A year ago, I certainly wouldn’t have dreamed that Christmas 2024 would see me at the Cancer Institute, getting radiation therapy. For that matter, even when I was diagnosed back in April, I fully expected to be done with all treatment by now.

But…no. LOL.

The way the schedule worked out, and thanks to us scheduling a vacation for December 14-21 (since we couldn’t take one over the summer, we had to wait for another big break for our daughter), radiation got pushed back until “after the holidays,” they said. Turns out “after the holidays” means going up on Christmas Eve for a simulation and then starting on December 26th.

I met with my radiation oncologist a few weeks ago and we immediately liked him. He’s the head of the department, which is nice, and has a great sense of humor, which is even better. I jokingly asked him if this would give me super powers, and he didn’t miss a beat. He said, “Well, we can’t rule it out!”

So that’s my new line. I’m totally getting super powers for Christmas. 😉 And if that super power is Remaining Cancer Free, I will be thrilled.

I went up on December 9 to get a scan and make my mold–how they’ll ensure I’m in the exact same place each time. As already mentioned, I’ll have a simulation on Christmas Eve–I keep calling it the Test Run. 😉 But on the Second Day of Christmas, I’ll begin my first day of radiation. I will have 15 sessions total, skipping New Years Day and weekends, and will finish up on January 16.

My appointments are at 7 in the morning, which means early wake-ups for the 90 minute drive, but that’s okay. Xoe will be in until January 5, and I don’t want to miss time with her, so we’re not planning on staying up there or anything. I figure with those early morning appointments, I should be home before my night owl daughter even wakes up! 😉

They said that the most common side effects from this therapy are tiredness (not at the start, but by the end…it’s cumulative) and of course the skin at the sites could burn, so they recommend good lotion. A kind reader already sent me three tubes of medical-grade moisturizer formulated specifically for skin undergoing radiation, so I’m set!

So here we are. Today, I’m lounging on the beach in Marathon, one of the Florida Keys, where I was blessed to find a great deal on a condo through AirBnB. I’m enjoying the sun and the sand and the water and books. Everything for Christmas is set and ready at home. Gifts are bought and wrapped and waiting, the tree is up and decorated, and my mother-in-law is watering it and taking care of the cat. Today, I’m enjoying the trip that we called a celebration of being done with cancer, before we realized I wouldn’t be quite done with the treatments yet. That’s okay. Today, I’m celebrating anyway. We’ll get back home on the 23rd and jump right into Christmas…and that simulation.

And I’m so grateful. So grateful for this time with my family, for this year that took such an unexpected twist but which poured out so many blessings upon me. So grateful for the medical community that knows how to make me well again. So grateful for the Cancer Institute team who has had my back, laughed at my jokes, and rejoiced with me as we beat this thing.

So here we are. Not the circumstances I ever anticipated finding myself in for Christmas of 2024…but ready to enjoy my Super-Hero Christmas and take this last big step toward living cancer free for years to come.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

On this day of gratitude, I am overwhelmed. Overwhelmed with thankfulness. Overwhelmed with blessing. Overwhelmed with the faithfulness of our God.

Last Thanksgiving, I wouldn’t have dreamed that in the year to come, I’d go through cancer. I certainly wouldn’t have thought, had someone told me what was coming, that I’d come out of it feeling so humbled and blessed. Yet here we are. With a long road still ahead of me, but gratitude filling my heart as I look back on where I’ve been.

Thank you, Lord, for your faithfulness. Thank you for holding me so securely in the palm of your hand that I could not, for even a moment, doubt. I could feel no fear. I could experience only the smallest amount of sorrow. Thank you for bringing me through this, for obliterating the cancer cells from my body, for setting me on a path to full healing.

Thank you, family, for your endless support. For meals cooked and delivered, for the willingness to drive me to appointments, for gas money and check-ins, for loving me through every moment.

Thank you, friends, for your endless prayers. For a mailbox bursting with cards and “encourgement bombs.” For notes and emails that not only brightened my days with promises of those prayers, but which edified me as a writer and a person.

Thank you, strangers, whose names I didn’t recognize but who gave of yourselves, your hearts and your means, to support me in this time, proving that the family of God is bound by love that goes beyond all understanding.

Thank you, Church, for being the hands and feet of Jesus.

Tears are filling my eyes as I’m writing this, reflecting on the year it’s been. It’s a year I don’t want to repeat. A year of sickness and exhaustion and pain, when I focus on the physical. But a year of uncountable blessings too. A year that has left me in awe of this amazing community.

Thank you for being part of my life, part of my journey.

The image I see when I look in the mirror has only rarely matched the image I carry of myself in my mind. I imagine we’re all like that. There are those who see fat or skinny when the world disagrees with them. There are those see young or old, fit or flabby, pretty or ugly. We hear a lot about people who have a negative body image, despite everyone around them thinking of their looks in a very positive light.

I remember back in high school, when I was already dating David, who would become my husband, thinking very frankly about my looks. I knew well I wasn’t super-model material, that I was far from the prettiest girl in my school, even. But I also knew that I was the kind of everyday pretty that, when viewed through the eyes of love, would make someone say I was the most beautiful woman in the world. Something David has said to me countless times over the years. He tells me every day–multiple times a day–that I’m pretty, and he says it in a tone of love and adoration. Never has a day gone by that he didn’t affirm me in this way. My parents have always been so affirming as well.

Maybe that’s why I never lacked for confidence. I know my physical flaws–I have no delusions. And when someone (other than those who love me) are too effusive in their praise, I give them the side-eye. But the me I feel like as I’m going through my day has so little to do with the me I see when I look in the mirror. I feel like I’m exactly who I need to be (most of the time). I feel like the me other people see will reflect that. Is it true? No idea, LOL. But it’s how I’ve gone through life.

Then came cancer. When I responded to losing half my hair within 24 hours by shaving the rest off, the me I saw when I looked in the mirror definitely didn’t match my self-image. Five months later, I still don’t identify as that baldie. 😉 My hair is starting to grow back, and I laugh at how I now look like a balding man, with shiny spots still on top but a nice fringe around the back. My eyebrows and eyelashes have thinned, and I frequently have circles under my eyes (especially after surgery), so when I look in the mirror, I think “Wow, hello, cancer patient!”

But that’s not what I feel like when I’m not looking in the mirror. (Okay, there are days…LOL). I feel like…me. The same person who has always traveled through life with confidence and optimism, even when I probably shouldn’t, by rights. Yes, I get frustrated when the image doesn’t reflect that version of myself. I’m ready to look like me again, and I definitely don’t. But it’s easy to forget, as I’m going about my day. It’s easy to ignore.

Then came surgery. Bilateral mastectomy. Months before I even had the surgery, my physical therapist was writing a referral to get me in with a counselor who specializes in body image. I figured that would be smart, even though I didn’t have negative thoughts about it yet. I haven’t yet actually seen any mental health specialists, though, so these first weeks after surgery, it’s just been me and my family thinking it through.

Can I think myself to tears over the changes to my body? Yes. I did so one night. It was important to grapple with all that will never be the same, to realize that I no longer had the breasts that nursed my children. My husband and I had some long talks about what grieving a part of one’s body really is and looks like. And then…I felt like I had permission to just be me again. To be curious about these changes, and to be curious about how they’d continue to evolve as I go through the very lengthy reconstruction process.

David worried that I was just saying the right words, at one point. Words about how this body is not who I am, about how when I was struck with fear or worry in the weeks leading up to surgery, I’d make a concerted effort to pray. He was baffled at “how okay” I was. Was I just in denial? Was I not grieving properly? That would be when I took that night to cry and talk though it all.

In the first week post-surgery, I wasn’t allowed to take off the ace bandage they’d wrapped me in or take off the surgical compression bra, so I hadn’t seen myself. And I’ll admit it–I wasn’t exactly looking forward to that first full look. A few days afterward, my mom asked, “How did you feel when you first saw yourself?” her tone one of worry and love and sympathy.

I kinda laughed. “Well, I don’t exactly like the way it looks…but it’s interesting to see what they did and imagine how it’ll look as I go through the process. It looks funny, but it’s okay.” And I meant it. It’s not hideous. I look at the incisions that will become scars, and I see battle wounds that mean I’m still alive, that I’m reclaiming health.

It’s not the me I feel like, when I look in the mirror. But it rarely is. That’s okay. It’s the me I’ve earned. Just like those stretch marks on my hips tell the story of carrying a child, just like the scar on my ankle tells of rollerskating without socks as a child, just as the curve to my neck tells of too many hours hunched over my keyboard writing books. The bald head says that I’m fighting cancer (and winning!). And this new change just tells part of that ongoing story of claiming health and a future. I can’t hate the thing that will help me achieve that. I can think it looks funny, and I can certainly not love the painful process, but I made the decision with one goal in mind: never going through breast cancer again. I know this doesn’t guarantee it, but it makes it more likely. And so, I celebrate it.

The me I see in the mirror doesn’t match the me I see in mind…and yet, it does. Because the me I see in the mirror is a warrior, one who bears the marks of the battle but is still fighting. Can I pick out all my flaws, all the things I’m eager to see change, all the things I will mitigate with makeup and hats and wigs when I feel like altering that image for a while? Absolutely. But that doesn’t mean I don’t also see what lies beneath.

I am the most beautiful woman in the world to the man who loves me. I am a woman of strength and faith in the eyes of my family and friends. I am a mother who shows her children that we can fight and win whatever battles life throws at us.

I am a daughter of God, precious in His sight.

The me I see in the mirror matches none of my ideals of beauty. But the me I see in the mirror is beautiful. That reflection tells part of my story–and my reaction to it tells another part.

I daresay when you look in the mirror, you don’t see exactly what you wish you looked like either. But your reflection is part of your story. You have earned every curve, every dip, every scar, every freckle, every wrinkle, every line. You are exactly the you that God created in His image, and you are loved. You are beautiful. You are you.

The image that greets us in the mirror is part of us…but we are so much more than our image alone. We are His image. And that makes us all beyond compare.

Thank you all so much for praying for me as I went into surgery last Friday, and for continuing to pray for my recuperation! I appreciate it so much!

So last Friday, October 11, I had my double mastectomy. The “double” part was my choice, made because it decreases my chances of going through breast cancer again by 90%. I liked those numbers! Because of my size and the size of the tumor, a single mastectomy was necessary–a lumpectomy wouldn’t have left me with enough material for reshaping. I also needed to have all the lymph nodes in my right armpit removed, because they were still showing up as abnormal in the last MRI. Having the lymph nodes all removed puts me at a risk of lymphedema, swelling of the arm and hand, so I would definitely appreciate prayers that I can avoid that. I have exercises to do to help prevent it, and will be wearing compression sleeves to help with it as well.

The surgery went really well! Not that I got the update from the surgeon, LOL, but she reported to my family that everything was textbook or better. She was able to use a blue dye that tracks the drainage channels in my arm so that she could avoid them, which should help with that lymphedema concern. We all agree that we just love Dr. Bailey and always feel better about things after talking to her. She came in to see me before surgery and said, “I know you’re not looking forward to this, but look at it this way. After today, we know you’re cancer free. That makes today a great day.” And she is so right about that!

I only stayed one night in the hospital, which was fine by me. 😉 I did have a bit of swelling on my right side the morning after surgery, so they wrapped me up tight in an ace bandage and told me I wasn’t allowed to take it off until my follow-up appointment at the one-week mark. I absolutely understand that…but I’m looking forward to getting a break from it. I feel a bit like a mummy. 😉

As I’m sitting here several days post-surgery, I can report that I’m certainly nowhere near normal–my range of motion is hugely decreased, so there’s a lot I can’t do while incisions heal.  But the pain of the first day has faded into discomfort and aching, which is a big improvement. I’m able to sit at my desk and in fact find that it’s really comfortable to have my arms braced at that height. Convenient, since I just had digital galleys arrive for The Collector of Burned Books. Reading through it doesn’t tax me much but still makes me feel useful, so that’s nice. =)

My sister brought over a TON of food, and my mom and grandmother added to it, so we’re well stocked, for sure! Definitely a blessing, because I can’t even reach the microwave on my own, much less cook anything, LOL. Today I have an appointment with physical therapy, and tomorrow a follow-up with my surgeon at which I will hopefully get the drains removed and be cleared for things like showering. They expect to have pathology reports early next week, so I also have an oncology appointment on Monday to discuss treatment from here out. (UPDATE: Pathology reports came in, and I am CANCER FREE!! No cancer in any tissue or lymph nodes removed! Praise God!)

Again, thank you all so much for your support and encouragement and prayers! I don’t know where I’d be without it, but it means the world to me.