One year ago today I found my lump. I remember every detail from that day like it was yesterday. I got to end work early, and decided to relax by taking a shower. For whatever reason, I decided to do a self-exam. I rarely did these, but that day, a little voice in my head said, “you need to do this right now.” Almost instantly I felt something off, and got out of the shower in a panic to find Mike. Somehow I knew in my gut what it was. I quickly called the doctor before they closed and somehow got an appointment for the next morning with a random OBGYN. Even when others tried to reassure me in the days following that it was nothing to worry about. Deep down, I just knew. 

A week later on the 18th our world was turned upside down. We postponed our wedding and got married a week later. We navigated an appointment, sometimes multiple, daily. Whether it was scans, blood draws, IVF treatment, and two surgeries all before starting chemotherapy on June 8th. This last year we bought a home, moved and renovated our space to make comfort in our journey throughout more chemotherapy, surgery, and radiation. We accepted a lot of disappointment, canceled a lot of plans, isolated , and navigated the impending question of the unknown.

Today, I am so close to ending what will be over a year of chemotherapy, radiotherapy, surgeries, hospitalization, immunotherapy, oral chemotherapy, and endless appointments. Over a year filled with isolation, pain, sickness, sadness, grief, and crippling anxiety. But also a year filled with reflection, growth, faith, new perspective on life, and so much love. 

Almost a year I have been blessed to be married to my true other half. A person who has been my absolute rock, my constant reminder to carry on, and that no matter what version of myself I am, it’s enough. Most importantly another year of living my life, with the love of my life, my family and my friends. I owe that little voice a lot. Although I am close to being “done” the journey is so far from being over. The biggest hurdle is yet to come, living with the unknown. 

My message to my lump.

No voice yet you speak for my future. 

No brain yet you control my thoughts.

No heart yet you have make me feel every emotion. 

No legs yet you have limited my ability to walk. 

You cannot sleep yet you have taken away so many of my dreams. 

So small yet what you have done is so mighty. 

Even though you are physically gone, your presence is still here.

In the grooves of my scars you didn’t go far. 

And even without eyes, when I look in the mirror you will always be near.