A Television Fanatic

Alderaan and his chair

Caption: Photo courtesy Mat Perras.


It turns out that there’s a side to Alderaan that we didn’t know existed. While enjoying his extended stay at Grandma and Grandpa’s, he’s taken up TV-watching.

He likes nature programs—especially if they feature birds. Reportedly, Aldie was watching one such show, and ran up to the TV to swat a bird. He lived on a farm before he was rescued and adopted…guess he still has the instincts of a hunter/survivalist….


aldie waking up

Caption: Photo Courtesy of Mat Perras

Then, later this past week, Alderaan discovered a program on the evolution of cats. There was no swatting the television this time. Instead, he just watched the show, super interested, as the screen showed domestic cats his size and, then, his much larger brethren (lions, tigers, panthers).

There are days when I feel as though I have missed so much—too much—of Aldie’s development from the equivalent of a teenaged cat to a middle-aged feline. But, then, I hear anecdotes about his interest in TV and it makes me smile.

I can’t wait to have our little pal back <3.


Please, Dear Readers, continue to send light and love.


With Love,



Springing Ahead


With the time change this past weekend, I began to think about the future. Usually, when I think about it, my mind becomes fear-filled. I’m not quite sure what happened, but this time, I started day-dreaming about the possibility of happier times. I thought I’d share some of the day-dreams that made me smile:

  • For those of you who don’t know, we’ve been house-hunting! Eventually, we will find the perfect house to turn into our own home. So, step one, find and get the house. Step two, hit day 365 post-transplant, obtain Boston’s approval, and bring Alderaan to his new home. Step three, once Aldie has adjusted to the change, we will adopt a (rather large, cuddly) canine that is feline-friendly.
  • Get Boston’s approval to play in the dirt because, although I do not have a green thumb (it’s more like the thumb-of-impending-plant-doom-and-death), I would like to garden. I want to plant giant sunflowers and hollyhocks. I want to raise string beans and snow peas. I am curious about growing Hops.
  • I am excited for the dietary changes that September will bring. I can’t wait to add honey to my tea! I miss honey—just like I miss Goat and Feta Cheeses. Some caramel popcorn would be nice, too.

I am well-aware that you cannot live in the future. We must live in the present. And, yet, in this present moment, I am tired of living in fear of another relapse and/or developing some secondary cancer. This isn’t my first rodeo with cancer, so I know that these fears will never entirely go away. I can, however, choose to ignore these dismal thoughts (unless it becomes apparent that there actually is something wrong with me). Instead, I can summon courage and stubbornness, boldly filling my mind with springtime sunshine, daisies, and the chirp of robins.

We were supposed to go to Boston this coming Wednesday for a check-up, but as many of you probably already know, we’ll be getting a Nor’easter instead. So, we’ll be playing it safe and staying home. I know I don’t really get a say in this, but I refuse to die in a car crash on my way to a cancer/transplant appointment. I mean, how ironic would that be?  So, no. No Boston this week, but I will call later today and reschedule the appointment. Please send light and love.


With Love,


Love as a Purpose


First and foremost, Dear Readers, I would like to thank you for responding to last week’s post. Your condolences are appreciated. Your words of advice and encouragement to keep writing buoyed my spirits. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

After reading through the various comments, however, I began to notice some patterns—especially when discussing how to find one’s life purpose. God was mentioned quite a bit. As was love.

I don’t believe that these are two separate answers. I was raised in a Christian household. As such, one of the first things I learned was that “God is Love” …as is written in the first book of John. I’m not sure when or how I forgot that, but I needed all of you to remind me of it.

Loving self, loving others, love as life’s purpose—it requires work. When energy is a problem, I think that that type of love might be one of the first things to be kicked out. It’s probably one of the last things to be let back in, too.

To be clear, over this past year, I never stopped loving my fiancé, our respective families, or our friends. I never stopped loving my boys (Wally and Aldie). But, during my first cancer experience, I did stop loving myself. I was 23 years old and I absolutely hated God. Why was He allowing cancer to happen to me? Why was I suddenly living the life of Job? Fortunately, by the time I relapsed last year (2017), that anger had cooled. My faith had grown just enough to allow me to lean on God again—to ask for prayers and to believe that they would be heard.

Now, I am well-aware that there are other viewpoints, other belief systems out there. If you think what I’m posting today is a bunch of bull, that’s okay. You’re entitled to your opinions just as I am entitled to mine. I do not mean to offend anyone with this post. But, to tell the truth, I really like this idea of love being my purpose here on Earth.

I like the idea of taking care of others—for instance, cleaning out my closet and donating gently used clothes to those in need. I enjoy writing articles, pro bono, for non-profit organizations. Some of you mentioned that the hole Wally left in my heart won’t close up until I find another animal to love. Thankfully, I still have Wally’s little brother, Alderaan. Once we’re given the “okay” from my doctors to live in the same house again, I am sure his presence will help mend my broken heart. If it doesn’t, well, I guess I’ll just have to adopt a dog and give it a warm and loving home (Alderaan is a daddy’s boy after all. See evidence below).

There is peace, for me, in this mission to love—and I am so grateful, Dear Readers, that you brought it up.

Please continue to send light and love, Dear Readers. The road to recovery is still 7+ months long.


With Love,


I Think This is What the Bards Might Have Called a ‘Quest’

in memory 2.0


I am going to be honest with you—this past week sucked.

Monday: Spent living in fear that Wallace was going to die.

Tuesday Morning: Finding out that Wallace was not responding to the medications; his red blood cell counts were still dropping.

Tuesday Afternoon: Giving the “okay” to euthanize him. I watched Wallace pass out of this world. He was exhausted, just melting into the exam table. Leaving him behind in that room was by far one of the hardest things I have ever had to do.

Saturday: Picking up Wallace’s cremated remains from the veterinarian’s office.

This week has felt like someone was performing a bone marrow biopsy on my heart. That is, to say, it has hurt beyond description.

Losing my Wally has made me question a bunch of things in my life—this blog for instance. Am I doing a disservice to my fellow cancer and transplant survivors by constantly writing about gratitude and having a positive attitude? I was born a pessimist; a positive attitude is not my natural state of mind. Positive thinking, however, is far healthier than fear and/or worrying. I will admit to using this space as a means of forcing myself to change my perspective. I fear that by doing this, though, I have diminished my struggle as well as the struggle of my fellow survivors. The horror of cancer treatment doesn’t end with the last bag of chemo or the last radiation appointment. The torture doesn’t end…but I don’t write about it because a) I want to shield you from it, and b) if I dwell on it, I’ll be sucked into the fear of relapsing again. I’ve been using this blog like a life jacket–and although I’m treading as best as I can–keeping my head above the water has been difficult.

I’ve also been questioning my role in this life. Why the hell am I still alive? What am I here for? There has to be a reason why I keep outliving my various expiration dates (July 2010, February 2017). People are going to start thinking that I’m some sort of android if I keep surviving all of this s*&t.

Maybe this is just my overwhelming grief for Wallace talking, but for the longest time I thought my purpose was to be a writer. Nabbing a literary agent, however, has proven to be a thankless and utterly depressing task. So, I have to stop myself and ask, am I doing the right thing? Am I on the right path? And if not this, then what?

Dear Readers, I have no doubt that my good MRI results on Thursday/Friday are your thoughts and prayers working. Last year, on this very day, I was diagnosed with relapsed Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. I told you that I did not have the strength to fight cancer again. It was the truth. I didn’t have the strength. But YOU carried me through. Now I’m asking you to lend me some advice (in addition to continuing to send light and love).

How did you know what to do with your life?

How did you find your purpose?

When you’re grieving, how do you find peace?

As always, thank you for your support. Your comments and encouragement have meant the world to me.


With Love,


One Red Blood Cell at a Time….

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As those of you who follow me on Facebook already know, one of my boys has not been feeling well. We brought Wallace to the veterinarian’s office on Tuesday, February 13th. He had some bloodwork done at that time, but the vet asked to keep him for two nights for observation. Wally had, after all, lost 5 pounds since his last visit. More concerning, however was the fact that he was anemic.

Those of you who are fur mamas can probably imagine how poorly I took this news. My thoughts leapt to the absolute darkest outcomes. If it weren’t for Seth, I wouldn’t have been able to rein my anxiety in.

He advised, “Hope for the best, but expect the worst”.

I know. Such a mantra isn’t exactly a hopeful, sunshiny, double-rainbow motto, but it was calming. It was logical. It was exactly what I needed to hear. I think—and I can’t say this with any degree of certainty—that this is the mantra that he used repeatedly throughout my cancer treatment and bone marrow transplant.

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Fast forward to Thursday, February 15th. The vet called asking permission to run some x-rays. Specifically, he was looking for masses (yes, cancer masses). He also wanted to run a thyroid test.

On Friday, February16th, we were told that there were no masses found and that Wallace’s thyroid test came back normal. But, Wallace’s stay at the veterinarian’s office wasn’t—and isn’t–quite over. He apparently has an autoimmune disease that is destroying his red blood cells. It’s most likely based in his bone marrow. Usually, cats who develop this disease, recover quickly once steroids and antibiotics are introduced to their systems. This is not the case with Wallace. He is eating better, he is interactive, bright-eyed, but his red blood cell counts continue to decline.

I feel that there is some irony in the fact that my fur baby has some sort of autoimmune disease that affects his blood. So much of his illness reminds me of my own cancer experience…with the exception that I could have blood transfusions when my red cell counts were low.

Thankfully, my veterinarian is invested in Wallace’s well-being. He wants to do everything he can to give Wallace a chance to respond to the treatment. There is still a chance that if the vet can reverse the loss of red blood cells within the next few days, Wallace will be okay.

It’s only a chance, but it’s something. I keep repeating to myself, “Hope for the best, but expect the worst”. I know he’s a mortal creature, and has to die at some point, but my heart is going to completely shatter if I lose this cat anytime soon.

Please, please keep Wallace in your thoughts.

I go to Burlington, VT on February 22 and 23 for some precautionary MRI’s. I’ll also be having some bloodwork done. It’s really just a standard checkup, but as most survivors will tell you, even simple checkups can ignite all-too familiar fears. The usual nightmares preceding visits like these have already begun.

Please, Dear Readers, continue to send light and love our way. You give us hope to persevere. Thank you, thank you, thank you.


With Love,


Valentine’s Day

forever ago

Caption: It sounds crazy, but it seems as though this picture was taken many lifetimes ago. At the time, I had longish hair. I didn’t know anything about bone marrow transplants. So why am I using such a dated photo? Simply because I think the hearts augment this post.


When I was younger, and single, I used to dread Valentine’s Day. The holiday served only to remind me that I didn’t have what everyone else seemed to have—a significant other.

Oh goodness, how times have changed!

When you hear someone say, “let love find you” or “love happens when you least expect it”—it’s true. I didn’t expect to fall so quickly for Seth. Little known fact: when Seth and I started dating, I was determined not to give my heart away. I was tired of having it broken. But Seth was different. He found my weak spot almost immediately: words.

He wrote incredibly beautiful messages to me. Just as significant, he has a gift for telling amusing stories (and, as a writer, I enjoy listening to such stories). He’s been a reliable and compassionate caregiver, forgiving me even for peeing on his shoes—twice—when I had cerebral edema.

Poor guy.

I am so, so grateful to have Seth in my life—to have his love. There is no doubt in my mind that he is my soulmate.

Since Valentine’s Day is this coming Wednesday, I also thought I would take a moment and thank YOU, Dear Readers, for following my blog. Your support and words of encouragement keep me going. Even when I’m suffering from writer’s block, knowing that there are 101 readers waiting for a blogpost, helps me to find the words that I need to share my story.

Please, Dear Readers, continue sending love and light. It truly makes a difference.


With Love,



butterfly necklace

I remember, vaguely, that in our third-grade class we had several butterfly cocoons in an old, otherwise empty, aquarium. We studied each cocoon/chrysalis, waiting for a butterfly to emerge. I can’t remember if any of the cocoons actually produced a Monarch butterfly…and, if it did, I have no recollection of what we did with it…but I still get excited thinking about a creature of pure beauty busting out of its protective covering.

I feel that my own cocoon is slowly breaking open.

Now, let’s set the record straight here: I am not suggesting that I am, like a butterfly, a “creature of pure beauty”. I have dark moods and acne just like everybody else. I am, after all, a human being.

Yet, like a butterfly, I have been developing–growing–inside the safety of a cocoon.

My cocoon, however, is not made of protein or silk. It consists of medications and a survival-mode mentality. It is insulated with procedure masks and latex gloves.

More importantly, though, there have been days wherein I can see the light at the end of this life stage.

I’ll be in Burlington, VT at the end of February for some “just-in-case” MRI’s of my head and lumbar spine. My next appointment in Boston is six weeks away (the longest gap in appointments that I’ve had to date)! I am slowly being weaned off of my anti-rejection drug. I am warily turning my eyes to the future and how I might live, happily, in it.

Please, Dear Readers, keep the love, light and prayers coming. My wings haven’t fully developed yet—and there is still over half a year to go before I can venture outside without a mask—but it’s coming. And, with your help and good thoughts, I’ll be ready for it.


With Love,


“Think Happy Thoughts”

joy and books

(Caption: I did not buy “Ella Enchanted” at the book fair. I bought it at a used book store, but, considering it’s publication date, it may have been at my last book fair in Elementary School!)


Most of us are familiar with the Disney movie, Peter Pan. In order to fly, Pan’s friends must a) be sprinkled with pixie dust and, b) “think happy thoughts”. While I have no interest in flying, I do want to lead a positive and happy life. I would like joy to have a regular place in each of my days. As a pessimist, though, this often feels like an impossible task.

In addition to being a pessimist, I am also quite stubborn. Sometimes, I can’t tell if being stubborn is a strength or a fault. In this instance, however, I feel that my stubbornness is a strength. As difficult as being positive is for me, I’m too stubborn to give up on my goal of becoming an optimist (or, at the very least, a realist).

Huge change in perspective, right?

How do you go from being anxious 24/7 to looking at the world through rose-tinted glasses? For me, I think the transformation is going to require baby steps. I am going to have to crawl at times. In case someone else is attempting this enormous shift in thought patterns, here’s my big plan:

  1. Continue to keep my daily gratitude journal.
  2. Stay as active as I possibly can. Exercise releases endorphins, after all.
  3. Volunteer (I have a few ideas in mind).
  4. Discover what brings me joy and make it a habit.

Step Four is perhaps the most difficult step for me. Joy is something I rarely feel. At some point in my life, I became impervious to it. It was a lot easier to feel joy when I was a child—as I was recently reminded this past week.

Naps are not something I usually take, but damn this last Wednesday I was exhausted! As I sat on the couch, my eyelids grew heavy. I couldn’t fight it, so I curled up into a ball and pulled the blankets over my head. As I was drifting off, I started to think about a magazine that had arrived in the mail. The magazine featured books (mostly New Age titles). Now, as I hovered between consciousness and sleep, the magazine melded into the weekly book order forms that I used to receive in grade school. This thought then sparked my memory of the book fairs that took place in Elementary School.

A rush of pure joy awakened me.

I marveled at how I had so easily forgotten about the book fairs. I LOVED the book fairs! I have been a voracious reader my entire life and the book fair was always like a dream-come-true. So many monographs! Pretty bookmarks! Stylish pencils and erasers!

The best part of this memory/day dream? It changed my sour mood for the rest of the day. I was suddenly happy, excited. When an anxious thought tried to invade, I just blocked it with the memory of the book fair’s wheeled, metal cases.

Obviously, as an adult, I won’t be attending any book fairs in the near future. The memory of them, though, serves a purpose. They are a “happy thought”. They are a joyful memory that won’t help me to fly, but when called upon, can certainly help shift my worldview.

Positivity, here I come!

Thank you, Dear Readers, for sticking with me. I hope the week ahead treats you all well. Your encouragement has meant the world to us. Please keep the light and love coming.


With Love,


Mile Marker 44.8

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I have forgotten names, events, the order of things. I don’t believe, however, that I will ever forget this number: 44.8.

It started on Sunday morning, around 10:30am, when Seth woke up. He admitted to having left-sided chest pain. He admitted to having had it for three days. I’m not sure how I did it (because as much as I love him, he is a stubborn, stubborn man), but I made him go the Emergency Room to be checked out. He didn’t want me to go with him, because of my lack of an immune system, so I called his best friend. Thankfully, he was able to accompany Seth to the hospital.

Seth returned home by three. The ER doctors had checked his heart and he appeared to be okay. They gave him their blessing to drive me to Boston for a transplant check-up. The appointment was scheduled for Monday afternoon, but we had booked a hotel in case the weather proved to be cruddy.

We made it to the rest stop in Williston, Vermont. Seth was tired and wanted to take a quick 10-minute nap. He fell asleep immediately.

We crossed the state line into New Hampshire, and stopped once again at a rest stop. This time, Seth needed to walk around.

I noticed that he kept checking his pulse.

We pulled out of the rest stop. Within minutes, Seth began to panic. He pulled the car over, gasping, and saying that he couldn’t breathe, that he felt like he was going to pass out. He told me to call 9-1-1. So, I did.

The dispatcher was calm and reassuring. He asked me where we were; I told him we were parked next to mile marker 44.8 on US-89 South.

The fire department and the EMTs that came to rescue us were wonderful. They took Seth in an ambulance to Dartmouth-Hitchcock Medical Center (DHMC). Due to my seizure history, I am not allowed to drive. One of the EMTs was kind enough to drive me, in our car, to the hospital.

“It’s the hospital in the woods,” he said, turning down one of Dartmouth-Hitchcock’s tree-lined driveways.

Seth was admitted overnight so that his breathing and heart could be monitored. He told me to find a hotel, because, once again, someone with zero immunity should probably not spend the night in an ER waiting room. I found a hotel (that thankfully had a free shuttle service since I couldn’t find a taxi or an Uber). The shuttle took me to the hotel, where I was given the medical rate and a king-sized bed. I promptly piled the extra pillows on my right-hand side, where Seth would usually have slept.

I, a cancer survivor, have never been so scared in my life.

What if it really was his heart? What if he didn’t make it? These were the questions that haunted me. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, to be filling the chair beside the bed, instead of the bed itself. I am so accustomed to being the patient, the sick one, that I didn’t know what to do. I also realized that, as close as Seth and I are, I know very little about his family’s medical history or even his own. I also couldn’t name a single medication that he was on, other than Protonix. What kind of fiancée was I?

The next morning, the shuttle brought me back to the hospital. I found Seth in a small unit connected to the ER. To pass the time until his scheduled stress test, we watched television in his room. Seth was taken away for the stress test at 8:30am.

He aced it.

Seth’s heart, fortunately, is just fine. Neither of us could drive, though, so my father and brother came to pick us up. My brother drove us and our car home. We somehow managed to pass our father twice on the highway, even though he had left the hospital first. We flashed a notebook at him, with the word, “Ferry” scribbled in it. Our father doesn’t have a cellphone—and someone needed to drive my brother home after he delivered Seth and I to our front door—so this was the best mode of communication we had:


Our father received the message, boarding the ferry soon after us.

Although Seth’s heart is in working order, he is being treated for pneumonia. How does living with a sick person work when you’re immunosuppressed? You wear a mask and wash your hands like it’s your job. Lysol wipes and spray are useful, too. I am dying to hug Seth, but it’ll have to wait until he’s healthy again.

I am going to marry this man, after he provides me with a detailed med list.

Thank you, Dear Readers, for your prayers. I hope you know that your kindness, love, and positive thoughts helped us through this harrowing experience.


With Love,


Just Some Quality ZZZ’s, Please


Confession: I’m 31 years old and I sleep next to a stuffed animal every night. More precisely, he’s a unicorn named Squishy. I’m not sure why, but I’ve been tremendously anxious lately. So, in an attempt to calm my nerves, I sprayed Squish (that’s his nickname) with lavender-scented perfume. It helped…a little…but I still didn’t make my big goal of sleeping in until 6am. I made it to 2:22am.

Like a lot of people out there, I don’t sleep well. I tend to be restless. When I do dream, I usually have outlandish nightmares (and not the good kind that can inspire writing projects).

Why am I sharing this? Because I am on the hunt for ideas to help me sleep.

When you, Dear Reader, have difficulty sleeping, what do you do? Do you listen to music? Do you have a glass of warm milk? What works for you? What doesn’t work? I am open to suggestions, so please send them my way!

We go back to Boston this week for another check-up. We will also be going to Burlington for a neurology appointment. It’s going to be a busy week; please keep the light, the prayers, and the love coming. Thank you, thank you, thank you.


With Love,