So... What’s With All the Mouse Stuff?
If you read my introduction post, you might remember me mentioning the image that became my safe place: a tiny mouse, curled up asleep in a walnut shell, snuggled under a soft blanket with a little glowing fireplace nearby. That mouse has become more than just a comforting picture in my head - it’s been my way of escaping, my anchor when things get too scary or painful.
Whenever I felt panic start to rise - during scans, before surgery, lying awake in the middle of the night - I would close my eyes and breathe, repeating quiet little mantras like:
“I am the tiny mouse. I am safe. I am warm and snuggled into my little bed.”
That tiny mouse gave me something to hold onto when the world felt like too much.
The Mouse Comes With Me
One day, my daughter brought me a tiny toy mouse - small enough to tuck into my hand. I started carrying it to every appointment. It became my pocket-sized protector.
Then I found a seller on Etsy who makes needle-felted animals, and she had exactly what I had always imagined: a miniature mouse curled up asleep in a real walnut shell. I ordered it immediately from the UK, and when it arrived, it was perfect. I started bringing that fuzzy little mouse to appointments, too - holding it, stroking it, grounding myself in its presence. It might sound small, but it brought real comfort.
When I met with my radiation oncologist, I asked if I could bring my mice into the treatment room. Without hesitation, she said yes - I could even set them up nearby. That meant more to me than I can explain.
A Punch Card for Progress
During that same visit, I asked another question: “Do you have a punch card or something to mark my progress through radiation?” I had mocked up a little example - a cute visual to track how many sessions I’d completed.
To my surprise, the doctor loved it. She thought it was a brilliant idea. I was shocked this wasn’t already a common thing - people love countdowns, especially when facing something as overwhelming as cancer treatment. Even just getting a tiny hole punch after each session can feel like a win, a step forward.
I’ll be making my own punch card for sure. But maybe, just maybe, by the time I start treatment, they’ll be offering them to other patients too. A little mouse, a little punch card, and a little hope - sometimes, that’s what it takes to get through the hard days.
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