Here I am, on this quiet morning of August 2nd, water in hand and a month overdue on updates—there’s a lot to catch up on, friends.
Let’s rewind to June 20th. I interviewed with a local law firm, and I’m not exaggerating when I say it felt like stepping into sunshine. The team was warm, welcoming, and before I’d even made it home that afternoon, an offer was already in motion. I was over the moon—but also aware of the elephant in the room: chemotherapy. The possibility hung overhead like a cloud I hadn’t yet walked through.
I chose honesty. I told the firm that I wouldn’t meet with my oncologist until the following week and that I was fairly certain chemo would be part of my journey. Their response? Compassion. Real-life, heart-centered understanding. The shareholder and HR said clearly, “Nothing changes from our end, we are so excited to have you on the team.” I can’t tell you what a relief that was.
Fast-forward to June 30th: Nick and I sat down with my oncologist to map out the road ahead. And yes, as you know already chemo is part of the landscape. The whirlwind of preparation came and went, and since then, wig shopping, two infusions down and many moments in between.
Wig Day Wonders: Laughter, Friendship & Fabulous Hair
July 9th marked a special chapter in this journey—wig shopping day. And who better to share it with than three of my lifelong besties, the kind who’ve known me since middle and high school, and still show up like the rockstars they are?
We headed to Heather's Mastectomy Boutique right here in Andover, and from the moment we stepped inside, the mood was light, laughter flowed freely, and the experience felt less like a cancer milestone and more like a glam squad reunion. Trying on wigs turned into a full-on fashion show, complete with cheering, selfies, and moments that reminded me how healing friendship really is.
All things considered, it could’ve been heavy—but they made it joyful. And that joy? I’m holding onto it tightly.
The following day, On July 10th, I met Pippa the Port
Lesson #7: So... How Does a Port Work?
Let me tell you—I had no clue how a port actually functioned until after mine was implanted on July 10th. It’s tucked above my right breast (the side opposite my mastectomy) on my chest, and while the procedure was quick, the aftermath? Let’s call it “unexpected.” For about a week, my chest and neck felt like a puppet string was tugging from the inside. My first thought? “The catheter must be attached right here in my chest.” Simple logic, right? Spoiler: wrong.
Here’s what I learned (because yes, I did finally ask some questions). The port itself is a small disc, roughly the size of a quarter, placed under the skin. From it runs a catheter—a thin flexible tube—that doesn’t stay local. Nope! They wrap it around the clavicle and thread it into a central vein, usually the superior vena cava. So, all that weird pulling sensation? Totally normal. And thankfully, temporary.
Now, nearly a month later, Pippa the Port and I are well acquainted. I named her, because why not? She is a part of me for the next 5 months - most days, I barely notice she’s there. The scar has healed, she’s doing her job, and I’m doing mine: moving forward, learning, and finding tiny joys where I can.
Mountain Air & Music Magic: A 48-Hour Escape Before Chemo
Before that first infusion, Nick and I decided to hit pause on the chaos and trade Minnesota skies for a quick two-day reset in Denver, Colorado. It wasn’t just a getaway—it was a breath of fresh air I think we both desperately needed.
We caught Eric Church live at Red Rocks, and if you've ever been, you know there’s something electrifying about that venue. The music, the mountains, the open sky—it felt like medicine of a different kind. We also spent time in Winter Park, visiting the places woven into our family’s past with my dad, stepmom Peggy, brother Danny, and sister-in-law Sami. Familiar laughs, shared memories, and a dash of mountain nostalgia made it feel like home.
It was the perfect pocket of joy before stepping into the storm—just enough laughter, love, and live music to carry with us into chemo week.
First Steps into Treatment: July 17th
July 17th marked Chemo Infusion #1—a date etched into my memory like the first chapter of a new kind of journey. That morning, Nick and I did what we always do: got the kids settled into their summer adventures, trying to keep the rhythm of normal life as steady as possible.
Then we made our way to the Piper Breast Cancer Center, where the next phase of this fight would begin. Each infusion day follows a routine—labs first, then a sit-down with my oncologist to check in and map out the plan, and finally, the chemo itself.
It’s a cycle that’s already starting to feel familiar, but that first time... it was heavy, uncertain, and deeply personal. Yet somehow, surrounded by skilled hands and the steady presence of Nick, I was emotional, scared but yet, felt ready. Or at least, ready enough.
The infusion itself runs fairly smoothly—thankfully. Pippa, my trusty port, takes care of delivering all my medications, and once everything’s flowing, it becomes a bit of a waiting game.
The infusion center and my private room is stocked with small comforts: snacks if hunger creeps in, a TV for distraction, and I brought with me some comfy slippers, a blanket that was gifted by a dear friend and my kindle in case I feltlike escaping somewhere far from fluorescent lights and IV drips.
It’s not glamorous, but it’s manageable. And honestly, finding moments of normalcy during treatment feels like its own kind of therapy.
The first few days after my initial infusion felt surprisingly good—like my body hadn’t quite realized the fight had begun. So Nick and I grabbed the moment and took a quick day trip up to Duluth. We needed the fresh air, the change of scenery, and the lake breeze to remind us that life still had room for joy.
We had originally planned to head out to Sioux Falls, SD for the weekend, but something in me hesitated. The uncertainty of how I'd feel, the unknowns of chemo's aftermath—it was enough to keep us closer to home. Duluth gave us just the right balance: an escape without straying too far.
I had begun to make changes to my diet, light exercise/walks, no alcohol, staying hydrated like it was my job and lots of fresh air. It was grounding to get out, to feel like myself; the person I hadn't felt in a long long time, even if only for a day. It was a good reminder that sometimes healing shows up in subtle ways—and maybe the biggest win is learning to grab hold of those fleeting, good moments and let them anchor you.
Hitting Pause—For Now
Whew—that was a big update. I’m hitting pause here for today and plan to catch up on everything post–July 17th a little later this week. There’s still so much to reflect on, and I want to honor it fully.
In the meantime, I just want to say thank you. Your messages, calls, surprise drop-ins, comforting meals, and heartfelt prayers have been everything. You’ve reminded me that I’m not walking this road alone—and that kind of support means the world.
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