5 of 33 - First Week DONE!

It’s Friday, and just like that, my first week of radiation is complete! 

Five sessions down – 28 more to go.

I’ve been trying to keep my spirit light and my mindset steady. Each day, I get dressed in something comfortable but put-together – it helps me feel more like myself. I bring an apple as a little post-treatment reward, and I listen to a podcast or some music on the way there and back. These small things help keep me grounded. Sometimes I use Full Self-Driving, and other times I drive myself. The drive can actually be kind of pleasant, and I try to stay in a good mood so I can enjoy the little things – listening to music, chatting with the nurses, remembering their names. Of course, none of this is fun, but I’m doing my best to find small moments of light within it.

Staying in a good mood helps me notice those tiny bright spots – a kind hello, a peaceful drive, a familiar face. These little points of comfort don’t change what I’m going through, but they help me feel more grounded, more calm, and a little more like myself.

Right now, I have zero side effects. I’m religious about my skincare routine – lotion and Aquaphor, every single day. I know there’s still a long road ahead, but I’m hopeful that my efforts will help keep the side effects at bay.

Yesterday, I had physical therapy to help manage any potential swelling or edema. I also worked on vestibular therapy for vertigo. Every day when I get up off the treatment table, I feel a wave of dizziness – so I’m trying to get that under control, too.

I’m also working on just being me again – not stuck in fear, not spiraling, not depressed. Yes, it’s happening. The thing that scared me most is actually happening. But I’m doing it. And I’m still here. I’m strong. I’m brave. And I’m not giving up.

2 of 33 – Tuesday – Day #2

My punch card is finally getting some punches!

Today’s Emotional Support Mouse 

2/33 – Tuesday – Day #2

You know what? I’m feeling good.

Everything is starting to make sense. I’ve got my sweet, amazing Tesla. My husband is right here beside me. My doctors are incredible. And the machine they use? It looks like it came straight out of the future.

I’m holding on to this mindset – the belief that things are going to go well, maybe even better than expected. I want to be the person others turn to if they ever go through something like this. The one who can say, “You’ve got this,” and really mean it.

I’m going to kick cancer’s ass.

I’m going to win.

And I’m going to come out of this stronger, braver, and kinder than ever.

Today went really well. I didn’t cry, and I didn’t even feel like I might. Mentally, I felt strong. I met with my doctor and got to look at images from the CT scan and the treatment plan. I honestly love her personality and the way she explains everything – she always puts me at ease. We had a great talk about how things should go. She said the first few weeks are usually smooth, and that side effects tend to show up around week three – but of course, no one can say for sure if or when that will happen. I’m hopeful everything will stay steady and that, if I do have any side effects, they’ll be mild.

I also filled out a form today to connect with a counselor at the clinic. She’ll probably reach out on Monday. I think it’s such a thoughtful resource to offer patients. A little therapy session might be just what I need.

My updates might be a little more spaced out now, since treatment continues through September and I expect most days to be pretty routine. But I’ll definitely post if anything changes – especially if I run into any issues or discover tips that help. I like keeping track of what works.

I don’t think I’ll be crying anymore. I feel like I’ve stepped into a stronger version of myself. I made it through that first big hurdle, and now I’m hoping every day will feel like today – calm, quick, and manageable.

1 of 33 - First Day Done!

Today’s the Day

This is it. The first official radiation session.

I decided to shower this morning so there’s no lotion or deodorant on my skin when I arrive. I’ve been going back and forth on whether morning or evening showers make more sense, and both have their pros and cons. For now, I’ll try mornings and see how it goes. Honestly, washing my hair is the biggest issue. It’s such a chore with how long it is.

This morning I kept busy by working on the ad to sell our RV. I had a light breakfast, and I’m bringing an apple with me in case I get hungry later. I’m also packing a light sweater just in case it’s cold in the building or I end up needing to wait for a bit.

Tomorrow after treatment, I’ll meet with the doctor. I’ll try to collect any questions or concerns I want to bring up before then.

Today, I’m going alone. I need that. There’s something about going by myself that makes me feel more in control and more centered. I think it’ll help keep me calm.

I walked into the radiation part of the cancer center. I knew what I was doing from the previous dry run. I put on my dressing gown and sat in the radiation waiting room. I left some Love Cards in that waiting room.

The nurse called my name and I walked into the big treatment room. I told my nurses about my mouse and held my little needle-felted fuzzy mouse in my hands during treatment.

I laid on the table and it just took a few minutes to get everything lined up. The nurses came in and told me they were going to retract some parts of the machine and step out, and radiation would start up.

So now it officially begins - the radiation part.

The radiation took about 90 seconds. I felt nothing - it was 100% painless and uneventful. The nurses came in and helped me sit up. I felt dizzy, not sure if it was due to the stress or the fact that I had vertigo last week. But I sat on the table for a few minutes until my head cleared. And as usual, the nurses were so kind and supportive. They talked to me and let me kinda whine about how scary this is and how frightened I am.

When it was all done, I went to change and cried a little bit in the private changing room. On the way out, I stopped and washed my face and straightened myself up. I smiled at the nurses and told them - see you tomorrow! They promised to let me see some treatment pictures tomorrow - so I can see a map or something.

I stopped and picked up a nice lunch for my husband and me, and I drove home. I feel good - physically I feel zero difference. I put on the Aquaphor and now I just need to get ready for tomorrow and 32 more days!

The Day Before

The Night Before

It’s Sunday. The day before radiation starts.

I keep hoping that in a couple of months, I’ll look back on this heavy sense of dread and feel silly - like maybe I worried too much, or turned this into something bigger than it needed to be. Maybe I made a boogeyman out of something that ends up being manageable.

But right now? It doesn’t feel silly. It feels overwhelming and terrifying.

Part of me keeps thinking, what if tomorrow begins the worst experience of my life? I know that sounds dramatic - and I know it probably is - but that’s how deep the fear goes. I just wish I could hit fast-forward and land two months from now, looking back with relief, knowing that none of this was as awful as I imagined. That I got through it.

Maybe that’s what will happen. Maybe future-me will read this with a soft smile, knowing I made it. But tonight, I’m just a scared girl doing her best to be brave.

I’ve been thinking that one way to cope with the anxiety is to just treat this like it’s not a big deal - like I’m just going to a quick appointment, the same way I would for a haircut or a teeth cleaning. Bing bang boom, no big deal. I’ll come home and go about my day like everything is fine. Because privately, I’ll give myself the space to cry if I need to. But outwardly, I don’t want to bring everyone else down. I don’t want to feel like a burden. And I worry that if I’m always upset, people won’t know how to talk to me - or worse, they’ll start avoiding me.

And the truth is, I can’t be responsible for comforting everyone else. People might be worried about me or upset that this is happening - but it’s happening to me, and I can’t fix their stress or sadness. I have to stay focused on myself and on coping the best I can. So it feels easier not to talk about my pain or fear or sadness. It feels easier to act like I’m okay, to say everything’s good, and to stay focused on protecting my inner peace.

My mom and stepdad will be staying with us during most of my treatment, and honestly, I wish I were going through this with a quiet house. Alone. But maybe their presence will help distract me. Maybe it’ll keep things from feeling too heavy all the time. Maybe being busy will keep me from spiraling.

The Dry Run

Dry Run

Today was my dry run for radiation.

They showed me where I’ll change clothes, where the gowns are, and where the waiting room is. Then I went into the treatment room and laid back onto the mold they had made for me earlier. The machines are massive - mounted on a huge circular track above and around the treatment table. I was positioned on the bed in the center, and I was honestly surprised by how big and imposing the machine was. I’ll take pictures next time.

But today was just… emotional.

The nurses were, as always, amazing - sweet, patient, kind. They explained everything, helped me feel safe, and when it was all done, one of them hugged me. A long, warm, sincere hug - and I completely broke down. I sobbed. I was surprised by how upset I felt.

I still cannot believe this is happening to me. I try to remain stoic, strong, good-natured… but sometimes it all just crashes down on me, and today it did. I am so scared, while I am laying in these machines and looking at the ceiling, I feel actual terror. I actually have to try to not hyperventilate. But tears ran down my cheeks while I was there today, even though I know there was no radiation today, I know its coming soon and I am horrified and terrified and I want to run away.

Afterward, I gave myself a little treat. I used the Tesla summon feature - I stood under the porte-cochère and summoned my car. It drove right up to me like magic. It was such a cool, almost surreal moment, and I actually smiled. I was so glad I didn’t have to walk to my car. I just loaded my things and climbed in. If it ever rains after treatment, this will be so helpful. And this has been an incredibly rainy summer.

Still, I drove home in a fog, thankful for the full self driving on days like this. Disconnected. Disoriented. I felt like I was floating just outside myself, stunned and shaken. I try so hard to be brave. I try so hard not to burden anyone with my emotional breakdowns. But the truth is - I’m devastated.

When I got home, I went straight to bed and cried my head off. I lay there for 30 minutes just sobbing, overwhelmed, still trying to grasp that this is real. That this is my life. 

As I lay in bed crying, my husband came and sat beside me, quietly rubbing my side. He offered whatever comfort he could, but I know he feels helpless - like he wants to fix this and can’t. He’s still working, still carrying so much pressure and stress from his job, and I feel guilty. I worry that I’m adding to his weight. I feel like a burden sometimes - not because he makes me feel that way, but because I can be my own worst enemy.

My schedule is all set, they gave me a printed calendar. I start on July 21st and finish on September 4th. Unbelievable. I am still just stunned and I feel dizzy just thinking about this.

The Plan in Action

 Lining Up the Dots: My Radiation Plan

Okay, radiation is officially scheduled.

Tomorrow, I go in for what’s called a simulation dry run. There’s no radiation involved yet - it’s just a chance for the team to walk me through everything, make sure the machine settings are perfect, and double-check the fit of everything so treatment goes smoothly. It’s like a dress rehearsal for my body.

The real show starts Monday, July 21.

Here’s how it will work:

• 33 total sessions
  
• 28 regular treatments, each delivering 180 cGy
• 5 “booster” treatments, each delivering 200 cGy
• Total radiation dose: 6040 cGy
• I’ll go Monday through Friday, every weekday - with breaks only if there’s a holiday or a hurricane or something wild. We just keep going until all 33 are done.

What the Heck is a cGy?

If you’re wondering what cGy means, it stands for centigray, which is a unit of radiation dose. Think of it like this:

• 1 gray (Gy) is the standard measurement for radiation absorption.
• 1 centigray (cGy) is one-hundredth of a gray - sort of like how a centimeter is one-hundredth of a meter.
• For cancer treatment, doses are carefully calculated in cGy, because that smaller unit allows for very precise control.

So when they say I’m getting 6040 cGy total, that means I’ll be getting 60.4 Gy in all - carefully spread out to maximize effectiveness and minimize harm.

Taking longer to reach that total dose might sound frustrating at first (33 sessions is a lot!), but there’s a very good reason for it. Delivering radiation in smaller daily amounts - rather than trying to shorten the amount of visits and increasing the cGy per visit - actually gives healthy tissue time to repair itself between treatments. It’s safer, more targeted, and helps reduce long-term side effects. So yes, it’s a lot of appointments - but it does the job while being kinder to the rest of me. Low and slow!

Why Radiation?

Radiation is a common part of breast cancer treatment, especially after a lumpectomy like mine. Even when the visible cancer is removed, microscopic cancer cells can sometimes linger in the surrounding tissue. Radiation therapy targets those leftover cells, reducing the risk of recurrence.

It’s not like chemo - I won’t be sick all day or losing my hair - but it does come with its own challenges. Fatigue, skin irritation, and tenderness are common, especially as the weeks go on. But it’s all part of lowering the chances of this ever coming back.

I don’t know how I’ll feel as it progresses. I’ve read that for some people, radiation is no big deal. For others, it gets tough toward the end. I’m hoping to be one of the easy cases. But whatever happens, I’m ready to keep showing up - every single day - and check each treatment off the list.

More soon. 🐭 

Too Busy

Why are we so busy?

Now that my daughter is off on her new life of adventure, we’re keeping her cat here with us. He’s adorable and sweet, and I’m hoping our cat will like him. I think they’ll work it out in time. So far, they seem to be keeping their distance, but I’m optimistic that things will settle and they’ll learn to coexist peacefully.

She also had a little parrot - a green cheek conure she’s had since she was 14 years old - and I think we found a wonderful new home for him. Some kind friends adopted him, and their 12-year-old son seems like the perfect age to have a best friend parrot.

Monday we took the Tesla to the airport. Every time we drive it, we learn something new. It’s always a bit of a learning experience - fun, but different. Thankfully, our son has had a Tesla for about three years now, and he really knows his stuff. He’s been helping me set everything up so that the driving experience feels just right for me.

The next big project - besides whatever radiation schedule comes my way - will be my mom and stepdad staying with us while he recovers from reverse shoulder replacement surgery. It’s amazing how much we’ve been called on to take care of family lately. Not long ago, my mother-in-law lived with us for six weeks while she recovered from her own reverse shoulder replacement and cataract surgery in both eyes.

Honestly, it’s kind of wild how busy we are. I used to think that once the kids were grown and out of the house, we’d finally have time for “us.” But it doesn’t really feel that way. There’s always something or someone that needs us. I feel bad for my husband - he’s the strong one, so he always gets tasked with the hard stuff. I wish I could help more, but alas… I am just a weak tiny mouse! 🐭

Green Light

The Green Light (and the Panic That Comes With It)

Well, I finally heard back from my insurance company. On Friday evening, while we were out running errands, I got an email - and it looks like insurance has approved all of my doctor’s requests for treatment. That means I’ll most likely be starting radiation very soon.

Cue the panic.

It’s funny how relief can so quickly turn into a whole new kind of stress. For weeks, I’ve been stuck in limbo - waiting, hoping, wondering. And now that the green light is finally here, all the fears I’d tucked away are flooding back in. So yes, I’m relieved… and yes, I’m panicking again. Welcome to the emotional rollercoaster of cancer care.

I imagine I’ll hear from my doctor’s office soon to set up the schedule. It’s still so scary, and I know the nerves will build as the start date gets closer. Hopefully, I’ll be one of those people who says, “Radiation wasn’t so bad,” and it’ll all go smoothly. But for now, it’s the fear of the unknown that’s weighing on me.

In the midst of all this, I just want to say how grateful I am for my job. They’ve been so kind and supportive through everything. I was able to take about a month off without any issues, and now that I’m back - though not full-time - they’ve been incredibly understanding about my weird schedule, especially with radiation on the horizon. It isn’t a lot of money, but it’s a pleasant job with genuinely kind, patient people. That makes such a difference right now.

As if that weren’t enough emotional weight for one weekend, we’ve also been helping our daughter pack and clean her apartment for her big move to Wyoming. She’s accepted an incredible job there - a chance to live under the stars, literally, guiding stargazing tours. It’s exciting and adventurous, and I’m so proud of her. But I’m also heartbroken to be so far away.

On Monday, we took her to the airport. She’ll be gone for four months, and then we’ll see what’s next. I’m still hoping she gets into a PhD program or finds something in her exact field. Saying goodbye was harder than I expected. I cried more than I thought I would as I hugged her for the last time until November.

There’s just so much happening all at once. My heart feels full and heavy, proud and aching.

I keep reminding myself: it’s okay to feel overwhelmed. It’s okay to be scared and strong, proud and heartbroken, grateful and exhausted - all at the same time. That’s what this season is teaching me.

One thing at a time, I guess.

Hello Friends

I finally decided to go for it and share my blog on Facebook and Instagram. I feel kind of relieved - I don’t know why I kept getting stuck on that part of the journey: sharing my story.

So, to all my friends from social media - hi! 💗 Just a couple of quick answers to questions I’ve been getting:

✨ I didn’t have a “tumor,” so I don’t need chemotherapy. That means I won’t be losing my hair. Radiation also won’t make me lose my hair or a bunch of weight or anything like that. Although a little weight loss side effect would be nice! 😂

✨ Amazingly, the lumpectomy is not noticeable. I have big boobs naturally, and you truly can’t tell anything was done. I’m so grateful for that!

✨ After radiation, it might be more noticeable — but at that point, I’ll have the option to consider reconstructive surgery. If I don’t need it, I don’t want it. But that’s a 2026 problem, so I’m not going to worry about it right now.

Thank you all for the kind messages, the thoughtful comments, and the love. It means the world. 💕

Maybe I’m Thinking Too Much

Maybe I’m Thinking Too Much

I’m starting to wonder if I’ve been thinking too much about all of this.

Yes, this is a major life event. Yes, it’s dangerous and scary and all the things. But sometimes I just get tired of thinking about it. Tired of researching it. And then I start questioning myself - have I overreacted? Am I making too much out of all of this?

Part of that, I think, is because I’ve always been a very stoic person. I don’t cry easily. I don’t share my emotions publicly. But when this journey began, I cried every day. Constantly. It shook me like nothing else ever has. And even though I kept it mostly private - no posts, no public discussions - I found ways to process. I kept notes. I talked to my nurse navigator. I leaned on my husband. I typed frantic questions into ChatGPT. And eventually, I started this blog.

Now I’m in a strange in-between phase. Radiation hasn’t started yet. Life feels weirdly normal. And that normalcy makes me second-guess just how upset I was in the beginning. It makes me feel like maybe I flipped out too much. Maybe I let it take over too many thoughts, too many tears, too many pages.

I still haven’t shared anything on social media. Not because it’s a secret - it’s not - but because I’ve chosen not to make it public. Sometimes I toy with the idea of posting something. Some kind of announcement. But then I ask myself: why? What’s the purpose? And just like that, I don’t post anything.

When I run into friends and they ask, “How are you?” I smile and say, “I’m great,” and move on. I’ve told a few people in person. But most of the time, I’m not in the mood to talk about any of it. So I don’t.

And maybe I was giving my insurance a little too much credit. Apparently this delay is because insurance doesn’t want the doctor to use the more modern radiation technique. They’re pushing for an older style instead. Like… WTF. So now we wait. Again. There’s supposed to be a peer-to-peer conference so the doctors can argue their case. Until then, I’m stuck in limbo.

The doctor originally said six weeks of radiation. The bill they gave me says six weeks. But now someone mentioned it might be four? Honestly, I don’t know what’s going on anymore.

I’ve been reading posts on Reddit, and now that I’m further along in this experience, I can see how everyone starts out in the same panic-stricken disbelief. It’s comforting in a way - to know that I’m not unique in that. To know that I'm not the only one to feel that this is one of the scariest things I’ve ever faced. That I didn't "over-react" at all, it's normal to flip the hell out when you get news like this.

Maybe I’m just sick of worrying. Sick of thinking.

It’s confusing. Frustrating. But I think the best thing I can do is enjoy this little pocket of quiet time while nothing’s happening, let the doctor’s office deal with the insurance mess, and try not to let it get under my skin.

I think, because I am on the other side of a lot of this, hindsight is giving me these confusing feelings. Looking back on what I’ve been through and what has happened makes it easy to feel like - see, that wasn’t a big deal - but I know it was a big deal. I survived and I’m doing great. But I had to go through a lot to get here.

Gratitude in the Midst of It All

Gratitude in the Midst of It All

Throughout this experience, I’ve absolutely had moments of feeling sorry for myself. I’ve felt terror and sadness. I’ve felt the heavy press of mortality. I have been wildly depressed and dealt with debilitating anxiety attacks. I have had to keep my Xanax and/or Ativan close at hand.

But alongside all of that, I’ve also felt immense gratitude. And once I was able to make major decisions, I was able to walk away from all the anxiety or panic attacks. I put away all the Rx I was using to help me through all of the nightmares. I found I could feel “normal” again.

I keep thinking - in the strangest way - that if I had to have cancer, I got just about the best possible kind. Isn’t that an odd thing to say? Cancer is a nightmare, no matter the type. But the truth is, breast cancer is the most well-studied, and the treatments have advanced so far. We live in the best possible time in history for effective care. And I was given a very treatable form.

I feel grateful. And incredibly lucky.

I’m also deeply aware that so many others are facing things a thousand times harder. That awareness humbles me. The way the stars have aligned for me - it’s not something I take for granted.

I have an amazing husband. Children who are here for me and make me so proud. Friends and family who care. A team of doctors who are clearly at the top of their game. Access to cutting-edge machines and treatments. Support at every turn.  And now, my Tesla to drive me to and from my appointments!

It’s never lost on me how fortunate I am to be walking this path with so much strength and love behind me. I feel so thankful - I do NOT like to use the word “blessed” because that assumes the concept of “cursed.”  But I absolutely do feel I am lucky and fortunate and thankful - I just can’t say “blessed.”  

The other day, I posted on social media about our new Tesla. What I didn’t say was why we got it - because I’ll be driving five days a week for six weeks to Saint Augustine for radiation. I hesitated. I’m still nervous about sharing this part of my journey online.

I’ve wrestled with whether or not to say anything publicly. It’s not exactly a secret, but I don’t know if I want this to be the first thing people think of when they think of me. And I’m not sure I’m ready for a flood of well-meaning questions or messages.

But then I wonder if sharing this story does matter - if maybe someone else is quietly going through something similar and might find comfort in knowing they’re not alone. I don’t know the right approach. I’m just feeling it out as I go.

Reflections from Today

July 4th Reflections

The 4th of July used to be such a busy, noisy day. But now, with our kids grown, it's much calmer - and I kind of like that. We spent the day with my mom and stepdad, did some shopping to work on the Tesla plug for the garage, had lunch, and tackled the grocery list. Just a regular, peaceful day.

And that’s the part that keeps catching me off guard - how “normal” things can still feel. I have no pain right now, no lingering issues. I’m just me. Sometimes I have to consciously shake off the heavy weight of this is major and instead lean into this is okay.

I had hoped to see the kids today, but I know how it goes. My son spent the day at the beach with his girlfriend. My daughter was out with friends.

Still, my daughter's new job is looming large in my heart. She’s heading so far from home - Wyoming - to lead stargazing tours in national parks. It’s temporary, maybe. But maybe not. If she loves it, or if they love her, it could turn into something long-term. I’m excited for her - what a beautiful and unique opportunity! But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t panicked too. Stargazing means working nights, in remote dark places, far from cell service and city lights. It sounds magical and scary all at once. I’m proud, I’m nervous, I’m... everything.

My son still lives nearby, which I’m grateful for, but he’s busy. He works hard and has a girlfriend. He makes the effort to keep in touch and visit when he can, but life is changing. My kids aren’t kids anymore. They have lives, responsibilities, relationships.

I’m also doing a lot of thinking about how to live after this diagnosis. Am I supposed to walk through life constantly afraid that the cancer might come back? Or can I pretend - at least a little - that this was just a bizarre one-time event and it’s over now? I hear stories all the time of people who had something just like what I have, and it never returned. That’s my plan: this is just a really hard year, full of treatment and stress, and then it will be behind me. Done.

I’ve also been questioning what changes I’m supposed to make now. Diet? Lifestyle? Alcohol? I know that cutting out alcohol completely is the healthiest thing. But honestly, I don’t know how I feel about that. I don’t drink to cope. I’m not dependent. But I do enjoy it - making cocktails, sipping wine, relaxing with a drink on the weekend. It’s part of my life and our social flow. I don’t know if I want to give that up entirely. Maybe just cut back. Be mindful. Allow myself to enjoy the ritual, just less often.

Since radiation has been delayed a bit, I’ve started moisturizing my skin every day like they recommend. Apparently, it helps to start early. But ugh - it’s July in Florida. That sticky, sweaty lotion feeling is the worst. Still, if it helps, I’ll do it.

And I guess I’m still learning how to be okay with that too. Today's post is just some rambling thoughts.

Some thoughts

🌸 Notes & Reminders From My Lumpectomy Experience

Underarm Pain After Lymph Node Biopsy

The underarm pain after my lymph node biopsy (done during lumpectomy) was real. Not unbearable, but definitely a nagging, persistent discomfort. The best thing I found to help was a small pillow tucked under my arm, especially when sleeping. If I wore a shirt to bed, I could easily park the pillow there and keep it nicely in place.

Cornstarch Powder for Skin Comfort

A surprising little hero: cornstarch powder. I used it under my arm to help the skin glide better and reduce irritation. It made a real difference in managing daily discomfort.

Pain Timeline

By around the 4-week mark, the constant pain started to ease. The intensity wasn’t awful, but it was always present—just enough to keep me aware of the trauma and healing happening in that area.

Breast Incision Care

The lumpectomy scar on my breast has been easy to manage. It’s healing well and doesn’t bother me. I’ve been alternating between silicone scar tape and hydrocolloid strips, and both seem to be working beautifully. The scar is not raised or angry-looking, and I feel like I’m on track for a good cosmetic outcome.

Axillary Web Syndrome (Cording)

Ugh. This showed up fast after surgery and has been my biggest nuisance. It’s a weird, tight feeling like cords running from my underarm down my arm.

Here’s what helped:

• Gentle stretching and massaging from day one
• Not babying the arm—I kept using it within reason
• A visit to a physical therapist, who showed me targeted massages and stretches that really helped

Radiation Prep Basket

To get ready for radiation, I made a list of everything I might need during and after treatment. I picked it all up at Walmart and stashed it neatly in a little basket. I feel really good about what I bought—it’s high quality and should carry me through radiation without needing to scramble later.

👙 The Bra Quest — And the Glorious Victory

Finding the right bras after surgery took some real effort. I had a long list of requirements:

• No underwire
• No boning
• Gentle, soft fabrics
• Truly comfortable
• Still supportive

I wasn’t willing to settle for anything scratchy, tight, stiff, or suffocating. And after a lot of trial and error… I found several bras that actually checked all the boxes! I was genuinely surprised (and so relieved). Each one feels like a little hug instead of a cage.

These have made such a difference during recovery - and I’ve been singing their praises to all my friends. When your body is going through so much, having a bra that doesn’t add to the discomfort is priceless.

I’m thinking I need to make a page or a section that is good for shopping!