It’s the one thing everyone has complimented me throughout this process.

I’ve always picked myself up by the big girl panties and rolled with the punches – ya gotta do what ya gotta do and well, chemo wasn’t like…an optional part of my adventure.

I’m data driven. The data leans towards me moving on, going on with my life. The data says “suck up this fucking misery, three years from now it will be a distant nightmare”

It probably helps that I LOVE my life. I love my friends, family, the city I live in, my apartment (arched doorways though <3), my disgusting charmingly urban neighborhood, good food, great music, a crazy night on the town, a day in the mountains, adventures, traveling as often as financially feasible and sometimes even when it’s not. I like my job but love my coworkers.

I never remotely entertained the idea of taking 5 months off from LIVING. I think if I’d spent chemo not working, not playing and not living, I’d be depressed. 85% of the breast cancer community will say things like “you can’t go to the mall! sugar makes cancer grow! Don’t eat this or that! Alcohol will kill you! You’ll drop dead from a pedicure! Shave your head and don’t complain! Don’t go to the office! A Flight?! NEVER!”

Whatever. WHAT.THE.FUCK.EVER. Sugar is delightful and so is the science that says it doesn’t cause my cancer to grow. Read up on your research before opening your mouth boo.

I’ve broken all the “chemo rules”. I’ve still traveled. Chicago, Charleston, Bali (fucking Bali! who travels 27 hours to a developing country during chemo? ..this girl), Newport Beach and lastly Austin. All during chemo. I’ve been fine. I’ve worn masks. I’ve taken my vitamins. I’ve done all the hydrating.

I’ve drank alcohol. Even “too much” alcohol on occasion. (dancing on the beach with Bintang in Bali at 1am? yes! absolutely no regrets) and you know what? It’s been fine. My social life is FUN!

I’ve gone snowboarding. I’ve gone hiking. I’ve gone hiking WHILE snowboarding. I’ve gone to concerts. Art shows. Dinner parties. Movies. Holiday Parties. My libedo hasn’t suffered. I’m still out here doing all the damn things.

I’ve kept my nails done. I kept my botox appointment.

I’ve kept up my sense of humor. I mean, chemo jokes are legit.

How many more chemo treatments do I need? TUMOR. (boom tish)

Has it been all sunshine and roses? No. I’ve had days where I can’t open my eyes. Days where I am  beyond exhausted. Chemo brain is REAL. I barely know how to keep my job straight and I’m shocked I haven’t fucked up anything major. My self esteem has taken a punch in the gut from this extra 10lbs, bald spots and guppy eyes. Getting myself “ready” in the morning can be really hard as my hair still comes off in giant clumps with a gentle touch. I’ve spent many long nights of obsessively googling reoccurrence rates and working myself into a tizzy.

….but then I pick myself up by the bootstraps and schedule travel or something fun to look forward to. Blow my constantly running nose and cobble myself together with some old fat jeans, fake lashes, hair powder, and do my best.

Gotta look up to keep up, but hugs are always welcome. Let’s start chapter 3.