Counting

TWO. On April 18 it will be two.

The number of years since I was diagnosed with breast cancer. The number of years I’ll have been a breast cancer survivor. Two years.

In April it will have been two years. It feels like forever. Only because it’s such a big part of my life, and last year while I was planning my wedding it WAS my life. I can’t imagine life without breast cancer. I don’t know who I’d be. I don’t know what I would think or how I’d feel or if I’d live any differently than I do now.



Me at the Penn State men and women's "Paint it Pink" gymnastics meet to raise money for breast cancer awareness and education. I spoke at the end of the meet in front of about 2,000 people about my experiences with breast cancer.

Earlier than April 18, on March 31, Sean and I will celebrate our first wedding anniversary! The past year has flown by. Just like I can’t picture myself or my life without breast cancer, I can’t picture myself or my life without Sean. We’ll have been married one year, but together nearly five. Yet it feels like forever. But, according to our wedding song, “Marry Me” by Train, forever could never be long enough.

The next few months bring so many big milestones. My two-year breast cancer survivor mark. Our one-year wedding anniversary.

I believe every number is an important number when you’re a survivor. 1. The number of seconds it’s been since you got the call from the doctor telling you there were “some cancer cells” in your fine needle aspiration result. 2. The number of seconds it took for your heart to stop. 3. The number of seconds until you felt like your body had completely floated above the universe, and your feet, your life were no longer grounded. When you’ve had cancer (or any other illness), every second that you physically, emotionally and mentally deal with it, and watch your family and friends and loved ones physically, emotionally and mentally deal with it, is powerful. Every second is powerful. Every second feels like eternity. When you’re waiting, recovering, planning, trying to live, trying to be. Every single second hurts. It feels like a giant boulder that you can’t push or pull, no matter how hard you try.

But eventually you get there. Where I am today. A survivor. The pain will never be gone, and the scars will never disappear, but with each second, each year, that goes by, it should get easier. It already has. Not a second or day goes by that I’m not reminded of the breast cancer. I see my body in the mirror. I feel some pulling, tightness and discomfort where my implants are. Running still hurts my chest, yoga still hurts my chest. But I am me and I am better and stronger than before. And I cannot wait to finally wear a bikini this summer with my new C-cup bosoms!

Us with the Nittany Lion at a wrestling match!

Remember when I was always counting? This many months until the wedding. This many weeks until my next surgery. This many days until my drains can come out. This many days until I can take off the bandages and see the new cuts and the new scars and my “new” chest. This many days until I can go off the Bactrim. This many days until I can lift my arms above my head. This many months until my next breast MRI. This many button-down shirts since I can’t wear regular shirts. This many more weeks worrying I have breast cancer again until I go to my next breast MRI. This many weeks until my bridal shower. This many weeks until my dress comes in. This many more dress fittings. This many more RSVPs. This many more weeks until my next surgery. This many more months of wearing the prosthetic. This many more months until my last surgery. This many nights a week stretching my arms and chest, only to have them tight and in pain within the next hour. This many sessions with my physical therapist.  XXX many seconds, days, weeks, months, years until I am back to “myself,” back to “life.” Until all this is over.

Three of my favorite healthy spices. Try to use these every day.

What I have learned these past few months is that I won’t get “back to normal,” because there is no such thing. Life after breast cancer is a new normal. Today, this is my new normal. “Back to” anything doesn’t exist because in the past, breast cancer didn’t exist in my life. In fact, nothing that exists today existed back then in the exact way it does now. No aspect of my life can ever go backwards. That’s why we focus on new normals and the NEW ways we describe and think about ourselves.



Enjoying beer from India, a nice (and delicious) treat :)



I am myself more now than I was before the breast cancer. And I only say that because I believe you are your ultimate “self” in that moment. So when I say I wanted to be “myself” again after the surgeries and breast cancer, I meant I wanted all of that pain to end. I wanted to be able to feel like breast cancer wasn’t taking over my life, that I couldn’t do things, couldn’t live, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t sleep because of the breast cancer. Sure, I didn’t FEEL like myself. But I was. Because I’m always myself, even in the worst of circumstances.

Sometimes I forget what it was like to always be counting. To be counting breast cancer surgeries at the same time I was counting down to each wedding event, activity and plan. No wonder I’ve been “reshuffling.” No wonder I’ve been searching for something after all this. No wonder I’ve felt uneasy, confused.

I LOVE the Lululemon manifesto

Well today I am no longer counting. With my coconut oil and turmeric and yoga I am LIVING. Building a house, going to weddings, getting more and more public speaking engagements, enjoying work. Celebrating my life with Sean and Campbell and friends and family. Today I am living. I am not counting.

Actually, yes, I am counting. I’m counting my blessings.