines while in the ol' herceptin chair.

• On Thursday, March 6th, I completed radiation therapy. Funny story, I actually THOUGHT I was done the previous Monday ~ I brought them donuts to celebrate and everything ~ turns out I had 3 more treatments left, DOH! Soooooo, when the day finally came, I brought donuts AGAIN, with the caveat that if they told me I wasn't done I was just going to assume it was for the donuts and they weren't getting anymore. ;~) My skin held up well. It got pretty red and then VERY tan and I had a small area that looked like a cigarette burn or something, but now it's basically back to normal. I have my rads follow-up on Thursday, so I am hoping they tell me I am good to go back to normal activities {like swimming b/c I would really like to swim!}.

Me, my radiation diploma and two of my radiation techs.

• My hair is growing back nicely {brows and lashes included}. I had a major freak out due to the amount of grey that was coming in, so thankfully my sister-in-law's mama colored it for me. You know, so I could be "Brunette to Bald and BACK and hopefully never ever bald again PLEASE!".

Me and my faux hawk ~5-months post finishing chemo

• Here's one I am REALLY excited about! Upon finishing radiation, I decided it was time to start giving back by helping other women who are caught in this cancer mess. So I went on Facebook with just a tiny mustard seed of an idea, to fill care packages for women who have been diagnosed with cancer and are undergoing treatment, and WOW the response was amazing. My friends and family {and some strangers!} are so darn cool. If you would like to read more about Courage Kits of Kansas City or if you would like to donate or help in any way, please click the link below. {I will try to figure out how to add a permanent button over on the side}

•  And finally, the title is going to make sense. WE NOW HAVE CHICKENS! Our city recently revisited it's poultry ordinance and we are now allowed to keep chickens within city limits. We have been hoping this day would come for a while. I am so excited to teach the boys about caring for animals and about where some of our food comes from! We have started on the hen house, which is quite the adventure already considering we are not carpenters, but we remain hopeful that it will be completed before the girls need to move in. :~) Meet Agnes, Elsa, Rosie, and Bertie. Love. edited: I tried to embed a video, it would not work, so for now a photo.

So, I guess that's it for now. Hopefully things stay "medically boring" around here and we can continue living and ENJOYING this life we have been given. Hopefully, in the future, my posts will contain a lot more "charity and chickens" and a lot less cancer. Love to all friends. XO

A Radioactive Update

I haven't updated on my treatment in a while, so I thought I would just give you a quick little summary of what is going on!

I am currently in the midst of radiation treatment, actually, I am slated to FINISH radiation on Monday! I will have completed 25 radiation treatments to my breast, the lymph nodes under my breast bone, the lymph nodes above my collar bone and my axilla. Sometimes, people in similar situations go on to get "boosts" of extra radiation to the tumor bed and scar, however, the area where my tumor bed was is actually not located anywhere near my scar and I had good margins after surgery, so the doctor would like to stop with the 25 "regular" treatments. This makes me a bit nervous since everyone I know seems to have gotten the boosts, BUT he is comfortable with this plan and does not want to over-radiate the area unnecessarily. Hopefully this will be the last of my "active" cancer treatments, EVER! So far, I have a very mild amount of redness and my skin feels a little bit tight, but it's not bad at all. I have been using pure aloe vera gel and Aquaphor in order to keep my skin nice and protected and it seems to be working well for me.

In addition to radiation, I am also getting Herceptin every 3 weeks for an entire year. It has been shown to benefit people who are "low expressing" for HER2, so I am grateful to be getting this drug even though I don't REALLY qualify for it. Herceptin is infused like chemotherapy through my port, and I guess, TECHNICALLY it is chemotherapy, but it is what is known as a "monoclonal antibody", which means it only really looks for and attacks those cells that have the HER2 receptors. In other words, it doesn't attack healthy cells and make me feel crappy like chemo and it doesn't make me lose my hair {which is growing in pretty well BTW}. The only real downside of Herceptin is that it is known to be cardio toxic, so I do have to have cardiac echos done every few months to make sure the ol' ticker is still functioning.

As you may remember, my tumor was HIGHLY hormone positive, so we are also taking measures to ensure that any straggler cells {of which we hope and pray there are none} are deprived of the estrogen which could possibly fuel them. So, I am getting Zoladex injections every 3 months in order to shut down ovarian function, which basically means I was thrown into menopause and get to experience all of the fun that comes with that. Still, so far, it's not too bad ~ minor warm flashes occasionally and just feeling a bit "older" really. But, maybe I was just used to it since chemo had already pretty much shut things down. Along with the Zoladex injections, I am also taking Tamoxifen, which binds to the estrogen receptors on breast cells in order to block them from getting the estrogen they need for fuel. Again, so far Tamoxifen has not been bad and I am IMMENSELY thankful for this wonderful drug, which I will likely be on for at least 10 years. I hope Tamoxifen remains my friend for a long, long time.

Along with all of the conventional treatments, I am also trying to keep my body healthy by running {although, the boys and I were sick for 2 weeks, so that was shot to craps for a while!} and taking my vitamin D and fish oil, all of which have been linked to lowered recurrence rates and fish oil has the added benefit of helping with the joint pain that can occur as a result of all the anti-hormonal treatments.

On Friday, I have my first of MANY 3-month follow-up appointments with Dr. K {my medical oncologist}. I am nervous about this appointment for a few reasons. One, because I still have a bad taste in my mouth from our last meeting {the one where he said he "wasn't happy" but really was}, two, because I have never had one of these appointments and I don't know what to expect, and three, because blood work always makes me nervous, especially because I hope the Tamoxifen and Zoladex haven't had a negative impact on anything.

That's about it. Just plugging along here, trying to remember to GET BUSY LIVING without succumbing to the constant fear of recurrence. It's a balancing act, trying to remain vigilant about health ~ but also trying not to allow worries of possibly futures consume my every thought.

With that, I am going to get on the treadmill and watch some Gilmore Girls DVDs, and then sip some green tea. :~)

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If you are the praying, hoping, chanting, well wishing, or light giving type, here is where you can direct some love:

1. That the cancer is gone and will NEVER EVER RETURN! {of course}
2. That my skin/ tissues continue to hold up well against the assault of radiation while it does it's job of reducing risk of local recurrence.
3. That my blood work is awesome on Friday.
4. That my appointment on Friday can leave us feeling hopeful and excited for the future.
5. That we ALL remember to GET BUSY LIVING!

Thanks friends! XO

On a Cancer Free Day

This entry has been floating around in my head for a while and a texted conversation with a friend brought it back to the surface a couple of days ago.

As someone who has had cancer, recently finished chemotherapy, had surgery and is currently in radiation the following question is not uncommon:

"So...are you cancer free now?"

Seems like a simple question, one that would require only a simple "yes" or "no" answer, right? It gets asked at Thanksgiving, at the grocery store, over the phone, on Facebook, at the library, any number of places while going about my daily business. I know the people who ask it are worried and they want to be  reassured that I am okay, but "cancer free" means so much more than having "no evidence of disease". So for many of us, us being those who were unfortunate enough to hear the phrase, "I'm sorry, but it's cancer", it's a struggle to answer that seemingly simple question. First, we worry that if we say, "YES!" we are somehow jinxing ourselves right into hearing those dreaded words again. Because hearing 'the words" in the first place has made us just a *tiny* bit irrational. But at the same time we WANT to say yes. We WANT to sound completely and totally optimistic and hopeful. Because that's what we WANT to believe to be true, just as much as you do. Next, we worry that if we say, "I don't know..." or "That's what they say!" or "That's the hope!" that we somehow come off sounding negative or ungrateful or like we don't really know what the heck is going on which would equally jinx us right into hearing those words again! {you know, because we didn't appreciate our "cancer free" time enough} So usually, our answer {or at least mine} sounds something like this:

"Uuuuhhhh....ummm....well, there is currently no reason to think otherwise."

How vague and annoying is that answer? I mean seriously. And now that I type it, I think it also comes off a bit negative and like I don't know what the heck is going on! However, it is what it is, currently there is "no evidence of disease" and "no reason to believe there is anything lurking". But oh how I wish I were brave enough to just shout, "YES! I am cancer free!" Here's the deal though, once you have heard "the words" it's hard to truly and fully BE cancer free ~ even when there is no evidence of disease in the body. Cancer does so much more than attack the body. It comes at your mind like the sneakiest of ninjas, attacking your thoughts, your hopes, and your dreams, your very foundation, your understanding of the way things "should" be.  Even after the physical cancer has been removed from the body, even after you have been told "it's out, it's gone, you're cancer free, everything we are doing now is just to keep it away" the mental cancer is still there, creeping into the darkest spaces of your mind, making your heart race and blood pressure rise, causing your palms to sweat and your face to go numb at the strangest of times, often when you were JUST thinking that everything was okay. It takes longer to eradicate the mental cancer, it's sneaky. It requires much more time to heal. It's still early days for me. I'm still in treatment after all and going to radiation EVERY DAY certainly doesn't help matters, but at this point I'm not sure if I will ever have a truly "cancer free day". So far it hasn't happened. Sure, there are some amazing cancer free minutes and even some stretches of intoxicating cancer free hours, but never an entire day. At least not yet. Until there is a day where posts of bone aspirations, cancerversaries, scans, biopsies, medications, side effects, and endless colors of awareness ribbons don't litter my Facebook feed, until THAT can happen, I can't possibly go a day being "cancer free". None of us can. I guess the simple answer to the not so simple question is this:

"Until there is NO cancer, there will be NO cancer free."

If You Close Your Eyes...

It's true what they say about how quickly the things that are so utterly wrong and upside down become "normal". Because they have to. Because if you don't soften towards them, if you can't learn to breathe through it, if you fight so hard in disbelief about what is happening, you will suffocate. You will become a shell of what you once were, something even worse than the very thing you were fighting. So you go on, you live your life, and you try to meld two very conflicting ideas in your heart: the knowledge that it shouldn't be this way, that this is still so wrong, so backwards, and so hard with the idea that this is YOUR beautiful life and somehow you continue to fall a little more in love with it every day.

2013, you were brutal, but you were beautiful too. Some would say, YOU WERE BRUTIFUL!

So, here is to a happy and healthy 2014 {WOW! First time writing that and it felt weird!}! I'm not huge on the whole resolution thing, but this year I resolve to focus on the health of myself and my family. Physical health, emotional health, and spiritual health, because as my wise friend Jenna says, when you have your health, you have it all. {and sometimes working on your emotional health means eating some Ben and Jerry's, haha!}

Thank you for being there friends and for continuing to be there as we wind our way down this crazy road {radiation starts this month! ahhh!}. Much love to you all in 2014!