Introduction

 

Welcome to   Diary of a Tiny Mouse

When a procedure loomed or a test needle hovered too close, the nurse would gently suggest, “Go to your happy place.” Technicians said it, too - an invitation to step outside the fluorescent-lit moment and breathe somewhere softer. Each time, my mind drifted to the same scene:

A tiny mouse, curled into a walnut shell, wrapped in a down-feather blanket. Beyond the shell, a distant hearth flickers - quiet, steady, safe. Nothing loud or dramatic happens there; the mouse simply is, protected by the curved walls of the walnut and the crackle of a glowing fire.

I started calling those mental escapes “mouse time.” When panic threatened to gallop ahead of me, I pressed pause and pictured that tiny mouse. Sometimes I even asked my husband to wrap his arms around me, gently “squishing” me to feel tiny - something about the weight and warmth telling my heart, You’re safe here. Mouse time carried me through IV pokes, biopsy results, and the long hush of imaging rooms.

The Journey I’m Mapping

In April 2025 I was diagnosed with breast cancer. A lumpectomy on May 29th cleared the first hurdle; radiation begins in July. Treatments, side effects, and new questions arrive in waves, and while I’ll dive into the details in real time, this post is the trailhead.

Why Keep a Diary?

1. Memory is slippery. I want one spot to track what helps - creams that soothe, stretches that ease, words that comfort.
2. Perspective shifts. Notes written on hard days often read differently in hindsight; both views belong here.
3. Tiny victories matter. A journal lets me mark the mile-stones a sticker chart can’t capture: courage found, fears named, moments I’m proud of.

What You’ll Find Here

• Honest reflections on appointments, side effects, and the mental gymnastics of “waiting for results.”
• Resource lists - information and products that earned a gold star in my own experience.
• Occasional life-outside-the-clinic posts, because I’m still a whole human (and so are you).

Whether you’re a fellow traveler on the cancer road, a loved one peeking in, or someone who just likes the idea of a cozy mouse nap, welcome. I’m grateful you’re here. Let’s make this walnut shell big enough for all of us: warm fire, soft blanket, steady heartbeat, and room to breathe.  Here’s to mouse time - tiny, powerful, and ready when we need it most.

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