Baby on the Brehm

Mother's Day Giftaway: Mind & Soul...

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 03 May 2016 10:30:00 +0000

Thank you so so much to those who nominated their significant others yesterday! One lucky mama is going to be receiving the Borsheims+Sweet P and Fi package in the mail.

Today's gifters are all about mama's mind and soul.

Nominate your favorite mama to receive today's Giftaway on my Facebook page or by emailing me at babyonthebrehm@gmail.com

Taryn Schlehr is a Norwex rep and fully believes in the company's mission to improve the quality of life by radically reducing chemicals in our homes. With Norwex Microfiber System, you will not breathe, touch or ingest chemicals – you simply create a cleaner, healthier indoor environment. Norwex helps make cleaning fast, fun and easy and teaches your family how to improve their health and environment! Taryn has donated a "Wrap it Up" set and a pack of body cloths for today's package! Thanks, Taryn. Check out more of what Norwex and Taryn have to offer on Taryn's personal site.

My friend, Jen, has been working with DoTerra for enough time to truly believe that it makes all difference for her family, friends, and clients. I have personally used Breathe and Wild Orange fairly regularly through treatment and have found relief from sinus pressure and colds. Jen has donated the DoTerra Mother's Day Satchel complete with a 5 ml bottle of Lavender and a 5 ml bottle of Citrus Bliss. Check out more of what Jen "the oil"Cancino and DoTerra have to offer on Jen's personal site.

Every mama needs an outlet and a great one for mind, body and spirit is getting a bit of exercise. But most mama's don't have time or cash to make it to the gym. My friend, Erin, mom of two, had the same issues and started doing Beachbody videos at home. One of her go-tos is PiYo. Erin ended up loving Beachbody workouts so much that she became a Beachbody coach, herself. She finds that she has energy like never before and is able to fit in workouts on her own schedule. To complete this package, one lucky mama will receive a copy of PiYo and a complimentary coach session with Erin, if so desired. To get your very own copy of any of the Beachbody videos, check out Erin's personal site.

Soooo... for those of you keeping score at home, today's mama will receive:

Norwex "Wrap it Up" set and a pack of body cloths

DoTerra Mother's Day Satchel complete with Lavender and Citrus Bliss oils

Beachbody PiYo video set

This lucky mama will feel fresh of mind and soul with this sweet set! Start nominating and nominations will close at 7 pm CST {sorry, I changed the time from yesterday. Trying to find a happy medium for sanity and to give as much time as I can for nominations:)}.

Let's Get It Started... Mother's Day Goodness Giftaway

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 02 May 2016 10:30:00 +0000

OHHHHHHH Helllllllo, Momday... erm... I mean, Monday! Sorry. I got excited for a second. Because I was thinking about the Mother's Day Goodness Giftaway I'm kicking off TODAY.

Here are the deets and they will be the same ALLLL week long. You are welcome to nominate any mama who falls into the category of the day! You can nominate the mamas between noon and 8 pm CST {Nebraska time} each day this week. I will have a different package each day and the video each morning, as well as a fresh blog post, will tell you who you are nominating. The winner will be chosen at random and once selected, I will reach out to the nominator to grab the address of the recipient. Clear as mud? Cool!

So. Today... I am so so so excited to have two awesome items packaged together. And I am asking all you dads out there to nominate your wives {spouses, baby mamas ... I'm not getting into your biz here} to win this package. If the mother of your children is the very best mama you know, is a woman you love, a woman you can't imagine living without or parenting without, please -- go on my Facebook page from noon to 1 today to nominate. If you want to keep it a surprise, you may also email me at babyonthebrehm@gmail.com and put Day 1 in the subject line.

Are you ready to hear today's Givers?!

A big huge shoutout to Borsheims and Sweet P and Fi!

The winner of today's package will receive: A Borsheims "Love" necklace and a $25 gift card to Sweet P and Fi.

Borsheims is home grown but nationally known... based here in Omaha and owned by Mr. Warren Buffett, Borsheims is known for their beautiful selection and quality pieces available right here in Omaha. I stopped in the other night and tried on some gorgeous diamond sparkly things and perused all of their cool gifts in the Fine Gifts section. I love that they have everything from jewelry to home decor. A one-stop shop for gifts of all kind. You can shop on-line or check out their retail store for great gifts for the mother in your life. And, they'll wrap it right up in the store! Bonus!

I've talked a lot about Molly of Sweet P and Fi... because I love her and she's got cool style and the very best heart. Molly was the whole impetus for Baby on the Brehm starting Goodness Giftaways because she sent a pair of her leather earrings, just to be kind, after I got diagnosed. And now, Molly and I are friends and I can't get over her passion for fashion. Please, check out her clothing, custom jewelry and more for great spring and summer styles. Shop on-line and also, check her out on Facebook and Instagram.

Thank you so much to Borsheims and to Sweet P and Fi for caring about mamas! And for being amazeballs. You rock!

A Case of the Sundays...

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 01 May 2016 23:02:00 +0000

Ugh. Sundays.

I know a lot of people get a case of the Mondays. But for me... It's Sundays. Especially if we don't make it to church. I'm just kind of a crabby dabby.

The boys are generally at each others' throats by this point on Sunday. Both literally and figuratively. In fact, as I type this, I've had to ask the Littlest to relinquish his brother from a headlock, twice. And I've already determined that baths will start promptly at 6:45 tonight. Because I think we all just need a little break from one another.

The house is well "lived-in" by late Sunday afternoon. And there's no purpose in trying to put it back together yet at this stage. This, I've learned.

And the big truth as of late... I hate radiation. Okay. That's not really fair. Radiation itself, doesn't deserve the bad rap. The NebMed smiling faces are lovely -- from Kim to Vicki to Craig to Stephen to Angela to Jessi, and of course, Dr. Wahl -- the peeps are grand. In fact, I know I will miss them... Because they aren't just grand... They are kind and funny and compassionate. So it's not he people or the time commitment. Because it's only a half hour each day. But it's just. Almost. The end. And I am getting restless. Antsy. Over it.

Remember those couple of weeks I had post surgery where I had regular energy and wasn't doing any protocols? Remember... I felt normal? And while I know that will be here again soon. With just 20 treatments left, I only have 27 days until I can put this part behind me. And so that should make me blissfully happy. But instead it has me wanting to wish it away. It has me wanting to just. Get. Through. It. Now.

And so, I'm a little worn. My edges are getting frayed. I'm a little over it. I'm tired again, this time from the rads. I've got this awful hanging-around cough keeping me up at night. And I'm realizing that May 1st marks almost 8 full months of doing cancer treatment.

Don't get me wrong. I don't want life to be over. I just wanna have a little tantrum where I lay on the ground like my children do when something doesn't go their way.

And then, I'll get up off the floor {or off my blog, as it were}, dust off my knees, and get back to Positive Town.

I am very very overjoyed that I've come this far. I am thrilled that my prognosis is so positive. I am overwhelmed by all of the great experiences I've had even through "the storm". And I am ever thankful for Nebraska Medicine, my family, my friends, and goodness. And I am definitely thankful to have the hardest parts of treatment behind me.

But. I'm ready to move forward. To be without a daily appointment. To start to figure out what the next part of my life looks like. And to hopefully, enjoy the summer with few bumps in the road.

It was bound to happen at some point, right? Like every political campaign, I was bound to go negative... If just for today.

So, for the next 27 days, I will just imagine myself where I am longing to be... On the beach... With my toes in the sand... Celebrating the second chance I've been given. And starting to love on Sundays again.

The glue...

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 24 Apr 2016 02:00:00 +0000

At least it's me.

When, over the last half a year, the words, I am going to die soon have entered my thoughts, I have sometimes found myself following it up with: at least it's me.

Because my boys, without their dad...

I just. Can't.

I can't think of it. I can't feel it. Even writing the sentence felt painful. Because ohhhhh. How they love their daddy.

Until I was made aware of the fact that my body was hosting cancer, I struggled a bit with the fact that my husband was the fun one. The one who would push me out the door for girls' nights while, on the other hand, I would bemoan every minute of the 4.5 hours he would take to hit the links once in a blue moon. He would wrestle and play ninjas and throw them up in the air as I would look on, trying to keep my eyes open and my head on straight after a day filled with tantrums and bargaining. He would load them all up in the car for a day at the museum while I would cling to the four minutes I got alone in a bathroom stall while out to dinner as a family. I always felt like while I wanted to enjoy every moment, I couldn't enjoy them like he could. I was stressed about logistics. And details. And what the process would look like to clean up the mess following the fun. Not every day. But I think, as we went from one to two to three in under 5 years, I just. Felt. Stretched. And I felt allll the mom guilt that I wasn't doing enough. Teaching enough. Funning enough. That, plainly put, for them, I would never be enough.

And he. He was the glue that held me together. That held them together. That made us all stick.

And then. I watched him in the yard with them tonight. And I thought again, how thankful I was that it wasn't him. But also, that it wasn't me. And as of now, there's little real reason, at least the kind that starts with C, to think I won't be here for them. And I'm happy for that. Because of all the other lessons cancer taught me, I figured out that I am a good mom. That I am totally enough of the mom that I am meant to be.

And at dinner, in our thankfuls, he was thankful for me. Being the glue. That holds us all together. And I realized we have been living in a mutual admiration club. Where I believe he is the one they can't live without. And he, I.

And I realized they are lucky to have us both. And we are both so lucky to have the other.

And to be stuck, like glue, to this life. The life that can sometimes become sticky itself. And can sometimes feel hard to trudge through.

But at the end of the day... We are both the fun ones. We are both necessary. We are both in love with one another. And just happy to have gotten stuck like glue.

They're Just Like Us...

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 22 Apr 2016 16:11:00 +0000

I was recently asked, "who are your favorite celebrities? Like who is someone you'd just really love to meet?" And you know what? I was stuck. I said, "well, Ellen, of course..." And then I paused, surely there are tons of celebrities I'd want to meet.

Before I had the boys, I was an avid reader of celeb rag mags. I was a watcher of alllll the Housewives. I kept up a little with the Kardashians. I watched Oprah on the daily. I tuned into the Today Show every single morning. I would read Pink is the new Blog during lunch every day. I could easily win the baby shower game where you match the celeb parent with their offspring. I considered myself a pop culture maven.

And now... Now I am just a shell of my former self when it comes to knowing what's "in". What's trendy. Who is hot and who is not. Whether or not phrases like "hot mess" or "on fleek" are in or out. I scoff when my "adopted teenage daughter" {my 16 year old neighbor} tells me that Facebook is so 2007. And I haven't got a clue who Hamilton is outside of Alexander. I feel like That bald dude on Austin Powers saying, "I'm hip! I'm cool! Duckaduckaduckaducka." Those are just the facts of this mother's life.

It's not that I don't care about pop culture. I desperately love watching all of the antics of the Housewives of all the cities. I watch Ellen at 4 whenever I get the chance. I binge watch Project Runway on Lifetime On Demand. I just viewed the series Finale of Girls and was so sad it was over. And I just started wanting to figure out what exactly is in fashion these days again. I want to be "in the know". I think. I want to be star struck. Totally overcome and befuddled by the most famous of the famous. But life has so much more going on right now. Like with cancer. Like with the people I know. Like with my little world. And even the very big world around us. So what was my response after I said, "Ellen..."? It was, "I don't know. I guess I'm just so taken by real people. And real stories. And authenticity."

For the purpose of the question, I have to tell you, without divulging any details, I'm pretty sure it was the worst answer I could have given. But it was the truth. I should have said, "well, the Gilmore girls and Ellen were my besties when I was staying home with my first child." Or "Oprah got me through two screaming babies so I suppose I should thank her." Or "Jen Hatmaker and Tina Fey make me laugh like nobody's biz". But instead of being starstruck but I was stuck. Maybe it's because of my interactions with b list pro-athletes during my non-profit days or the very nasty singer managers who called me names like, "little girl" {ohhhhh the memories}. Maybe those "celebrity" run-ins ruined celebdom for this mama. Or maybe, I just couldn't be anything but honest in the moment.

Yesterday, I got the opportunity to attend a luncheon for the Nebraska Medicine Guild. It was way fancier than I'll ever be. In fact, given my history of working and planning special events and non-profit fundraisers, I always feel like a fish out of water at fancy pantsy events. I love them but I just feel like a poser. First, I feel too consumed with the mini details like, "does everyone have a seat" and "are people enjoying the food". And second, I'm also always certain I'm going to use the wrong fork or say the word "fuck" or "placenta" and offend my whole table. I always feel like I talk too much and I wear the wrong thing. And I feel like I say things like, "oh, I know what school that feeds into..." when someone says they're from Panama because I am familiar with Panama, Nebraska, as well as the country of Panama. Like, I know enough not to divorce the salt and pepper and such. I wasn't raised in a barn. But mostly, I'm kind of a shit show. A walking shit show.

And for the most part, I am good with that. Like I said recently, I, for the most part, am very aware of the girl wearing my skin and I dig her.

But anyway, I was at this lunch and the speaker was the talented and brilliant, Ali Wentworth. If you don't know who she is, you suck. Just kidding. She was in the Soup Nazi episode of Seinfeld. But I really "got to know her" {because that's how we feel, right? Like we sorta know these people who share their lives publicly} when she was active on the Oprah show. She's witty. She's adorable. And her comedic timing is flawless. Anyway, the moment I got invited to the lunch, I said yes. Not because it was a chance to see a celeb per se. But because this gal makes me laugh. And laughter is the very best medicine. For real. And if you know anything about me right now, I don't say yes to anything immediately. Because cancer, y'all. I am never sure if I'll have energy or kid coverage. But this... I would make this work come hell or high water.

So I watched as Ms. Wentworth took the stage yesterday and was taken by something. She's normal. I mean, a fancy normal, of course. Like, grew up in DC with political parents. Is besties with SJP and Mariska Hargitay. Lunches with her husby, George Stephenapalous {pretty sure I spelled that wrong} of GMA. She is an accomplished writer, actor, director, and mother.

But she is normal. And I loved that about her. I was captivated the entire time she spoke by how unscripted and ordinary this fancy normal woman was. And fascinated by the experiences she's gotten to live in her short 50 years.

And I realized maybe that's why, when asked, I couldn't think of a celebrity I am dying do meet. Because right now I am so inspired by so so many of "the every day people". People who are just livin' the dream without being famous. Because I know funny women. I know writers who are incredible and aren't even on the map. I know people who are making a huge difference in lives of others. People whose talents far surpass anything I could even dream of being. And none of them are famous. Or "notable" for the most part. They are just normal people. Being freaking awesome.

Ali {I'm going to pretend we're on a first name basis even though I only met her face to face for aboooouuuut 4 seconds} said the most wonderful thing as she spoke. Someone asked her if there was anything she hasn't done out of fear and she replied, "not really. I sort of believe in the art of doing. Of doing everything I get he chance to do." {I don't know if that is verbatim. But you get the gist.} That quote resonated with me. And summed up my experience and life outlook after having gone through the last six months.

I want to do. If someone invites me to a lunch, I want to go. If someone asks me to scuba dive -- something I used to be afraid of --I think I'd give it a whirl. If someone gives me the opportunity to write and share my story, I'm going to take it. Especially after radiation, once I'm over this last hurdle for a bit, and I don't have crazy scheduling holding me back, I want embrace the art of doing, for the rest of what I hope is a very long life. I want experiences over things. I want to really live. I want to show my kids the world. I want to find ways to tell all of you thank you. I want to make sure my husband knows, daily, that one of the best parts for me of benign cancer-free is getting to walk through life on earth with him. And I want to shower goodness. Bits of goodness. All over my family. My friends. And everywhere I go.

Maybe that's why we're often star struck or taken with celebrities. Because they're lives seem so glamorous. Their adventures seem so fantastic. And their plates of food always look so perfectly portioned. Their lives, as we see them, seem flawless. And for all of us who know our flawed selves, flawless seems foreign and fascinating.

My other very favorite thing that the wild Ms Wentworth said when asked who she thinks is funny was, "I think a lot of people are funny. Like, regular moms from school are some of the funniest people I know. I find people funny who are naturally funny rather than standup funny".

I just loved that.

It's so ridiculously true, isn't it? I have friends whose lives I'd love to watch on Bravo more than Odd Mom Out or Million Dollar Listings or whatever that's called. I know bloggers whose words I've enjoyed more than many published authors. Sometimes the people who are never going to be celebrities are the people who I find myself most intrigued with. Doing what they love -- singing, writing, acting, changing the world through their knowledge or teaching -- with little to no pay, simply because they love it. And are making a difference to maybe just one person.

So, Ali changed my mind. So thanks, Ali. I would now like to meet some celebrities. Who? Anyone. In fact, any one I could. Anybody {especially ones who own private islands and want to talk to me on the beach;)... Hee hee}. But I also just want to continue to meet as many people as I can. Celebs or not. Why else are we put here if not to make human connections? And really trying to understand where others come from. It's fascinating. Because I never know what lessons each different person is going to teach me. I never know what nuggets they are going to leave me with. I love to hear about experiences. And different worlds and upbringings and backgrounds. And I love the idea of finding the normal in each of these famous people and the famous in every normal person. And liking them more because, as US Weekly says, they're just like us.

Tell me, tell me... Who are you just dying to meet, famous or not... And why?

And a huge hanks to the Nebraska Medicine Guild for the beautiful lunch and for introducing Ali Wentworth to Omaha and Omaha to Ali. Hoping she had that 72 ounce steak and bought a house before she hopped her plane home.

Show and Tell...

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 21 Apr 2016 12:04:00 +0000

I did it! I survived my first radiation today. To first address a very common question, outside of my normal morning radiance, no, I am not glowing this morning. Also, I've had a few people inquire about the side effects of radiation. The most common side effects tend to be a burn over your treatment area {think bad sunburn} and fatigue. Those two things generally take a couple of weeks to set in. And then they usually dissipate within a month following your final week of radiation. Also, radiation itself does not hurt and it is not invasive.

So, here's the nickel tour and breakdown for anyone who's interested:

Everyday when I arrive, I scan a card to get in. So it's basically like I'm going to the gym. Except there is no sauna.

I then, go into an area with changing rooms and lockers {again, like a gym} and take everything off from the waist up and put on a stylish hospital gown. I can leave my earrings in, my rings on... It's pretty easy peasy.

Then, each day, I will go into the treatment room...

Initially, I felt like I'd stepped aboard The Flight of the Navigator but slowly, I became acclimated to the equipment surrounding me. The big round circle at the end is not a time travel portal. Just in case you thought it was. It is a CT scan and was not used during my radiation but rather, during my mapping.

I laid down on the table, face up {his is not a massage, people} and then stretch my arms above my head and hold onto the black sticks on the table.

The thing hanging down from the ceiling is a remote control so I can watch tv and movies during treatment. Just kidding. It's so they can move me around. And move the lasers.

The big machine behind the table that looks like a ginormous Keurig is the radiator. Pretty sure that's not it's name but that's what we're gonna call it. I'm naming it Ray for my 28 days. Also, if I had timed some alcoholism with my radiation, I could have done a rehab program in sequence and been both cancer-free and sober at the end of 28 days. So I feel pretty good about that. Fortunately, I am not currently an alcoholic though I could hardly blame any cancer patients who might take to that.

As I lay on the table yesterday, they had to do a little longer sesh than normal to make sure they had alllll my angles and coordinates correct so the radiation ONLY targets the necessary area on my body. Chests can be tricky because they don't want to radiate your heart if they can avoid it. Luckily my tumor was in my right breast so I am fortunate to not have the heart thing to contend with.

As you lay, they move you around and draw all over you like you're a football playbook and then, they go in another room and check out how all the mapping came together. These cameras help them see if I am doing fine and if I need them to stop for any reason {like yesterday, I coughed} then they can see me waving my hand {think skier down in the water}.

They ask you each day what kind of music you want to listen to. So, I kicked it off with country. Classic country. It made me think of my brother. And cruising in the summer with the windows down with my sister. And high school summers lifeguarding at the pool. It was the perfect selection for my first dosing. And while I plan to switch it up every day, when I heard Dixie Chicks, "some days you gotta dance" I knew God was watching over my room. And then, when Garth's, "Two of a Kind" came on I felt completely at ease.

So anyway, I got under the grocery scanner...

the music played and all I had to do was lay there. No big thang. It wasn't scary or painful. And the techs in the room were so cool, answering every question and allowing me to take pictures.

Today, I'm not sure what music I'll go for today but I'm thinking maybe some 80s hair band tunes. Just kidding.

So, that's radiation in a nutshell. 1 day down, 27 to go!!

Gotta Keep It Radiated...

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 20 Apr 2016 10:30:00 +0000

My Facebook Memories have been reminding me all week that last year, I was doing this. Because from April 11-18 of 2015, the Hubs, myself, and several of our very close friends, traveled to Aruba to celebrate our 10th wedding anniversary.

And boy, was it fun...

But even though I had sooooo much fun. And even though I felt sooooo free. And even though I soooo loved the ocean. And the blueness of that ocean. And the time alone with my husband. Something was wrong.

I knew it. And now I know it even more. When I look back on the trip. Something was off.

I couldn't sleep. If you know me, one of my favorite past times is sleeping in. I adore it. I look forward to it. But in Aruba, when we had no reason to get out of bed if we didn't want to. Where we could have napped every day. Where all of our friends could sleep until 10. I couldn't sleep. I would wake up in the morning feelin' like P diddy. No. Wait. I would wake up every morning around 4 or 5 am and not be able to sleep. And if I drank the night before, especially the night I had a few too many {which happened to NOT be the night I was swinging from the tree}, I would wake up with my heart beating out of my chest.

I don't know if it was anxiety. I don't know if it was some type of depressive state. I don't know if it was missing my kids. But now I wonder A LOT... was it cancer?

Because basically 5 months after that trip, I found my lump. And you can ask most anyone... when I found the lump, I just had a bad feeling. And now, when I realize how much energy I have post-chemo and surgery, and when I see how much better I can sleep... and I know they "guesstimated" that the lump could have been growing for up to 4 years, I just have to ask myself: Was the reason I didn't quite feel like myself in Aruba because I really wasn't quite myself? Was it because I was already sick?

And I don't ever ask myself why I didn't find it earlier because the reality is that I saved my own life by finding it, acknowledging it, and seeing a physician just days after I noticed its status. And so I will never ever blame myself for not finding it. No one else found it either. But gosh golly, am I happy my Primary Care Doc sent me on for a mammo. And then for biopsy. And am I thankful that Nebraska Medicine didn't stop with the biopsies and tests until they could put their finger on the fact that I did, indeed have a lymphovascular invasion. Because while I felt a lump. And while they all FELT the lump.... a mass did not show up on my ultrasound or mammogram. And even when they stuck a needle directly through the mass multiple times, they were unable to pinpoint the actual tumor because it was in the lymphovascular spaces. If they had not done a mammogram. If they had not done an ultrasound. And then had not done just one but TWO biopsies. And then re-dissected the second biopsy. If they had not then done the sentinel node biopsy... If they'd not been SO ridiculously thorough and I had just waited until I was 40 to start the tests for breast cancer, well... my reality is pretty real. I would never have turned 40. Or at least, it wouldn't have looked very good for me if I would have.

So. I have to love on my team for just a second, once again. Dr. Tandra, my main Oncologist and dare I say, friend {at this point, I am calling him that. I know. It's ballsy. But I really like the guy. And he's wicked smaht} is on my left. Dr. Wahl {my Radiation Onc who is brilliant, personable, and perhaps younger than I} is on my right {not pictured are my Surgical Onc, Dr. Thayer whom I absolutely adore, my Plastic Surgeon, Dr. Perry Johnson who I think is one cool, smart cat ... and of course all of the kickass nursing staff.}

These people are telling me that once I am through radiation, my recurrence rate of a local cancer is about 10% for the first 5 years. I can handle 10%. I can live through and embrace each day with that number. And I have that number... I have this life... because of them. So once again... I love you, Nebraska Medicine.

So, on to radiation. I am going to get a little personal here {I know. You're thinking, "ummmmm MORE personal. What have you been up until now?!"} but I really want you to see the process of all of this. Partially so you can understand it. And partially so you can know what others going through treatment are doing each step of the way, too.

As I mentioned in my most recent post, I went in last Friday to get "mapping" done. During this time, they put 4 stickers on me. The one you see here is the only one with an X.

And the three others just have a line down the middle. The stickers will stay on through all of radiation which, for me, will be 5.5 weeks long. Some people will have tiny tattooed dots put in the place of the stickers. I think it just depends on what the doc's preference is.

Yesterday, I went in to have my bolus made. A bolus is a form {sort of like a pregnancy belly casting;)} that is made specifically to an individual's shape and mapping area. First, Dr. Wahl and staff {who were all awesome btw}, took the white mesh that you see on the underside of the item they are cutting in the picture below. It actually was very hard plastic until they warmed it and stuck it firmly to my chest, belly, and upper chest. Then, eight hands pressed all around it to make it fit to my form. I felt a little like I should have bought them all dinner first or something but I guess they are used to massage the breast area of women soooo I let it go.

Then, after the white honeycomb material is formed, they start melting dental wax and applying it to fill over the entire form. So basically, my bolus looks like a huge replica of my grandma's gums with her dentures out.

So, you know... I had to snap a selfie. And yes. That is my boob under there. But I feel like it's no different than me in a bathing suit. Plus, these boobs are no longer mine. In fact, Blue Cross owns them now, I guess {yay to slammin' insurance coverage!!}.

I will wear the bolus for every treatment. It is a more effective way to conduct the rays to the area and keep them in. It will also look super cool on my wall at home after. See! There are always perks.

The reality is that with radiation, I have an even better chance of sticking around for Adam. For my boys. And to enjoy life. So I'm rolling with it.

Sometimes I think, "is this really my life?!" and then I wonder if I might just wake up some day and this will all just have been a dream. But... I think I'm starting to realize, it's just my crazy reality. And crazy or not, it's a life I get to live. And be mostly healthy and very happy with. And for that, I am eternally thankful.

Wish me luck as I go all Tom Cruise today {And no. I don't mean jumping on couches. I mean walking through weird laser beams}. I'm not scared. I'm not nervous. I'm ready to get this show on the road. Just one more part of trying to maintain a cancer-free life. And I'm up for the fight.

I've Been Marked...

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 18 Apr 2016 10:30:00 +0000

And other things that happened last week...

Ohhhhh, hello Monday Lovelies! Yes. That's right. I declare today: Monday Lovely Monday. And we all must start off our day by looking in the mirror and pulling a Stuart Smiley and telling ourselves that we're good enough, we're smart enough, and doggone it, people like us. Actually, we really don't care if people like us, right? I mean, we can't just go around being meany mcmeanertons all the time. But we gotta feel free to be who we are, right? Okay. Good start.

Here's the poop, my friends... I start radiation this week. What?! I KNOW!

I went into my plastics Fantastics {Village Pointe Aesthetics} for my last fill on Friday morning which brought my two precious pups up to 480 cc a piece {think of each 150 cc as a cup size, generally. And then imagine that on someone who had polenta cakes to stuff in a bra before these love mounds graced her chest}. And booooooy, was Mama B stretched to the max. I then went over to Nebraska Medicine for my radiation mapping.

Now. A lot of people are curious as to why I am doing radiation if I am technically without "the cancer stuff". I've mentioned previously that my cancer was ER+ {Estrogen}, PR+ {Progesterone}, and Her2Nu+ {some random hormone I know very little about}. My cancer was also classified as what is called a "lumphovascular invasion". This means that when they removed the minimal tumor that was left at surgery, it was present in the lymphovascular spaces of the breast. And originally, it was also determined to be present in two lymph nodes. This raises the risk of recurrence. Radiation is a step I am taking because a) it is protocol when you have lymph node involvement and b) it will reduce my risk of recurrence.

Sheesh. That was too much serious talk for a Monday. And I had to use the word cancer too much. Booooo.

So, back to the story, I went in on Friday for my mapping session. It sounds like a really cool expedition, doesn't it? Like I was Shelley Long circa 1989 wearing a khaki frock and forest green wide-brimmed hat and trouncing around the wilderness searching for something really freaking earth-shattering. But alas, mapping just means you lie on a table and they map out where the rays are going to shoot at you. It didn't hurt. And the nurses, Kim and Vickie, were just deeeelightful. Which is clearly a trend that Nebraska Medicine is into.

So mapping. They mapped me annnnnnnnnnd... drumrolllllll!!!

Mr. Lefty was totes in the way. That's right. I can't have next door neighbors that are 480 cc each upon my chest for radiation because I'm "too petite" {also. I've only been called petite two times in my life. That was one. It pretty much sends my inner self into giggle fitting.}. Anway... wow, tangent day... ANYWAY... I was sent right back to VP aesthetics where Stacey freed Willy... the Lefty who wouldn't get out of the way... from the stretch fest. So, at the current time... and for the next six ish weeks, Mr. Lefty has 330 cc and Mr. Righty {the original Offender} has 480cc. So if you see me and feel like I'm always leaning right, it's not because I didn't drink my V8. It's because my nipple holders are now uneven steven.

So that's a fun little deet for ya.

They will fill Willy right back up after radiation. And I am fortunate that it was the Left and not the right because stretching the right post-radiation would be extremely difficult. So YAY for that!

I have a bolus mold being made {think a mix of a dental mold and a pregnancy mold} to conduct the rays even closer to my booby on Tuesday, and then, on Wednesday, I will begin radiation and will start counting down the 28 treatments. I will go every week day for 5.5 weeks straight and then DONEZO! It only takes about 30 minutes. And I have nearly every week day covered for childcare by my BEAUTIFUL friends {thank you!!!!!!}.

I've been really mentally strong the last few weeks. Truly. I've felt no anxiety {thank you, Lexapro}. I've gotten back to a sort of new normal. And I have had ENERGY. Yesterday, I had so much energy. I baked. I prepped food for the week. I stayed awake through naptime. And I felt HAPPY. But then, last night, the crazies swept in a smidgen. I think because the last two weeks have been really real. Really fantastical. Really like this life that I used to live where cancer was a word for everyone but me. And now, I start back up with more treatment.

But I've gotta do it.

I've got to finish the protocol. In order to prevent recurrence to the very best of my ability, I will do radiation. I will finish the Herceptin infusions every three weeks. And I will then take a pill every day for ten years to combat the hormonal feeding of any cancer cells that are even thinking about PacManning this sitch.

The X marks the spot. Or the spots, as it were. Because I have 4 stickers that will stick with me through radiation and one has an X towards the top of my chest. Those marks show them where my radiation should be dosed. And they tell my docs what my map is.

Last week I had Spring Fake. And this week, I will go get baked {not like the Good Burger type of baked. Like radiation baked ... hee hee}. I will begin my next step on this Cancer Coaster. And I will be holding my hands above my head, and screaming at the top of my lungs when we get past the biggest of the loops. Because I just can't wait.

Other than the cancer life, everything has been going fairly swimmingly. The hubs still loves me. The Middlest dropped trou at the park the other day and dropped a dooce while he was at it. The Littlest is rocking a Donald Trump hairstyle and started saying a couple of his own words for things which is basically rock star city. And the Oldest has decided that riding his bike is the end all be all component to life. Oh, to be 7 again.

Here's hoping your Monday is a walk in the park. And a sunny, happy park. Not a soggy, dog-pooed park. Full of unhappy people.

Slim Shady, out.

Spring Fake Update...

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 15 Apr 2016 12:25:00 +0000

I have been having an amazing Spring Fake this week. I've felt great! I've had energy! I got back to the gym! Aaaaaaaaaand I both baked banana bread, AND cooked dinner BY MYSELF this week. These are not big deals to most people but to me, it is a total trip to NormalLand and I've adored it.

The weather in Nebraska has been pretty much fantabulicious and I got to attend The Oldest's music concert at his school last night, which was positively darling. I love his school. I love his teachers. We're pretty fortunate to have such great schools here... even the free ones;).

I went in for my second fill on Tuesday for the jugs and will be going in this morning for another/my last fill. I cannot recommend Village Pointe Aesthetic Surgery enough. I've loved Dr. Hollins, Johnson, and Stacey and Katy are pretty much beauty personified. Also, IF I could feel comfy showing you my boobs on the internet, I would post pics here and you'd see how freaking great Dr. Thayer/Dr. Johnson did with phase 1. But alas, of all the things I share here, bare boob pics will not be among them. But if you see me in person, I'd probably show them to you if you ask nicely. And you don't want to see them for sexual reasons.

Moving on...

Today I also have my radiation mapping appointment. This is where, from what I understand, they shoot lasers all over me and I have to get around them like Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible. Okay. That's not really what happens. But they have to figure out where the radiation will hit on my body. And so, that is what the session will be. Me, laying on a table {I presume} and them, figuring out the angles for my treatment.

This weekend is the Nebraska spring game which has Nebraskans fired up. I will be celebrating with muscle relaxers and a pillow because two fills in one week will most def be a bit of a stretch;).

Otherwise, I am in love with all of the beachy photos everyone shared over on my Facebook page!!! I will spend the weekend deciding which makes me the happiest.

For this morn, check out my post at Her View From Home. I really want YOU to read it. I think it will be good for today. And for your weekend. Maybe even for your life. If I might be so bold.

Promise Me...

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 10 Apr 2016 03:40:00 +0000

The hubs and I were fortunate enough to attend the Komen Nebraska Pink Ribbon Affair last night. I say "fortunate enough" because when I was diagnosed in September, I questioned how long I'd get to be around. That's just the truth.

And if you've been reading, you know my whole journey. You know that even through all of my positivity, I've been scared. Full of fear. Terrified. And sad. At times.

I've been all of those things because cancer is a scary word, right? And a horrid diagnosis. And something I don't wish on anyone.

And that is why I will talk about my diagnosis when I can. When I believe it's an organization I can get behind. That is why I will continue to share my story. Because there is no 100% cure yet. And I want there to be one. And I truly believe it's close! For patients from early to advanced to metastatic. For all triple positive patients. For all triple negative patients. And for everyone in between.

So last night I got to share a bit of my story along with 4 other INCREDIBLE survivors. One, a 50 year survivor. Because after sitting down with the Komen Nebraska staff a few months ago and grilling them with questions about efficiency and mission, I decided I believed in the good of Komen Nebraska. The money they put towards mammograms and screening and patient advocacy and assistance outweighed any negative publicity that the National organization received in the past {yes. I am aware of allllll that biz}. Talking with them, I could view their annual report. So I could see their efficiency, where their funds are directed, and also, what they do around the state. As a former fundraiser by trade, I am very very hesitant to just support any ol' organization. I want to know how much of each dollar actually goes to the bottom line. And honestly, while I think awareness is important, I always hope that any fundraising organization is putting their funds, simply to raise awareness. Because awareness can happen organically these days -- with social media being so readily accessible and FREE.

The event raised funds. Funds that will go toward pre-screens for women and men in areas that don't have great options for healthcare. The funds will go towards the "mammo-Van", and education on SBE {self breast exams}. To patient programs. And of course, to research.

So, for our 11th anniversary dinner, we got gussied up {thanks, mom, for letting me borrow your dress;)}.

{I even got false eyelashes because, well... It's fun to have eyelashes every once and awhile. Especially when I currently only have four on one side. Okay. Not four. But def not a full set.}

I got to see some of the awwwwwesome people from Nebraska Medicine who have been saving my life. Dr Tandra, my main oncologist {who I can't recommend enough.}, Dr. Wahl, my radiation oncologist, and not pictured, Dr. Thayer, the bomb diggity of all onco surgeons, and my nurse navigator, Deb. I also got to meet a couple of the other renowned staff who have weighed in on my tumor board meetings and treatment plan, Dr. Reed, and Dr. Silva -- who was honored for his work.

What a special group of people.

I got the chance to meet some kickass people who read my words. And to I got to understand, after being in non-profit fundraising for 5 years, what it was like to be on the patient side. And yes, I cried during the video. Legit tears.

And got to watch funds be raised for a cure.

All in all, it was a wonderful evening.

And reminded me to tell you again... TOUCH YOURSELF. Ladies. Gentlemen. Know your bodies. Know your boobies. Get familiar with them. And find a physician you trust. Because the best way to not die from breast cancer is to find it early. So please, promise me that you will check yourself. On the regular.

Thank you, Komen Nebraska, for a fun evening and to the women in the Nebraska office: Karen, Melissa, Angie, and Annie, thanks for choosing to fight for Breast Cancer patients every day.

Forever and a Day...

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sat, 09 Apr 2016 10:30:00 +0000

Last year, we were left for Aruba just 2 days after we celebrated 10 years of marriage. We then spent a week with some of our best buds.

And today, a year later, we are still married. And some would likely believe it's been the worst year of our marriage.

But I wouldn't agree.

Sure, since we celebrated a decade of marital bliss, I was diagnosed with breast cancer.

But somehow, it's still been a lovely year of being alive. And the experiences that we've been through over the last 7 months has shown me what true unconditional love truly means.

It's been a hard situation.

But not a hard time to be married.

If anything, it's proved to me how absolutely ridiculously amazing it is to be married to the right person.

And if I ever questioned it for a moment... it has been cemented that I am with the person who was meant for me.

Adam Brehm, you deserve a medal.

Though people have been calling me an inspiration, you hold me up when I need to fall down. You are the inspiration. You have stuck with this hormonal, sensitive mama through three high risk pregnancies and a miscarriage. Three colicky babies. Moves. Life. And now, cancer.

I still wake up some days wondering why on earth you chose me. Or how you stay and love me through it all.

But you are still here. By my side.

Laughing with me. Letting me cry into you. Being a brilliant father to our children.

Being supportive of my passion for writing and sharing and connecting. Telling me I'm beautiful without a hair on my head or boobs on my chest. And loving me quite literally, in sickness and health. For a 35 year old man, you are wise beyond your years, sir. And you carry so much of me on your shoulders. Each and every day.

And you give me free reign with my crazy ideas and requests. And celebrate life with me every day. Come what may.

How did I get so lucky? How was I to know? I don't know. But I'm so happy we stumbled upon one another in the RedZone. And never looked back.

I'm sure there have been days over the last eleven years where you've been frustrated, annoyed, angry, or otherwise -- with me. And I'm guessing you've met or come across others since me who are fascinating, interesting, attractive, and the like. Because I suppose that is the human way.

But at the end of each day, I know that you have faith in us. I have faith in you. And our faith in God will always be at the center of what we are: committed to one another. And this life we've built.

Because looks will fade over time. And our health may not always be perfect. But you love me to my core. You forgive me my faults. And you seem to love me because of them;).

Mr. Brehm, I love you. I appreciate you. I'm proud to be your partner in this life. I have mad respect for you. I think you're quite fetching. And I only hope you feel as loved by me as I do by you.

I am yours. Forever and a day... Thank you, for choosing every day, again, to be mine.

Eleven years down. Forever and a day to go.

{So...Check out my Facebook page, darlin'... A little gift is waiting there for you. For our "steel anniversary"}

Because Mamas are Magical...

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 08 Apr 2016 10:00:00 +0000

Mail. I never knew how joyful receiving mail was until I received my breast cancer diagnosis. I never knew exactly how much a card or anything else, found on the porch or in the mailbox, could seriously be a difference maker to someone's day. Week. Month. Existence.

But there's something about snail mail that just makes my heart flip. Because it means that someone took the time to walk to the mailbox or go to UPS or the Post Office and make your day.

On Wednesday, I opened up my front door to find this box on my front porch. And I immediately smiled. Because Sarah, the owner of Four Sisters Boutique, has very awesome, distinctive branding. And so I couldn't wait to see what was inside. And sure enough, it all made me smile...

I have met Sarah twice. Two times. But Sarah decided to take the time to share goodness with this crazy mama. I didn't ask her to send me this box. She isn't trying to get anything from me. It's just lovely goodness. And again, one person's goodness made me want to share the goodness. Everyone should get to feel the cheer of receiving goodness from the good heart of one person to another. Without any angles or ulterior motives.

So.

This is happening, friends. I'd been tossing around the idea of doing another Goodness Giftaway. Because while I'm no Ellen or Oprah, I have to tell you, I am as happy as a lark when I am getting to give goodness to those who deserve it. It's just the best. So, I wondered, "should I do another GOODNESS GIFTAWAY? Should I ask for donations again?"

And then, I just decided... YEP!

Now, I just have to collect the giveaway items. So, if you or someone you know wants to participate in the Goodness Giftaway by donating an item or themed basket, you can comment here, on Facebook OR email me at babyonthebrehm@gmail.com. If you'll recall, when I give away items and such, I do a blog post on them, AND a Facebook video as well as an InstaPost. But... one thing. I only want to do 5 days of giveaways for Mama's Day sooooo... if you have a desire to donate goodness, shoot me a message. And as usual, if you are interested in collaborating on something else or having me review a product or place for you instead, that is an option as well. The possibilities are endless!

I have one item secured already and am hoping to collect at least five days of items {or packages}. For mamas! How do I define mamas?

Mamas are those who mother.

So, think of what those who mother might like to receive based on your nominations. And then I'll ask them if they want to donate. I already have a few ideas in the hopper...

Excited to get this party started!!! And thanks, Sarah, for the final nudge I needed!

As I've said, every single person has their own "cancer"... their own adversity... their own hard part of life. So, why not make the days brighter for good humans?!

Day 4-5-6-7... Lots of "do"s done...

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 07 Apr 2016 19:53:00 +0000

I swear... I promise... I've been doing my "do"s, friends! I've communicated with friends. Returned voicemails. Reached out to a couple people I'd been intending to catch up with. Sent out cards to friends I needed to get cards in the mail to. Taken my boys out to the park and lunch. And found a secret Facebox message inbox with 127 unread/unseen messages in it. What?!

Also, in terms of me and my well being, I've carried my phone around even less. I've cooked dinner. I'm attempting to cut out my daily diet soda {not saying I'll never drink any soda but hey... it's a start.}.

How about you? Have you been doing one thing a day? Who or what is your inspiration?

Boobies on the Brehm...

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 07 Apr 2016 10:00:00 +0000

Middlest: "Mommy. You know how you said I could see your boobs after they got cutted off?"

Me: Er, did I?

Middlest: "You did. I want to see them right now."

Me: "Not at the dinner table."

...

That conversation took place a couple weeks post-surgery. Because the Middlest, he's a curious bird, that kid. Hilarious, too.

...

So, if you'll recall, about 6 weeks ago. Wait. 6 weeks ago today! Yay! 6 weeks. Okay, I digress. Six weeks ago, I went under the knife and had my boobs "cutted" off. But if you'll ALSO recall, my nips, they were spared from the Nebraska Medicine cutting room floor.

And at the time, immediately post my brilliant OncoSurg, Dr. Thayer's, insane cancer-cutting skillz were complete, Dr. Johnson entered the room. Doc Johnson {of Village Pointe Aesthetic Surgery in Omaha} is a master at his craft. And on that day, he filled my empty breast cavities with 400 cc of air. The air-fill is very new in this area but they find it so effective in the post-surgery stretching process so I was game.

...

Last week, the Middlest walked in as the hubs and I were chatting. I was taking a bath, the hubs was not {just in case you were thinking otherwise}.

The Middlest: MOM! Wook! Your boobs aren't gone!

Me: What?

The Middlest: You said you were getting them cutted off! But they're still there! You said I could see what they wooked like! You lied! They aren't gone."

Me {giggling}: Oh, no, Jo. This is what they look like now.

The Middlest: So they growed back?!

OHHHHHH... if there were no children in my scenario, I sometimes wonder how I'd see all the humor in this. Luckily, the hubs went on to explain. And I soaked my not-completely-broken-boobied bod in the bath. Knowing full-well that these boys are gonna see some crazy boobage going on as we get mama expanded {and yes. My four year old has seen my breasts. That's just the reality of the situation, people}.

...

I was going to get filled a few weeks ago, but because of my cellulitis, I had to wait for the fills to begin. And on Tuesday, I was cleared {yes. My bacon bit nip is looking much better. Although a bestie of mine referred to it as a roasted mallow so it's not up to par quite yet} for take-off. And what happened next was fascinating.

First, Stacy {the kickass and lovely NP} used a tool to find the magnet that is contained inside the tissue expander bag. Then, she placed a needle into the centered hole in the magnet. Next, she injected blue dye. Why blue dye? Because if I pee green, they then know that something is awry inside the expander. And no. I'm not making that up. I'm being legit.

{And yes. I made Adam tape the whole procedure AND take pics because when else am I gonna get to see this situation in my life?!}

So, then, she pulled the needle-bottomed syringe and deflated the air. I looked down at my left breast and it seriously looked like a deflated basketball. It. was. bananas. I knew I'd lost air throughout the last 6 weeks but what was really astounding was that they could only deflate 120 cc of air out. So, I'd lost a good amount of air in between.

So, it's goodbye to the Reebok Pumps and HELLLLLLO to the liquid-loaded cans. With the same needle and syringe, they filled each of my expanders with 300 cc of liquid. Technically, every 150 cc is about a cup size but truly, it's different on every person, every body shape, every boob. So right now, if 300 cc were to be described in cups, it would be a large B. But they aren't just B's... they are plump and perkies. Like realllllllllly plump. Like I forgot to nurse my baby for 8 hours, plump. Like softballs have inhabited my chest, plump. I have already knocked something out with them because I can't really feel them due to all of my nerves being taken with the tissue.

And yes. The Middlest. Was. Obsessed. OB. SESSED. He watched the whole deflating/fill-er-up scene. Because it was a Tuesday at 4:30 and the hubs wanted to be there with me. And so, the Brehm bros came along. Maybe that's weird. We're weird. I figure, at least they'll know that breasts are just balls of fat with a nipple. Instead of something to be in awe of. Maybe.

...

I was a little sore last night. And today. But nothing compared to surgery. And honestly, I'm glad to be moving forward. I have to be completely stretched prior to radiation. Because radiated skin doesn't stretch well. But you can't have full implants in during radiation. So the temporary tatas are a necessary step. As I said, I am currently at 300 cc and they will go up to about 500 in an effort to overstretch the area a bit prior to radiating the skin. So look out, world... I am about be #majorboobsonthebrehm. The craziest part is that I never would have considered implants at this stage. I liked my tiny contained titties. We were good with each other. But hey, I better start getting used to this because I'm not getting them off my chest anytime soon.

In six-ish months, I will have another surgery where they will drain the tissue expanders, remove them, and insert the permanent implants {in a size yet to be determined. Likely a large B}.

...

Also, Aunt Flo is baaaaa-aaaaack with a vengance. I know. Personal. TMI. But they told me I could maybe not ever see her again or it may take awhile after chemo to get out of the menopausal state but no sirrreeeee... you can't tell Mama Brehm's uterus and ovaries that an egg is not supposed to drop, apparently. So if you're going through chemo, you could be one of the lucky ones who starts her period ASAP... and also starts growing hair in all sorts of places. My head... my brows... yada yada. It's like I'm 14 all over again. Growing boobs. Adjusting to a crazy period. And giddy as can be about it all.

...

I won't start radiation for a few weeks and this last week... it's been so so lovely. I got to see some of my high school friends. I got to spend time with the kids. I got to clean. And drive. And breathe in and out... without fear. I've gotten to be me. Me with baseball knockers. But me, just the same.

And wow. Once you've felt like someone else is wearing your skin, it sure is nice to be the one wearing it again.

{pre-surgery boobs}

...

So, boobs are here {and most people I've come into contact with have either touched or seen them because... well... they don't feel like boobs to me these days}. And it will not be an optical illusion if you think they are growing by the weeks. But it's all part of the process. So holla from the soon-to-be-Tits-McGee, here. And here's hoping your week is as normal as mine.

MY SPACES: The best don't mess...

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 04 Apr 2016 14:49:00 +0000

There was this cheer that we did in high school that went something like: Don't mess with the best 'cause the best don't mess... don't fool with the cool... something something something blah blah blah {I don't remember the rest. I'm blaming the chemo}.

Well, that was a lie because I am here to tell you... the best DO mess. And this weekend... aye yi yi.

The house mess has been mounting. We are fortunate to have an awesome Saint Em who visits us on Mondays and Wednesdays and makes our world a little more put together. But, on a day to day basis... Mommy can't vacuum, sweep, or the like as of yet. Also, a lifting restriction is still technically in play. And with nice weather, the last thing we want to do is be inside, cleaning.

So.

Let's be real here, friends. When I usually share My Spaces, they are at least, picked up. Not staged by any stretch of the phrase. But picked up.

So today, I thought I'd share with you what happens every once and awhile when the best do mess and boooooooooy, do they mess good.

By the time I went to bed last night, the hubs and I had folded four loads of laundry {thanks for doing laundry, Mr.}. I'd made a STS basket {sort through shit} to help get the counter and desk cleared off. The boys' clean sheets were put back on their beds {thanks again, Mr... YOU are the laundry master of the weekend}. And mama picked up the front room toy situation.

It's still not clean. It's going to take the week to put humpty dumpty back together again. And mama HAS HAS HAS to get the paperwork filled out for the cancer cleaning help. But... it's at least a little better today.

Rome wasn't built in a day. But home sure can be torn apart in one.

Before cancer, this mess would have had mama unhinged. Post-cancer, I know that most broken things can be fixed with a little coffee, a deep breath, and a whole lotta prayer.

So, when the best do mess... don't stress, mama.We've got plenty of years for pristine and clean. Embrace the mess. Embrace the craziness. Embrace the life that causes the mess. And be a wee bit thankful for that;).

And if your house never looks like this, I hope that my mess has made you feel like you totally rock. Because ya do. And if you're house is messier than this, I hope it's made you feel normal. Because ya are.

Day 3... YAHTZEE!

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 04 Apr 2016 04:12:00 +0000

Today. Today was such a good day. The weather was springy in my neck of the woods. The Middlest and I drove back from a quick trip down to home.

And I was able to have a few phone conversations during the drive time over the last two days and catch up with people who mean a lot to my life. I was able to leave a few messages for people who I've neglected relationships with a little during this cancer-coaster. And, I wasn't filled with fear this weekend. At any point.

And then, this evening, when two of three boys requested the longest bedtime books from their collections, instead of saying nope because we got a late start on bedtime, I read and sang and snuggled.

Looking back on today, I feel like I savored the good stuff more than I sometimes do. And that's what the #1doaday is really about. Filling cups. And man, it filled enough cups to fill a bucket. Mine, and hopefully some others.

Did you happen to get in your #1Doaday? If not, it's never too late to start. Every new day is a new life. Read about why I'm doing it here... and then think about you're who...

Day 2... Through...

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sat, 02 Apr 2016 16:22:00 +0000

Since college, this girl and I have been laughing together. And she's always been the thoughtful one. The one who followed through on a thoughtful gift or note.

After I got diagnosed, she took me to the Taylor Swift concert. Like... Purchased my ticket, and her ticket.

And I think about sending her cards or gifts all the time. But I am just shit at follow through. So today, I brought her a small basket of goodies. Because she is thrusting onto her dream. She will open her own business {in my hometown!!!} in a couple weeks and I am so extremely happy for her. And proud of her. So I actually made sure to follow through. For my #1doaday project.

Love you, Nicole.

{Also, if you need a great optometrist, Dr. Morrissey will see you in a few weeks at Downtown Family Vision in Wilber;).}

Not the mama...

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 01 Apr 2016 17:58:00 +0000

Yeah. Today. I am not really mothering. And I know... That's sort of terrible because I survived cancer and everything, in part, because I love the crap out of my kids and want to make as many memories with them as possible. And now, I'm bitchin' and moanin' about their inability to fall in line. So I felt I should share that with you. Because maybe, you too, have days like this?

If you've been following the Littlest all this week via Facebook or Insta, you are fully aware that he is being a complete hot mess express. He is 195% taxing harsh on my gig. I mean, I adore the wee one to pieces but if the circus comes calling welllllll... I suppose I'd tell them I already have my own circus going. That would be the right thing, right? Anyway, what else am I whining about? It was my first solo week post-surgery so I'm more tired than usual, perhaps. And we've instituted a new chart regarding earning of screen time. Because I had a burst of energy two weeks ago and thought I had it in me to enforce said chart 24/7/365.

And today, welp... I totally said screw it. My retainer broke {Um. Yes. I mean. Retainer. Like I'm 16.} We've had 6 screaming fits between two children. All told, by my approximation, we've had at minimum 1.25 hours of screaming, flailing, throwing, and the like. I've talked to both my mother and one of my bffs on the phone for an extensive amount of time. I have no clue what to give these children for lunch and they haven't asked yet. And the house looks a little like it's been ransacked by the FBI.

I'm basically killing it today.

We are currently on my bed. I have my phone. The wee one has one pad. The Middlest is DJing from another. And the children are mostly quiet. So I am taking it for the silence that it is. And saying who cares to the chart {sorry husband} for a little bit because well, no one is screaming.

Why do I share this? Because I want you to tell me I'm a good mom. Just kidding. That actually isn't why at all. It's because I used to think days like today made me a bad mom. Or that, at least if I admitted it, I'd be judged.

Good news: BOTB is a judge-free zone. So mamas, let your skeletons out if you need to. Show off your muffin top. Embrace the lazy days of mothering if you'd like. And pay credit where credit is due, at times: to the glowing screen. Because mamas are just as human as all the other humans. So if Harvard comes knocking on my door to do early recruitment of these kids today, I guess it will be my #momfail moment.

My first-time mom self would hate me. And I know I may just be perpetuating the stereotypes of SAHMers. But. Whatevs. For today.

So, an hour until nap time. And it's Friday. Foggy London Town seems to have come to stay, at least in my neck of the woods. And my bed, filled with two big mama feet and four little boy feet, feels like the perfect way to make it through the chaos that is sometimes present in the Land of Motherhood.

If you are a mama who can't imagine mothering this way, that's cool with me. I still love ya. If you are a mama who mothers this way every day, I still love ya, too.

Also. I just peppered the baby's belly in kisses. And he giggled profusely. So, I suppose we're not in too shabs of shape.

Happy Friday fellow mamas. May the force and the fury be with you.

Day 1... Done

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 01 Apr 2016 02:08:00 +0000

A note for an infusion nurse that means the absolute world to me.

I've been meaning to write her a note for six months. Finally did it. Took me two minutes.

What's your #1doaday?

#forrubie

One Do A Day...

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 31 Mar 2016 10:30:00 +0000

...

She's been gone a year. Tomorrow. A year.

It feels like I just sat in her funeral.

I was sitting in one of the fullest congregations I'd been with to honor a life full of life. The minister spoke flawlessly. She did her justice. With every word, even a stranger could have known her by the end of the message. And absolutely loved her. And I fixated on her daughter, Rubie.

That little girl is going to grow up without her mom.

Oh. My heart.

For a month, I would cry most days. We hadn't been best friends, in any stretch of the imagination. She'd been a mentor to me. She was sassy. She was zest personified. Spunk down to her spit. And she lit the world on fire.

I promised myself that day, I would write her daughter those very words.

But I didn't.

Life got busy.

Her passing, I suppose, passed.

For me.

But not for Rubie. Not for her husband. Not for her Goddaughter or her best friends. It's likely just as hard today as it was a year ago. It was so sudden. No one got to hear her laugh one more time. No one got to see her freshly redded nails and lips. No one got to see her chomp her gum and hear her talk about her love for her sisters. Her husband. Her daughter.

...

And then life. Well. It happened to me. It happens to the best of us. And the worst. Hard happpppens. And people upon people took time and wrote me words. To do me good. To tell me that I am an inspiration. To tell me I've got this. To tell me I was up for the fight.

And I kept telling about the goodness. And how I couldn't believe it. And everyone kept telling me that you get back what you give.

And I thought about Rubie.

I wasn't reaping what I'd sown.

I hadn't taken the time to write one simple card. To tell that little girl that her mom made a difference to me. And that she has the genes to take on the world when she's ready. I got busy.

But you. You didn't.

You. You have made all the difference.

...

I've been feeling scared lately. Which is completely odd, right? I am cancer-free! Why should I be scared? For the last 7 months, I've known I had cancer and now, the treatment I'm having is to help me live without a recurrence. Because, as we cancer folk know, breast cancer coming back ... well... it's not really what you want. And, the reality is that even though I am, for all intents and purposes, without cancer in my body, I am still healing. And still have more treatment ahead including radiation, fills, another surgery. And of course, I have my eyes on the prize -- the 5 year mark. The mark at which I will officially be known as "in remission".

And so I live in fear.

For what?

For what.

She didn't even get to say goodbye. But I am blessed to have the chance to say hello again, every morning. To kiss my husband. To hug my kids. To call my mom. And to pray for other people's pain.

I'm worn right now. There's no hiding that. Chemo. Surgery. It's taken it's toll on this mama. But my heart is still the same. My spirit is still the same. And my love of life, is still the same.

I'm still alive. And mostly, vibrant. Mostly, happy. Mostly, a version of myself.

...

{this is my journey tee -- weestructed.com}

I've begun to wear shirts with sayings. It's sort of my thing now. It started when cancer struck. You sent me armor. And now. That sticks with me.

Some are funny. Some are inspirational. Some are probs inappropriate. But frankly, my dear, I don't really give a damn. Because it's a good reminder to me allllll day long.

And yesterday, I wore a new one I picked up... This is my journey. That's right. THIS is my journey. Or perhaps: This IS my journey. But most certainly: This is MY journey. And I get to choose one thing.

My attitude.

So for April, I am recalibrating a bit. I am going love the crap out of April. Not in a fake way... in a finding a new normal way. In a stop-feeling-sorry-for-my-self-getting-cancer-at-33 way. Because ain't nobody got time for that. I will process all of this for a very long time. But that doesn't mean I can't continue to be joyful throughout. And I said from the beginning, I would be abnormal about this. I am still laughing. Dancing. Loving. Living. But I get down when the weather's down. I get down when I hear a story of recurrence of mets. I get down when I'm rocking my baby because I know. I know this is all so short.

But screw that. I will have my down moments. We all do. But they will not control me. Not in April.

I am going to embrace the rain clouds. And let them wash me clean. I am going to celebrate alllllll that I get to be. Even when I'm tired. Because I will be. Even when I'm worn. Because I am. And even when I feel like I still have cancer. I am going to focus on everything turning anew. Focus on goodness. On saying hello again {because really, Shelly Long isn't the only one to get a second chance}. On laughing and living for each day. And about knowing that even when fear is present, it does not get to rule my present.

For me. For my boys. For my husband. For Rubie. Because you can bet your bottom dollar that if T had another day here, that's what she would do. That's what she would want.

...

So tomorrow begins another month. But because it's April Fools Day, I didn't want to roll this out then.

Because I want to know if you'll come with me...

Is there someone that has inspired you to be better? To live fuller? To realize the brevity and sweetness of living? Or, have you been in a slump? Down in the dumps? Trudging through hard? And wondering how to take that down funk and turn it uptown?

If there is, maybe you, too, want to let April be your month.

...

One thought a day. One little difference. One card in the mail. One call to a friend. One gift for no reason. One surprise session under the covers with your lover. One apology. One thank you. One sentence. One praise to your kid before you spout out a criticism. One book read that feeds your soul. One lunch or coffee or playdate with people who fill you up. And one big thank you to those who do.

All of these things can make such an impact. All of these things and more.

So.

One Do a Day.

That's what I'm calling it. One Do a Day. All month long. For your Rubie. In honor of your T. In light of a new season. In hope of a new attitude.
Spread the GOODNESS.
Spread your goodness.
It's in you. I know it is. Because you've given it to me.

Each day in April, I will be posting here and on Facebook and Instagram... my One Do. Not to brag. To hold myself accountable. To follow through. Because let me tell you, I am great at ideas. I might even say, I think if the thought is really what counted, I might win. But it's the follow-through that counts. And so, I'm going to show you my follow-through. Perhaps to inspire myself. And maybe, perhaps, in an attempt to inspire or remind you to do so to.

One Do a Day.

Are you in?

Hope Renewed...

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 28 Mar 2016 03:44:00 +0000

Easter. I like Easter. It lines up with spring. It lines up with new. Newness. Hope. Fresh hope. He is risen.

I just dig it.

And every so often, we try to make Easter our "Wilber Holiday" because of the memories I have from going to Easter Sundays for decades at that church. It's one of the three days of the year that I attempt to make my boys wear specific clothing. I try to get a picture of all 5 of us together. And this year, with my sister and her family making the "voyage" from Northern Iowa, I felt like I couldn't miss it. Even having spent the last four weeks, essentially, in bed.

But I needed this. A change of scenery.

So we packed up the Acadia.

We cranked up the radio.

We headed down to Wilber.

And I was excited.

Because. As I noted in my blog earlier this weekend, I love my hometown. {btw, thanks for all the love on that post. I am glad that my waxing poetic isn't overkill for y'all. But Oh, THAT TOWN}

The car ride was one of the hardest parts. My boobs were not in love with the bumps.

But we made it!!

And I snapped some pics throughout the weekend.

All the kids present, enjoying some screen time on the softest leather sofa known to man {outside of the one at my Uncle Hank and Aunt Deb's guest cottage.}

Auntie Danielle hangs with the littles.

Park time. Nora doing the hard work since mama B can't push yet.

Bowling at Wil-Bol. I love this place. I didn't bowl, of course. My arms and chest aren't ready for such things.

But Uncle Chris melted my heart with his help of Harrison's first game.

I ran into my friend, Kayla. We are February birthday girls. And we have known one another since we entered Kindergarten. And when you have a class of less than 50 people from Kindergarten to Senior year, these people know you. And I love that we have been able to stay connected through so many "grown up life" stuff over the last couple of years. And am thrilled for this little boy she has on board.

This. Melted my heart. I will blog more about this later. I never say or even think about wanting a little girl. But Nora. This little girl. She's got a piece of my heart.

Nora snuggles with grandpa.

Saturday morning, the boys hosted "The Waffle Spot". Taking orders. Flipping the waffles. It. Was. Darling.

Egg dying. More cracked eggs than full survivors. But fun, just the same.

We headed over to our sister town, Clatonia, for some child-fun festivities. It was so so fun. And, the girl underneath the costume, she's a doll... who also happens to be an extremely talented writer.

These girls. One, I've known since I was 3. The other, since 7th grade. They know me for me. And I know them for them. Even 15 years our of high school. Love them.

The hubs and I left the kids behind and traveled to Omaha for my best friend's bday party.

I laughed, so incredibly hard that I was crying. And holding my sore sore boobs.

All the pretty ladies.

After driving back south post-party, we were up for Easter brunch.

And the kids, all in their spiffies.

Nora and Harr. Kissin' cousins.

This is something I will always remember.

Family photo. The children had already abandoned their church wear by the time we got home from catching up post-church.

After we packed up, we headed to the Brehm side fun. Card games, checking out their amazing new basement, and basketball outside. I mostly hung out in the theater chairs. It. Was. Boss.

HarrBear and Auntie Kim. To say this kid is loved is a complete understatement.

What is it about Easter? As the pastor gave her sermon this morning, she talked about the way that Easter reminds us that no matter what we are dealt, we should handle it with joy and take each day for what it is. She talked about being a witness in your own life. Living in a way that helps people see that Christ is at work within you.

For me, this year, hope is being renewed. Love springs eternal. I am thankful, each day, many times over, for the breaths I get to take. I do, as Brian Andreas says, cry at least once a day -- but not because I'm sad, but because I have a very clear and real understanding now regarding how short life can be. I find myself thankful for spring. For the sunshine to wash my tears away. A bit. I am thankful for the comfort of family and familiarity. And mostly, for time with family. Time that I so desperately needed and so didn't want to end.

I've started trying to lift Harr every now and then. This is my first week "solo". And I am thinking that the skies will be full of sunshine, blue skies, and hope. It's the time of year. When hope renews. When the thought of cancer, and death, and leaving this life sooner than I want, will hopefully start to become a wee less frequent. If even just a wee.

I am hopeful. I am a believer. I am feeling a sense of renewal this year. And I am more thankful than usual for Easter. And for the promise of new beginnings.

My small town heart...

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 25 Mar 2016 17:02:00 +0000

I've talked about home before. Quite a bit in fact. I don't hide my love and affinity for the map dot south of Lincoln, Nebraska where I was fortunate enough to spend my youth. Wilber.

I probably only get home a handful of times most years. And this year, even less. Because cancer has put a damper on getting out of O town.

But my goal, before surgery, was to make it home for Easter, if possible. It would be four weeks out from surgery. I would be able to travel, fairly comfortably, in the car. And my sleeping pattern would be a little more human.

And it's here. And we are there. Or here, as it were.

We are home.

And something happened. When we hit the city limit sign, I wanted to cry. It happens a lot right now. Where tears just fall. I wanted to let them wash my cheeks. I wanted to get out of the car and run through the streets and kiss the ground and lay on my old front lawn and look at the clouds change shape. I wanted, so badly, to go knock on my friend Rachel's door, even though she doesn't live there anymore and climb the stairs to her room and snuggle up on her bed and look out her window at all the trees lining the cracked sidewalks. I wanted to go down to the Legion park and let my feet pound the gravel and sprint around the circle. Around and around. And around. Run until I couldn't breathe and my chest was pounding and I wanted to cry because I couldn't run anymore. And in my mind, I never wanted to stop running because eventually, if I just kept at it, I could run away from it all. I wanted to walk into the school and see the secretaries that I loved smiling back at me and take my spot in my desk in German class and talk with my friends about how annoying the Principal's newest idea was or what happened on Friday night.

I wanted to be taken back in time when my biggest concern was which pair of Doc Martens I should wear with my Silver jeans.

As we drove down the streets that, in my memory, are the safest place in my personal universe, though, I didn't cry. I didn't do anything except dance and tap my feet to the beats playing on the kids radio station. But I wanted, so badly, in coming back to go back.

Because I never had cancer here. The girl who grew up here never knew she'd have cancer. And some days I want for the days before that even became me. The days before I knew this would be a struggle that would be written here. On my blog. In my story.

But then I thought about it last night as I lay in the dark of the basement bedroom where I lived for the year before I got married. I couldn't fall asleep. I just lay there, thinking about the safety of being a child. Of feeling like the world will never touch you. And I realized that my time, my growth into life in this town was preparing me for this time. It gave me the gift of knowing what it was to be supported. To be cheered on. To figure out how to be myself. It gave me the beginning of confidence to fight my battles. The ability to lean on my family. To trust in the goodness of people. And it started me on a faith journey. Being in this town formed me into this woman I am today.

This mother.

This wife.

This sister.

This friend.

This cancer fighter. And survivor.

It is the safest place I will ever know. It is my hindsight. It will always be 20/20.

And so I love to come back. And making it back this time was just what I needed.

But I know I can't stay. I visit "home". But I can't stay in the past. Because now I've done the cancer thing. I know, instead, that we all grow up and life, well, it happens. It goes on. And if you're lucky, you go with it.

.....

We went to the park today. The park with the horses. Clad in patriotic colors. The metal slide. The so-tall-metal-slide that surely wouldn't be allowed on any state-of-the-art playground of the current day. Because it would burn your buns on a hot summer day. And the merry-go-round {that my niece referred to as a round-about ala Peppa the Pig} that tilts a little to one side. The teeter totters that are wood. And a little weathered. But are the best see saws I've seen in years. And swings, of course.

As I watched the kids, laughing and giggling, and running from one thing to the next, the little world we were in revealed something I've forgotten lately. I've been calling this crazy ride I'm on a "Merry-go-round". But really life, if you're doing it right, is not a merry-go-round. It's not the same thing over and over. Whirling about without being able to hold your gaze on any one spot.

It is a teeter totter... Ups and downs. Anticipation and and being let down. Seeing different points of view from different angles. And sometimes being unprepared for the big boom when someone unexpectedly changes their mind... Changes the plan. And you are left to deal with what that means.

This town. My safe place. I saw this morning. It's not a haven from my cancer. It's impossible to leave cancer behind, ever again. Even when I come back to the place where I never had it. And I believe cancer was written in my stars before I was a twinkle in my parents' eye. All the life that came pre-diagnosis, including the foundation of growing up here, was meant to prepare me for what was to come. For what I would go through. And for who I would need to be. When cancer came along for the ride. Or rather for the ups and downs.

And I'm reminded of something we tell our boys quite often...

"Don't be sad it's over. Just be happy it happened." How lucky I am to get to live a life where each year, I have to tell myself that time and time again.

So for forever and a day, my small town heart, it keeps beating. It will live on, through coming and going, through cancer and healing, through the teeter and the totter. And though it couldn't keep me from cancer, it can remind me of all that is right. Of all that I am because of it. And all that is beautiful from the perspective of a rear-view mirror.

Fifty Nifty Thursday...

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 24 Mar 2016 17:21:00 +0000

I'm baaaaaaaack! And today, I bring you another edition of "stuff you might not know about me." And, just for fun, at the bottom of this post, I'm gonna ask some other bloggers to get in on the fun and post their answers to these questions in their blogs because whyyyyyy not, friends?

It's Thursday and Thursday is for almost-Friday fun...

Are you a morning or night person? I'm more of like, a 10 am person. Or a 5:30 pm person. I like to sleep in the morn. I like to sleep at night. But maaaaaybe... maybe I'm more into mornings, new starts, and breakfast.
Do you prefer, sweet or salty foods? Salty. MMM. Excuse me while I go get a bowl of popcorn. Mixed with potato chips.
Ninjas or pirates? Ninjas. Duh. I can't believe this is even a question.
Ninjas vs pirates, discuss... I'm a three boy mom. So, ninjas. Again, refer to answer #3.
Autobots or Decepticons? I don't know what this means. And I refuse to Google it.
What was your favorite childhood television program? That Saturday morning cartoon Olympic thing that you'd watch while eating your sugary cereal on those lap tv trays.
Are you a collector of anything? Bracelets:). Because, cancer.
If you could be any animal, what would you be? Fo sho a mini horse. Because mini horses make people smile. And they have great hair.
If you could have any superpower, what would it be? For sure snapping my fingers and making things clean like Mary Poppins. She's a superhero, right?
What is usually your first thought when you wake up? YAHTZEE! I am alive to see another day.
What do you usually think about right before falling asleep? I pray.
What's your favorite color? Aqua blue. Because oceans.
What's your favorite animal? Elephant. Elephants are BA. Though I can't have a pet Elephant, I would love to ride one. Or have one in my back yard.
Do you believe in extraterrestrials or life on other planets? I don't know if I care. Is that odd?
Do you believe in ghosts? Yes. But not like freaky ghosts. Like Casper friendly ghosts.
Ever been addicted to a video/computer game? Which one(s)? YES! Super Mario World and Mario Kart. But that's normal, right? I also used to looooove this game in college on the computer that my friend, Kellie, will totally remember the name of but it was on the computer and little block dudes that you stacked.
If you were given 1 million dollars, what do you spend it on? I'd pay off my house. And then, I'd put some money away for college. I'd go out and take my family and friends for a delicious meal and make it rain on them pros. And then, the rest -- Goodness. Spreading goodness.
Have any bad habits? Surely. Mostly giving anxiety any credibility. Also, throwing my pajamas on my closet floor.
Which bad habits, if any, drive you crazy? Interrupting.
List 3 of your best personality traits: Genuine, Joyful, Trustworthy
List 3 of your worst personality traits: Insecure in my writing, overly-sensitive, anxious
Have any celebrity crushes? Hmmm... surely. Tom Hanks, Matt Lauer, Matt Damon, Jimmy Fallon, Paul Rudd, Chris Pratt, Aziz Ansari. I guess I just really dig the funny, kind, normal sort of celebs.
List 1 thing you wish you could change about yourself: my inability to text back in a timely manner. I apologize profusely for my inability to be an accountable adult.
Any tattoos or piercings? Ears. And I once had my belly button pierced because, college. And the day my mom found out, she wouldn't talk to me all day. That went well.
What's the first thing you notice in the opposite sex? Confidence. I like the confident ones. Okay. The confident one;).
What's your dream date? getting really dressed up, riding around in a limo, and getting delicious tacos and queso from 10 different places and eating them in the limo. And having strawberry margs. And having our couple friends with us. And then singing karaoke in the limo. And then TPing people's houses. In our formal wear. Because TPing was so fun.
What personality traits do you look for in a partner? Compassion, chill-ness, and a kickass sense of humor.
What personality traits do you dislike in other people? judgmental-ness and unwillingness to try to understand others
Do you see yourself getting married in the next 5 years? Boom. Already done. So, I don't plan on doing it again.
Are you mostly a clean or messy person? Smack dab in the middle. I don't think I'm like gross or anything. But I'm def not Missy clean. Because Missy clean is a thing.
If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you live? Well, if ALL my fam and friends could pick up and move with me, I'd choose Colorado. Fo sho. Or any beach. In a little hut.
If you could visit anywhere in the world, where would you go? Figi. Because I love their bottled water;). Really, I just want to stay in one of those over the water huts.
List 5 goals on your life's to-do list: Write and publish a book, see my kids graduate from high school, visit all 50 states with my boysies and husby, celebrate my 80th birthday with my husband and kids by my side ... on the beach somewhere, spread goodness!
Name 1 regret you have: not following through, in general
Name 1 thing you miss about being a kid: being carefree
Name 1 thing you love about being an adult: getting to be me and owning that.
What's your favorite song of the moment? I currently only know children's songs. True story. So, maybe, "Crayola doesn't make a color for your eyes"
What's your favorite song of all time? Gypsy in my soul. Don't judge. It's a very sweet story about my dad and me dancing in the kitchen to it. So there.
What's your favorite thing to do on a Saturday night? Either: snuggle up next to my husby while watching a movie with the kiddos OR laugh with friends. Both include alcohol and food.
What's your favorite thing to do on a Sunday afternoon? nap. be outside. blog. eat.
Have any hidden talents? I once won first place at a Modern Language Fair for reading German Poetry aloud. I use that talent quite often.
You're about to walk the green mile, what do you have as your last meal? Mexican -- from Trudy's in Austin. Or my mom's fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and gravy.
What would be your dream job? A paid writer. Or a personal assistant to Ellen. Because why not dream big.
Which would you rather have, 100 million dollars or true love? Love, yo.
If you could have 3 wishes granted, what would they be? world peace, healthy kids and family, auto-cleaning house.
Ever wish you were born the opposite sex? Um. Totes. About every 28 days.
Name 1 thing not many people know about you: I think most people know this but I'm very up and down. But I don't find this abnormal. But I think many might.
If you HAD to change your name, what would you change it to? Elvie. It was my grandma's name and I know it's a little different but I think I could have pulled it off. Plus, I could go by El which I adore.
Do you believe in the afterlife? I totally do. I'm all in on the Jesus train.
How do you feel about cookies? My fave cookies are oatmeal scotchies. I'm lukewarm on many other types. Especially Oatmeal Raisin. Oatmeal Raisin cookies are imposters.

Now... if any of these fellow bloggers want to get in on the action, go for it. Connect four.

Specifically, these ladies... Also, give them a follow on IG and follow their bloggity blogs and shops!

@nalieagustin -- @naptimenation -- @malyn.logic -- @grumblinggrace -- @kmaeser -- @msjonez10 -- @amyrachelleking -- @legosinmylouis -- @faithfamilyandbeef -- @eastwillowgrove -- @weatheredwords -- @revisionsofgrandeur

Bacon Bit Nips and Four Other Tales of Humor from my Cancer Chronicles...

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 22 Mar 2016 10:30:00 +0000

I have to share something with you. I stared at my boobs last night. I did. I was putting cream on my nipple {which is only something you can get away with saying when you are nursing or dealing with breast cancer} and I was checking out my new rackage. And I have to tell you... air bags, fun bags, whatever kinda bags you wanna call 'em, are actually kinda nice looking. And this is coming from a girl who only really liked my boobs when I was 7 months pregnant three times over. The point in me telling you this is not to tout my temporary ta tas. It's to help you understand that I am not a woman scorned over the loss of a physical part of myself. I'd much rather lose my breasts 100 times over than my heart, soul, or mind. Who am I kidding? I lost my mind years ago.

So why am I telling you about rubbing my breasts? Do you remember the fact that they used to sell cream you could sell to rub on your buds to make them grow? Am I the only one who remembers this? Well, I sorta feel like I've morphed back to 1996 Ashli who paid daily attention {okay, multi-daily} to the status of her breasts. Because I have to rub a vat of lotion on Mr. Righty about 84 times a day to keep it "moist" {and yes. I hate that word as much as everyone else}. And I most def currently check the air in the tires more than I even did while nursing -- which is just hilar. I mean, at least I'm alone most of the time so when I'm rubbing the folds of the baggies in my boobies, no one really has to watch. This is just one of the few hilarious parts of this whole cancer situation. What are the others? Well I'm thrilled you asked.

1. Burnt bacon nipple
I was chatting it up with Doc Johnson regarding my "belly-button-nubbin-nip" which I've now started to refer to as "burnt bacon boob" and I said, "I mean, look at it. Doesn't it kinda look like it is gonna fall right off? Like I might lose this nip?"

"You might lose part of it," he said. Like, NDB, Ashli, half your nip might slip and that's cool. By his lackadaisical response, I am left to assume that my nipples are akin to an earthworm or my liver and will simply regenerate should something drastic happen to my plastics. But for now, mama's bearing the burnt bacon bits daily and hoping that papa doesn't mind the copious amount of rubbing of Silvadene that happens on the regular. Because even though my nip has no burn, baby, burn... apparently it takes a heavy duty wound cream to keep the nippage.

2. C Diff and my derriere
I've talked a little about c diff or clostridium difficile and I think it's time that you and I arranged a heart to heart. Or a fart to fart, as may be more appropriate in this situation. C diff is essentially what happens when the good bacteria is stripped away from your gut and the bad bacteria takes over. Then, you are almost, quite literally, up shit creek. Without a paddle, I suppose.

I've now had C Diff three times, all after taking antibiotics -- once for neutropenia {severely low white cell counts}, once for strep throat, and once for my current breast cellulitis that is causing the bacon boob. I will tell you that I missed the C Diff boat ONCE after an antibiotic pre-surg. I guess that was just a fluke. Because it's back on the bum, once again.

So, to infectious disease, I go. And why is this funny? I mean, first of all, it's sort of funny that I'm 34 and going to infectious disease for C Diff because they initially told me that it more generally wreaks havoc on "the elderly". But the other reason it's funny is because I can guarantee we are gonna have a discussion again about a little treatment aptly named a fecal transplant. Which is what? It is when they find a donor, generally a fam member... in my case, likely my darling husband. They make them poop and collect it in a "hat". Put the poo in a blender of some sort {I like to picture a magic bullet} and mix it up. And then, in the fashion of a colonoscopy, they shoot the poo up into my gut-a-roo, and let the good flora do it's thing, growing into my tummy. I mean. This. This is called testing your vows, people. And as I've said, I've long referred to the buns as an out-only business door soooo... there's no way my husband thought this was his way in. I know. TMI. But, truth. That's all I serve here.

Another, and likely, first, option, is for me to get a six week course of another antibiotic called vancomycin. For some reason this reminds me of one of the dudes on Ghostbusters. Also, it is hilarious to me that in order to battle the use of antibiotics, I have to take an antibiotic. But -- or rather, butt -- if I can dodge having to take it up the poop shoot, I am all in on the antibis.

3. One nip, two nips, red nips, blue nips
Sooooo... I haven't explained the whole sentinel node biopsy thing as of yet and I feel as though now is as good of time as any. When I got the sentinel node biopsy done, it was to determine if there was cancer in the lymph nodes. And, amazingly enough, there is quite the remarkable way of determining this these days. They put you under, and they inject your boobie with a blue dye. The dye actually contains radioactive tracers in it. The dye then drains from your breast, down to your lymph nodes, in the same fashion as cancer cells would trickle down from the breast to the lymph system. The dye then turns the "head lymph node" blue and also, heats up any lymph nodes that are likely diseased.

Then, a couple days post-lymphectomy, you pee out the blue dye.

Yes. That is true. Again. All. Truth.

4. Where the Wildebeest Is
I just need to once again recall the time of the Wildebeest {aka ma ma ma my sceroma}. A sceroma popped under my pit, remember? And it was hairy due to my fear of shaving it. And it started to look so much like a third boob that the Mr. contemplated drawing a faux nip on it. But then, they drained it, I got my first JP, Carl, and we moved on from the Wildebeest without a recurring issue. Thanks be to God.

5. Air bags on the Brehm
If you have been around me since surgery, there's about an 85% chance you've seen my boobs in full form. There's also about a 92% chance that I've made you poke at them through a shirt. Because air. I seriously can't even say it enough. It is quite a strange sensation to have boobs that feel like $3 bouncy balls from the Target cage.

My boobs. They are currently prime for a circus act. Between bacon nipple and the air-filled fun, I am serious, they are quite the scene. And yet. I love them. Because they are mine. And they are a part of all that I've been through so far. The physical part -- those changes -- are much more worth laughing over than the emotional toll of it all.

Next up, trips to the gas station to fill 'em up. Okay. Not the gas station. But I will start getting fills. To make the skin stretch. And while I am currently filled with 400 ccs of air, they will exchange that for 400 ccs of saline and then, over a bit of time, add in about 100 more in each boobie bag. It's pretty fantastical.

So, in the words of Samantha Jones, "Cancer is hilarious..." at least I think that's how she says it. And sure, it's not actually a funny thing to get/have/live with/die from cancer... but it does make for some great stories. And some very funny situations that I never ever could have made up in my wildest dreams. In most cases, there is a silver lining. And for me, with cancer, it's been the goodness and the humor. And some days, those two things are the same.

Because, as I always say {even though they are not my words}, every single day may not be good but there is something good in every. single. day.

Nips, Nubs, Boobs, and Tubs...

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 16 Mar 2016 10:30:00 +0000

Middlest: "Mom {in a loud whisper}..."
Me: Yes, Jo.
Middlest {continuing in a loud whisper}: Remember how we talked about how you were going to get your boobs cut off?
Me: Yes, Jo.
Middlest {continuing on in a loud whisper}: And remember how you said that I could probably see them at some point?
Me: "Errrr... did I?
Middlest {even furthering the loud whisper}: I'd like to see them now."
Me: "I'd like you to focus on eating your dinner. I will show you in a couple weeks. When they aren't purple anymore."

.....

True story. This is what is happening at my house right now. I feel, a bit, like we are just reliving the days when I nursed Harrison or Jonah and the Olders at the time said words like nipple, and milkers, and feeders on the regular. Specifically, with Harrison, I joked that by the time I left his NICU stay, there wasn't a person in West Omaha who hadn't seen or fondled my milked up mounds. Because when you have a 32-weeker, it takes some primping and prodding to get the girls into action.

And then, at home, I was pumping around the clock, and when I wasn't pumping, we were syringe feeding, supplementing with a bottle, or the babes were nuzzled up to the breasts. Oh, mammary lane. Such a time that I have attempted to Eternal Sunshine. But unfortunately, the boys and my boobies are no strangers. Yeah. That might sound weird. But. All I serve up is truth here.

And now, here we are, the place and the time where we, otherwise, would have another baby being ready to be born -- that two.and.a.half year-ish mark of the youngest -- and we are obsessed with breasts on the Brehms, once again.

Because cancer, y'all.

And I tell you, when you have cancer of the boobies, at least the jokes flow easily. I mean, last night, I let my friends poke them and they agreed, they feel just like the jumping pillows at your local pumpkin patch. It's almost like they punch back when you poke the airbags. Springy. In fact, pretty much anyone is welcome to give them a feel. Because I feel a little like that chick from Weird Science. Without all the hair and the legs and such. But really, the expander-air bag situation is just plain trippy. Because it's like someone blew up a Ziplock bag, sealed it, and slipped it in my chest cavity. It's definitely different from the droopy drinkers that just left the building, that's for sure.

Also, there's the fact that there's some sort of magnet inside of the expander. And so, these friends of mine and I, we also spent some time attempting to stick refrigerator magnets to my boobs only to realize that, in fact, we needed to try to stick me to the refrigerator. Because 7th grade science. Duh. Sadly, I was unable to be successful at sticking to metal. Which, as you can imagine, was quite the letdown {no pun intended}.

I will start with fills later this week. Because right now... as I noted previously, it's just air in there. Which is super funny because sometimes if I move, I can feel the air circulating around in there like a mini-wind tunnel. And I've been warned that the fills will be painful. Because what happens is, the fills of saline make the airbags HARD. Like. As rocks. Hard. And then, eventually, you get used to it. And I'm guessing by the time that happens, I'll be 6 months down the road and ready to get my perma-plump-n-perkies.

Also, I've talked about my black-ish nipple. It seriously seriously seriously no joking around here, looks like your newborns-belly-nub. I. kid. you. not. But Doc Thayer promises, it is merely epithelial sloughing. And the more concerning area, was in fact, the red/purpley bruise occurring around the areola. Because who doesn't love to use the word areola AMAP. Right? For the redness, I went on an antibiotic and we're hoping that righty shapes up soon or she'll have to ship out. Okay. Not really. But I do like to threaten her. Because I want to nip this sitch in the bud. ASAP.

Also, last night, I was bathing and the Littlest stood by my bath for about 5 minutes. He would lift his shirt, point to his belly button, point to my belly-button-nub-nip and then giggle. Over. And over. I am pretty sure he was trying to communicate using his made up language that he thinks my belly-button-nipple-nub is about to go. Maybe I will soon have to have a bon-nip-vage party.

I think it's probably somewhat easier still having my own nipples. My own moles that have always been present. And incisions only below the breasts. But I have to ask myself how my boys' views of breasts and femininity might be changed from this chapter in our lives. And maybe you find it inappropriate that my boys are even privy to seeing the private parts but sheesh, people, if I had to hide my bits and tits every moment of the day right now, it would be quite a feat. And hiding the fact that the girls, they are a changin' - would be extremely hard to hide given the fact that I am pretty much the Queen of Doing Nothing and haven't lifted a finger for months. Plus, if you'll recall, my bras used to, ironically enough, pretty much be filled with air, so the physical difference will be apparent, I am sure. After all, post phase 2 reconstruction, I'm gonna have boobs that float in the water, so I am told. Won't that be a fun party trick?

The Middlest might have the most questions about the boobs. And he often wonders if his boobs will have to undergo such things in the future. I tell him, I sure hope not... but stranger things have happened. The Littlest is mostly stuck on the fact that I am not his main caretaker these days -- or really, these last six months. But the Oldest seems mostly pleased with being able to say cancer-free whenever possible. And I can't say as I disagree with his excitement.

For now, I am taking each day as it comes. Attempting to keep my wits and my tits in check. Trying hard to embrace the pseudo-Franken-boobies that now inhabit my chest. And attempt to be less nervous about my future, my "survival rate", and radiation -- and more focused on the fact that I am getting an upgrade for free -- even if I never knew I wanted one.

"Because really? What are boobs anyway? They're just fat with a nipple in the middle. In fact, I am going to manufacture and sell stick-on nipples for women to put on the cushier areas of their body. I would place one on the side of each thigh. Because if men find boobs to be attractive, what's so different from a thigh mound with a nip bedazzling it?"

--Ashli Brehm, business plans circa 2005
{And FWIW, I wanted to sell them calling them, "Dirks". No joke}