Port on Monday. Poison on Tuesday. Answers in hand. Face in freefall.

 Port on Monday, Poison on Tuesday — and Finally, A Doctor Who Talks To Me

Since the second I got that call on January 9, 2025, life has been nothing but a full-speed sprint in every possible direction. No time to think, barely time to breathe — just appointment after appointment, test after test, decision after decision. And every step of the way, I was left with more questions than answers — and zero compassion to go with it.

I’m not fragile. I can handle tough news. But what I couldn’t handle anymore was being talked at, ignored, and dismissed every time I asked a question. So, I did what any sane, furious person would do — I got a second opinion.

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“Tell Me About You”

Enter: Dr. Mark Juric at Mass General.

He walked in, apologized for being late, and then hit me with a question no one had asked me yet:
“Tell me about you.”

Not my cancer. Me.
Do you have kids? What do you do? What matters to you?

I was floored. After weeks of being reduced to a walking diagnosis, someone finally saw an actual human sitting in the chair.

Then he followed it up with:
“What do you know about your cancer?”

Not what he knew — what I knew. Not what I’d been told, but what I actually understood about my own diagnosis. Imagine that.

And then came the kicker.
Dr. Juric looked at me and said,
“What can I do for you today? What do you want to get out of this conversation?”

I almost fell out of my chair. A doctor asking what I needed — not what fit into their agenda, not a preloaded speech, but actual questions I wanted answered. Imagine that.

This is all I’ve been chasing from Dana-Farber since day one, but instead, that’s turned into a soap opera — too many emotions, too much defensiveness, and a general vibe that questions aren’t exactly welcome.

I get it — they do cancer all day, every day — but somewhere along the way, they forgot there’s a human attached to the tumor.

But not Dr. Juric. After weeks of canceled appointments, unanswered messages, and vague half-answers, this was the first time someone invited me into my own care plan.

He wanted my questions, so I gave him three. Including the biggie: How the hell did this happen to me?

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The Three Questions I Needed Answered

I came in armed with a list, and Dr. Juric answered every single one of them — directly, no spin, no bullshit.

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Question 1: Why Not Move Chemo to Mass General North Shore?

I told him straight up — appointments get canceled, moved, and nobody calls me. Surgeries are booked and canceled without warning. Reports come in, and I only find out what's in them if I hunt people down.

If I’m truly textbook — if TCHP is non-negotiable — and I’m already doing radiation at Mass General Brigham locally, then why the hell wouldn’t I just do chemo locally too?

Here’s the deal:
Radiation is every day for six weeks, so they automatically find you the closest in-network facility to save your sanity. Makes sense.

But chemo? Totally different story.
Dana-Farber keeps their chemo protocols locked down tighter than Fort Knox. Their schedules, drug combos, dosing rules — they want full control over every drop that goes into your body.

If I decide to pivot everything to Mass General, Dr. Juric would happily take me. But mid-chemo? That’s a logistical nightmare. So for now, staying put at Dana-Farber makes sense — even if their charm and personality are nonexistent.

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Question 2A: Why Not Test Everything Right Now?

Tumor genetics, deeper pathology — why not throw every test at this thing?

Dr. Juric’s answer:
Because right now, your body can only handle so much.

This is where he hit me with the now-famous line:
“You don’t put the whole elephant in the refrigerator.”

TCHP is already enough poison to hammer every system I’ve got — heart, bones, immune system, skin — and adding more right now would cross the line from treatment to outright assault.

There will be time for more therapies later — after surgery, after radiation, after we see how I respond. That’s the pivot.

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Question 2B: What’s the Deal With No PET Scan?

This one’s driven me crazy from the start.
Every time I asked Dana-Farber, the answer was:
"We don’t do that right now."
No explanation. Just policy without context.

Dr. Juric actually explained it — with humor and diagrams.

• A PET scan can only see clumps of cancer cells — about 8-10 millimeters across (pea-sized).
• It can’t see individual microscopic cells — especially the sneaky little HER2-positive bastards floating through my bloodstream or lymphatic system like confetti at a parade.

This is why chemo is non-negotiable.
Chemo poisons everything, even the invisible stuff. PET scans look for the party, but chemo goes after the very first guest sneaking in the door.

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Side Note — For Everyone Asking If Chemo Gets Easier

No. It does not.

This is not a couch to 5K training plan.
Chemo is cumulative poison.

• Every round stacks on the last.
• My bone marrow gets weaker.
• My immune system slows down.
• My skin, appetite, and energy tank harder each time.

The goal is to poison me just shy of death, while killing the cancer first. Science, baby.

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THE BIGGIE: How Did This Happen to Me?

This is not a recurrence.
This is the same cancer, from the same DCIS in 2014, left behind to grow into this mess.

• DCIS starts inside the milk ducts.
• If any cells escape, they become invasive.

One microscopic speck outside the duct? That’s all it took.

As for how long it’s been in my lymph nodes? No one knows.
Cancer cells spread either through the lymphatic system or the bloodstream — the famous Braintree Split analogy by Dr. Juric. Either way, here we are.

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PIVOT

At the end of our conversation, Dr. Juric asked if I minded him taking a moment to talk to me about something — not to lecture, not to preach, but to share one thing he wanted me to carry with me. Of course, I said yes.

He told me there are two types of people who go through this.

The first type? They put their heads down, throw their hands up in front of their face, and just barge through to the end. They don’t ask questions, they don’t look around, they just plow forward. Not right, not wrong — but they miss a lot of life along the way.

And then there’s the second type. That’s me. The one who asks questions, who wants to understand, who sometimes might even get too caught up in the details — but that’s not the point. The point, he said, is that the most important skill you can have is knowing how to pivot.

Because this whole process? It’s going to change. Appointments shift. Scans show things you didn’t expect. Surgery plans flip upside down overnight. Just like that call I got the night before surgery — suddenly we’re talking lymph nodes and not just breasts. Those moments demand a pivot. And how you pivot is everything.

For me, pivoting means I need answers. I need someone on the other end who will talk with me, not at me. And Dr. Juric made it clear — he’s that guy. He’s on my team. Another person I can turn to, bounce things off, and actually have a conversation with — not a lecture, not a defensive wall, a conversation.

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Welcome to The Show: The Science Experiment Update

And now, for those of you dying to know the latest update from the ongoing science experiment called “JJ on TCHP and The Tumor That Should Never Have Been”…

Hair loss — almost complete.

Eyebrows — clinging to life.

And my face? The skin below my mouth?

Gone full marionette puppet. That’s the area known as the marionette lines, where your cheeks, chin, and gravity get together and decide your face should now live somewhere near your collarbone.

Combine:

🍑 Zero peach fuzz to hold it up

👧No estrogen to plump it up (thanks chemo!)

💥Collagen in full retreat

💦Dehydration for fun

🪐And gravity doing what gravity does

I’m bald, melting, exhausted — but at least I finally have real answers and a doctor who sees me — not just my chart.

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THE CHALLENGE - Ride or Die Check-In: Your Pivot Moment

What was your pivot moment — the one where life yanked the rug out and you had no choice but to change course?

Maybe it was the day you looked in the mirror and saw your first chin hair, standing tall like a monument to middle age, and you knew right then — the rules had changed.

Or maybe it was the day you got the phone call that your parent needed care and suddenly, you became the adult in the room. That shift from being someone’s kid to being their caregiver — that’s a pivot.

Pivot moments are when life says, “Surprise! We’re not doing it that way anymore.”

So tell me:

💓What was your pivot moment?

💕What triggered it?

💗And now that you’ve been through it — what’s your one piece of wisdom you’d pass down to the rest of us?

Serious, funny, raw — I want it all.

Comment, text me, message me, or just yell it into the void — I’ll hear you.

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