The Medical Itinerary No One Asked For

Chemo & Ports

• Clearance from the Surgical Team – Check.
• Bone Scan – Check.

Not much to report—just got zapped with enough radiation to power a small city. When I handed the nurses my Band-Aid, they looked at it like it was a live grenade. Apparently, there might have been some radiation on it, but, you know, no big deal—I’ll just keep glowing in the dark.

Chemo: The Slow Rollout No One Pre-Ordered

Chemo officially kicks off on 2/11, but first, I get the privilege of lab work beforehand—because nothing says “welcome to chemo” like extra needle pokes. Still can’t get my port until later, which is fine, totally fine. I’ll just do my first round with an IV like some kind of peasant, and then for round two, I’ll upgrade to the deluxe model with a port. Basically, it’s a slow rollout—like a new iPhone update, except instead of cool features, I just get to feel like garbage in new and exciting ways.

The Port & Chemo Round 2: The Monday-Tuesday Wipeout

Before round two on 3/4, I’ll finally get my port installed at the ungodly hour of 6 a.m. on 3/3. Because what’s better than a medical procedure? A very early medical procedure.

So, heads-up to my Monday people—I’m out (3/3). Tuesday people? Also out (3/4). Maybe I’ll rally by Wednesday, but let’s be honest, that might be wishful thinking. We’ll see if my overachiever instincts kick in.

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LC Takes Over: The Ultimate Friend Flex

As for the caregiving page—I’m out. LC is in. That’s right, I have officially passed the torch (or the dumpster fire, depending on the day). Any questions, advice, directions, help, or wild personal stories—send them her way.

Who is LC? Glad You Asked.  Did you know I met LC as Ms. Connolly, the fresh-faced 23-year-old kindergarten teacher? Then, she became Jake’s 1st-grade teacher. But to me, she’s LC—my soul sister, the one who’s been there for the best, the worst, and the downright absurd. Including the time my son decided to casually drop the -itch word in class. A defining moment in my parenting career.

She knows when I need an intervention before I do and will show up, veg on my couch, listen, let me unload—no questions asked. And more importantly, she knows when to leave. Huge in a friendship. But let’s not forget—LC also wrote the damn guide to the Irish Exit. One minute she’s there, the next? Vanished. Elite-level ghosting.

She loves all my crazy DIY home projects and is absolutely fascinated by my DIY beauty contraptions. I am in awe of her organizational skills, but she is equally obsessed with things like popping pimples, zapping skin tags, and electrocuting her own hemangiomas. If it has the potential to cause minor bodily harm in the name of “self-care,” she’s into it.

She also loves to dance and sing, and trust me—you do not want to miss that. Whether you’re laughing with her or at her, it’s a guaranteed good time. And if you ever want to start a really stupid game of “Did You Know?”—she’s your person. The woman is unflappable.

She’s also the one friend I can count on to always say yes to spa days and shopping over hiking, skiing, or anything involving unnecessary exertion. A travel companion who values relaxation over adventure? A rare gem.

And most importantly—what kind of friend willingly agrees to manage this chaotic group of people? This beautifully unhinged, wildly diverse, sometimes completely insane group? LC, that’s who. She’s the one rallying the troops, wrangling schedules, and somehow keeping everyone relatively on the same page.  Taking on the director of the caregiving page role? That’s next-level friendship.

So, if anyone deserves a standing ovation, it’s LC. The friend who’s been there for all the Did You Know moments. The one who will absolutely be handing me a razor and a wig when the time comes. She even offered to donate her hair to me (spoiler alert: she did NOT).

LC is the one who keeps showing up. Along with all of you.

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And Speaking of ‘Did You Know?’…

Time to find the silver linings because if I don’t, I might actually lose my mind.

1️⃣ Chemo might finally get rid of my ingrown hairs. If I’m losing all my hair, then I fully expect those stubborn little jerks that curl up under my chin instead of facing the world to go too. It’s the least chemo could do for me.

2️⃣ Chemo could be the ultimate pore minimizer. Turns out, all those years of not moisturizing (because who knew baby oil at the beach didn’t count?) might finally be reversed. My pores are in their sebaceous aging phase, but rumor has it chemo might shrink them. Don’t worry, Mom—I actually do moisturize now.

3️⃣ This will be the first time in history a hairdresser gets my cut and color exactly like the picture I bring in. Sure, it’s a wig, but still—a win is a win. (Well… maybe not.)

4️⃣ Zoe and I will finally be eyebrow twins. When mine go, she can officially teach me the art of rocking the no-brow life. Still one of the most hilarious yet cringe-worthy moments from lockdown COVID life.

5️⃣ I can now get away with any excuse or outrageous lie. As LC put it, “I can’t accuse you of fibbing ‘cause, you know… you can’t call a cancer patient a liar 🤣🤣🤣. It’s just not right.”

6️⃣ I have finally found a way to get Chip to take me for sweets. Turns out, all it takes is the cancer/wig/chemo card. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

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And Now, A Challenge for You…

First and foremost, I’m impressed. Not just with the deeply philosophical panty reflections (if you know, you know), but also with this masterpiece-in-progress:

✨ The Bartender’s Guide to Surviving Breast Cancer with Friends ✨

This book is, well, fabulous—for lack of a better word (and you know I hate that word).  So, keep sending me how you identify as a cocktail. (Not as an animal—that’s just too much for me).  But if you sent your drink? You’ve been hearing me. Truly hearing me. And for that, I raise a glass.

Another Great “Did You Know?” Moment…

Did you know that the very first chemo patient in 1942 was treated with a derivative of mustard gas? That’s right, the same chemical warfare stuff. So basically, I’m out here getting nuked with historical levels of nonsense. But hey, at least now it comes with better snacks. 

And did you know I live for the texts and comments you all send me? Seriously, they keep me laughing, smiling, and only slightly questioning our collective sanity. So do me a favor—text or comment your best Did You Know? facts. Bonus points if they’re completely useless but wildly entertaining.