Backstage Passes Only: Enter at Your Own Risk

 The Backstage Pass Crew

After the last blog I wrote, I kind of thought I wrapped everything up with a neat little bow. Done. Finito. Moving on.

But then you—my true ride-or-die crew—kept showing up. Every single one of you who’s getting this kept reaching out, checking in, giving hugs, dropping off snacks, or just being there. You’ve continued to listen, hold me up, and quietly remind me that I’m not alone.

I figured I’d stop writing and just keep moving, because honestly, you people don’t need much—you just show up with love, snacks, and psychic-level intuition.  But then I realized I wasn’t sharing anymore. And suddenly I was back to texting updates, responding to people, trying to remember who knew what and when, and it turned into one of those “did I leave the stove on?” spirals, except with cancer updates instead of fire hazards.

Ahhhhhhhhhhh!! There has to be a better way.

And there is. I realized I can still blog, but it doesn’t need to be for the masses. It’s for me and you—my Inner Sanctum of Chaos Managers, the VIP Table at the Meh Life Café, the ones who actually read to the bottom and text me about the last line because you get it.

You’re the people I’d let see me without eyelashes and my unwanted new buzzcut, the ones who have earned the backstage pass to this shitshow.

Thanks for staying in it with me. Let’s keep going.

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So Let’s Catch Up

If you already know this, great. But I’m recapping for me.

Here’s the medical 💩
(I mean, update):

I started chemo on July 1.

On June 30, I got a call saying they wanted me to get one under the belt before radiation, just to see how I’d feel with chemo vs. radiation. Friendly reminder: Chemo is at MGH Boston. (Read the previous blog if you need the “why.”)

The procedures are similar to Dana-Farber, with a much longer wait to get the chemo cocktail (2 HOURS):

• Labs – 1 hour
• Doctor visit to review labs & order chemo – 1 hour
• Pregaming with meds & fluids while pharmacy preps chemo – 2 hours
• Actual infusion – 1 hour
• Travel + Boston traffic – a “long-ass day” special

✅ 1 down, 13 to go.
🎯 Next up: Monday, July 21.

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Chemo, Then vs. Now

Old Chemo (TCHP): Like dropping your phone in a crosswalk and watching a truck run it over. Then back up. And run it over again.

New Chemo (T-DM1): Like your phone falling in the ocean, getting stepped on by a toddler, and somehow still powering up. Still glitchy. But manageable.

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Current Status: “I’m Fine.”

(Chemo fine. A known subclass of "fine.")

Fatigue? Yes.
Nausea? Constant, but no throwing up.
Metallic mouth? Yep.
Mouth sores? Lingering but less vicious.
Memory? Oh, it’s out wandering around somewhere. If you see it, tell it to call me.

Energy is low. The sparkle is on pause.
I am, as we say in the biz, operating in reclining sloth mode.

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Radiation: Let the Zapping Begin

July 17^th, I officially started radiation.

Radiation Plan:

✅ 25 sessions to left chest wall, collarbone to rib cage, underarm to center chest
✅ 5 extra sessions targeted at where the tumor had taken up residence (because margins were impossible to calculate, so… let’s just assume it left a mess).

Good news: I didn’t combust.
Bad news: That means I’m definitely more devil than angel.

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How Radiation Works (Spoiler: Quickly)

• Drive there (12 minutes)
• Swipe card, change into a gown, wait in Room C
• They call me in
• Arms up. Deep breath. Hold 10–12 times per session (longest = 30+ seconds)
• Zap. Done.
• Dress. Leave. Home in 45 minutes.

Tuesdays = Bonus doctor chat. Plan for 75 minutes instead.

Easy ✔️

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Hair Follicle Chronicles: The Return of the Buzz

During TCHP, I lost everything except a few blond vellus (“baby bird”) hairs that clung on because they weren’t dividing fast enough for chemo to care. My brows also had a few pale stragglers that tried their best.

Now, terminal hair is back—a soft, dark buzz cut I can’t stop petting. Darker than my natural Level 8 blonde (whatever that was after 40 years of highlights), but please, stop commenting on how dark it is.

The front is growing in blonde, giving me an ombre receding hairline I didn’t order. Chip decided to comment it looks like “an aging guy’s worst receding hairline.” His compliments are thriving.

Meanwhile, under those pale brow stragglers, dark hairs are coming in, making it look like I’ve had microblading done, and I’m not mad about it. If these brows don’t fill in completely, I might just consider the real thing.

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The Hairy Truth: Body Hair Edition

Yep, all the body hair is coming back.
Did I miss it?
Nope.

✅ Chin & nipple hair? Back.
✅ Facial fuzz + sebaceous oil? = Adult Acne ➡️Back (ugh).
✅ Other body hair? Back, originally slower & finer (fine by me), but now fast!
✅ Nose hairs? Back, catching drips during bloody noses (thanks to T-DM1 dropping platelets). Did I miss boogers? Nope.
✅ Throat hairs? Back, giving me a weird throat tickle that makes me cough randomly.
✅ Fordyce spots on lips? Back. Didn’t miss those either.

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Wait, Are My Moles Coming Back Too?

And just when I thought my skin was staying in its low-maintenance, minimal mole era, my moles are coming back too.

During TCHP, the melanocytes in moles (the pigment-making cells) took a nap because chemo suppresses rapidly dividing cells, including the ones that give moles their color. Your skin also slows down turnover, so moles fade, lighten, or seemingly disappear.

Now, on T-DM1 (Kadcyla)—my current targeted chemo—my skin’s normal cell cycle is waking back up, and the melanocytes have returned from sabbatical like toddlers after a nap—loud, demanding, and reclaiming their spots. The moles are re-pigmenting and popping back up like they never left.

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In summary:
Body hair, random fuzz, nose hairs, Fordyce spots, and now moles—all returning to the party I did not invite them to.

But let me be clear: I will take all of this over TCHP any day.

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Tiny Dots, Big Drama: The Petechiae Incident

These tiny red petechiae dots showed up due to low platelets. They look like mini hemangiomas but bleed easily and don’t clot well.

Last weekend, I shaved for the first time, unknowingly nicking one. By the time I noticed, I was on the cream couch, and it looked like a toddler’s finger prick murder scene—tiny but somehow everywhere.

After cleaning up the crime scene formerly known as me, I finally found the tiny culprit.

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What Not To Do When You Have Low Platelets & Petechiae:

🚫 Don’t drink alcohol (thins blood)
🚫 Don’t take ibuprofen or Advil (same)
🚫 Don’t shave like you’re prepping for a swimsuit competition
🚫 Don’t scrub or pick your skin
🚫 Don’t floss aggressively
🚫 Don’t ignore weird bruising or bleeding
✅ Do keep hydrogen peroxide & Band-Aids stocked
✅ Do apply gentle pressure to bleeds
✅ Do let your team know if bleeding is weird or prolonged

That pinhole-sized dot bled for 24 hours, ignoring every Band-Aid I threw at it.

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Radiation: Chip’s Behind-the-Scenes Pass

Chip: “What time is radiation today?”
Me: “11:30.”
Chip: “You want me to take you?”
Me (instantly): “YES.”

Chip’s expression = PRICELESS

I said, “You didn’t think I was going to say that, did you?”
He said, “Nope. But I’ll go shower—I’m taking you.”

We left the house at 11:15, arrived at 11:27. I started heading to Waiting Room C, but they waved me right in.

Chip? Asked for a tour.

They gave him the full VIP radiation walkthrough:
✅ Machine demo
✅ Positioning explanation
✅ The 8 breath holds, with the 2 longest clocking in over 30 seconds
✅ How radiation fatigue happens: it zaps fast-growing cells—cancerous and healthy—so your body starts trying to regenerate damaged tissue. Week one, your body’s in superhero mode. By week two? Superhero needs a nap. (and that is where I am today)

Chip is now the Head of Radiological Affairs. Feel free to direct questions to him.

I was dressed and back in the car by 11:47.

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Coming Up Next: Monday, July 21

Monday marks a double feature:

• Chemo Round 2 (T-DM1)
• Radiation Session #7
• And… a bonus Broadway-length lineup of appointments because I like to keep things light.

Let’s take a look at the schedule for this Leo:

🕕 6:00 AM – Sunrise duet with Cheryl and Marianne.
🕖 7:00 AM – Radiation, Session #7 – Arms up, deep breath, and smile like I’m not being microwaved.
🕗 8:00 AM – Gastroenterologist check-in, because why not spice things up with a little GI action?
🕣 8:30 AM – Private session with my favorite neighbor, Chyllene, who is sunshine in Pilates form.
🕤 9:30 AM – Road trip to Boston with Jake and Sam, who are tag-teaming chauffeur duty like the legends they are.
🎯 Destination: MGH Boston for Chemo Round 2 of 14.

Jealous?
You should be. It’s a full day of glamorous needles, nuclear beams, digestive updates, and core strength with a side of sarcastic car banter.

And through it all, I’ll be sipping Leo Logic from my mental Mason jar, wearing SPF, and surviving like the radiant, metal-mouthed warrior I am.

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AUGUST FEATURE: Drink of the Day 🍹 (or Mocktail, if You're Fancy Like That)

It’s Almost August… and You Know What That Means

We need some fun around here. Enter: Drink of the Day.

My birthday month is almost here, and I’m feeling festive (and slightly feral). So naturally, I’d love to put together a monthly drink calendar—because why not celebrate every single day like it’s an occasion?

Every day in August, we’re celebrating with a Drink of the Day.
Each one will represent someone in this beautifully chaotic circle—alcoholic or not, depending on your current state of hydration, rebellion, or platelet count.

And of course, I must credit my bartender partner-in-crime: Jennifer.
Not Jenn. Not Jenny. Just Jennifer.  Or maybe… Jenniferrrr, depending on the vibe.

She kicked off the calendar with the ultimate taste of summer:
The Aperol Spritz — refreshing, light, and makes you say “ahhhh, what a day.”
Which is exactly what she’s gifted me lately.

Since I haven’t been able to get away, she’s let me babysit her beach umbrellas on xx West. I’m not being dramatic (okay, maybe a little), but sitting there, under those umbrellas, salty breeze in my face, pretending I live there… It’s my absolute favorite thing in the world. And I’m so grateful.

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JJ’s August Drink: Leo Logic

It makes zero sense on paper—
Fresh berries, cucumbers, basil… blended with zero-calorie lemonade?
Served in a giant Mason jar?
Add seltzer or water, and alcohol or not, depending on how you’re feeling.

And yet? It completely works.
Loud. Refreshing. Slightly chaotic. Unforgettable.
Just like me.

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Now it’s your turn:

Text me your drink. The one that best represents you. Make it ridiculous, meaningful, chaotic, sweet, spicy—or all of the above. Bonus points if the name makes me laugh or causes me to aspirate it through my nose.