On October 1, 2014, Annie M, my friend and PA, tearfully said (or what I believe she said through ugly-crying snottiness), “You have breast cancer.”

I’ve never been one to wear pink ribbons, sit in drum circles, walk arm-in-arm with my un-boobed and uni-boobed friends for Breast Cancer Awareness. It’s not my jam. It’s not wrong; some people need that. But I am definitely not one of those people. I’m one of those “well… that happened. What’s for dinner?” kind of people.

Until Now. After 10-years of blood draws, MRIs, mammograms, biopsies, waiting, and worrying- I will be one of those people. Sort of.

I took the day off work to celebrate still being around to micromanage my boys, my Jim, and those handful of jellybeans brave enough to stick around. And to share with you what I’ve learned over the past 10 years:

Remission doesn’t mean cured. Don’t let anyone; rather any doctor, tell you to celebrate being cured because it’s not true. Remission means that the cancer cells aren’t showing up on scans, not that they’re gone.  Instead, celebrate milestones, celebrate life. L’CHAIM!

Good friends are like jellybeans- there’s one or two great flavors; the rest aren’t worth the calories. Having a few best friends who are only phone call away, makes being alone never feel lonely.

The grass IS greener on the other side. In the 17^th century, green lawns were the ultimate symbol of wealth and power, along with pineapples and mirrors. Even though I’m a few centuries late to that party, I can proudly say I own multiple mirrors and at least one fruit-fly-infested pineapple. As for my lawn? Let’s just say I’m starting a new trend: dogs and patchy brown grass are the new “other side.”

Money doesn’t make you happy (but it definitely helps). Being broke sucks. No one is going to say otherwise. Money won’t buy happiness but it will buy a little less stress and a refrigerator full of food.

Donuts don’t care if you have cellulite. Enough said.

You don’t have to be liked but you do have to be respected. Nice: Pleasing, Agreeable or Polite, Kind: Of a sympathetic or helpful nature. (Merriam-Webster, 2024). I have a lot of strengths (sarcasm, biting wit, focused ignoring), but “nice” is not one of them. I am, however, kind, compassionate, and graceful (as in full of grace). “Don’t mistake my kindness for weakness. I am kind to everyone, but when someone is unkind to me, weak is not what you are going to remember about me.” (Al Capone)

If you don’t have trust, you don’t have anything. I grew up with “Do as I say, not as I do”, but I am not that mom. Barring a huge emergency, “a said is a said” (I said it. I’ll do it). This goes back to the nice-vs-kind thing. I am a mom of my word, which is the kindest thing you can do for your children.

You are your own strongest advocate. You are important. You matter. You deserve eye contact. You deserve to be heard. Visiting a medical professional should offer a sense of relief; a peace of mind. If you leave feeling more upset, more scared, more frustrated, disregarded, ignored, and disrespected, then your doctor has failed you. Find another one. It’s not you. It’s them.

You are going to get old. No amount of filling, lifting, tucking, and toning is going to change that. So embrace it. Celebrate it.