Call Me, Message Me, Just Stop Scheduling Me

No News Is Good News

The Great Dana-Farber Scheduling Olympics

As soon as Monday begins, the calls start rolling in, schedules change, and new appointments pop up like weeds I can’t pull fast enough. It’s hard enough to keep track of it all, teach my clients, and still act like I have it together. Dana-Farber and Brigham and Women’s have called me so many times today, I’m considering billing them for my time.

Honestly, what I really need is a clone—someone who can go to these appointments and do chemo for me. And if that’s not a reasonable ask (though, let’s be honest, it should be), I might need a personal assistant— or maybe just someone to hold my phone and scream into it for me. (Any takers? Free snacks included!)

Here’s the kicker: they’re the ones who spaced everything out in the first place! Last week, I was told, “Oh, we can’t seem to find a time for this test or that one,” and I thought, Well, of course. Everyone here has cancer, and their tests need to be done. Fair enough, right?

But apparently, there’s a secret express lane— Dana Farber is like the TSA PreCheck of cancer care—that everyone wants to be in. Little did I know, there’s an even faster lane, like the CLEAR program at airports, that lets you skip ahead of the PreCheck folks. Suddenly, I’ve been bumped up to this VIP status without anyone asking if I wanted it. And for the record, I don’t! Now, everything is DEFCON 1, and they’re telling me, “Nope, it all has to be done this week.”

Did I miss the memo? Was there a meeting where they decided my chart needed to be fast-tracked? And if so, who approved this? I need a name.

Let me tell you, I tried to play along. I really did. Last week, I was all, “Sure, just let me know what works!” This week, I’m dodging phone calls like they’re spam asking me about solar panels. It’s now-now, not just now, and I finally hit my limit when they tried to squeeze in a bone density test. I mean, come on! I had to lay down the law: “If I don’t absolutely need this test this week, then guess what? My kid is more important than a bone density test.” Honestly, I’m over it. There’s only so much radiation you can zap me with before I start glowing like a human nightlight.

Radio Silence Sounds Perfect

So here’s where we’re at: I’m signing off for a bit. I’m flying out to Colorado Wednesday to visit Jacob and tell him in person what’s going on. I’ll be back late Thursday. Or Friday. Honestly, it depends on how much more chaos gets thrown at me.

Now, about “the next steps” (a.k.a. the surgery): Please don’t ask about it. Not that I don’t want to share—I just really need a break from thinking about all the dates, logistics, and endless tests. I need to focus on surviving this week without spontaneously combusting. Trust that I’ve got it handled, and when there’s something to share, I’ll let you know.

And just so you know—I’m okay. I’ve got this. Everything is under control (well, my version of control). No news is good news, and that’s the plan for now.

To My Island of Sanity—My True Blue, Ride-or-Die Crew:

If you’re with me and still listening to this circus, drop a text or comment and tell me your favorite sugary delight (candy, cake, pastries—if it’s bad for you, I want to hear about it). And if you’re one of those sugar-isn’t-my-thing people (we’ll still be friends, maybe), just send an emoji so I know you’re alive.

Love you all. I couldn’t survive this chaos without you. 💛