Chemo Phase 1 Complete | Every Milestone Matters

June 17th, I officially finished my 4th and final round of the Red Devil. ❤️

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I can’t even explain how good it feels to say that.

This was a huge milestone, and I’m really proud of my body. It has been through so much over the last couple of months, and somehow it keeps getting back up for another round.

That being said… this fourth treatment has been a doozy.

Being honest about my symptoms is difficult, because it hasn’t been a walk in the park.

Please bear with me while I share a few of the not-so-fun parts of this chapter. I always want these updates to be honest, even when they’re a little messy.

My bones hurt in a way that’s hard to put into words. I told my mom I feel like if someone knocked on my leg, it’d echo like a perfectly ripe watermelon! It’s a very specific comparison, but somehow it feels accurate.

The night sweats have also reached a whole new level. Every night looks like a science experiment over here: three fans blowing, the bedroom window wide open, and ice packs shoved under my armpits. It’s not exactly glamorous, but it gets the job done.

One night I finally gave up, carried a blanket outside, stretched out on a lawn chair, and slept under the stars for a couple of hours because it was cooler than my bedroom.

If anyone has figured out the secret to surviving chemo hot flashes, please let me know. I’m willing to try just about anything.

The mouth sores continue to be the weirdest symptom. I’ll wake up with bleeding sores on the roof of my mouth and along my gums. After brushing, flossing, Magic Mouthwash, and lidocaine, they’ll disappear within a few hours… only to show up again later. Sometimes this cycle happens two or three times in a day. I have absolutely no explanation for it.

The nausea has been pretty relentless too. Even laying still doesn’t always help. It reminds me of when I was about 10 years old and my poor mom had to slam on the brakes on our way to McCall because I was about to throw spaghetti across Highway 55. Some things apparently never change!

I want to share these parts of my journey not to be negative, but because I believe it’s important to be honest. There have absolutely been some hard moments both physically and mentally. The tears fall, and I quietly get overwhelmed at random moments where I have to allow myself to “let it all out”. The cycle of grief seems to repeat itself over and over again as I go through this process. But those difficult moments do eventually pass.

I never lose sight of how incredibly lucky I am. Even with a stage IV diagnosis, my cancer is still considered potentially curable. That is a gift I don’t take for granted for a single second. So while some days are undeniably hard, my hope is so much bigger than my fear, and that’s what I choose to hold onto.

That being said… there was some more good news last week!

The best news came from my brain MRI.

Waiting for those results was nerve racking because no one wants to hear that the cancer has spread. I dug my heels in and was quite resistant when my oncologist wanted to have this imaging done.

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Instead, I got the news I had been praying for.

My brain MRI was completely clear.

No tumors. No lesions. No signs that the cancer has reached my brain or spinal cord.

Outside the breast tumors and chest area, the cancer is still limited to the single bone metastasis we already knew about (sternum), and for that, I am unbelievably grateful.

Chemotherapy has changed how I look, and I’d be lying if I said that part has been easy. Losing my hair, the swelling, seeing a different version of myself in the mirror… it’s an adjustment.

But I also know this isn’t forever.

Hair grows back.

The swelling will go down.

This body is doing exactly what it’s supposed to do right now, fighting for me!

The Red Devil chapter is officially behind me.

This week I start a brand new chapter: Taxol.

I’ll be receiving it once a week for the next 12 weeks. Everyone keeps telling me it’s usually a little easier than the Red Devil, and I am holding onto that hope with both hands. If all goes well, I’d love to get a little bit of my energy back.

More than anything, I miss being able to wrestle around with Max.

He’s reached that magical toddler age where every single day is an adventure… and apparently every adventure requires him to be a dinosaur.

From the second he wakes up until he goes to bed, he stomps through the house roaring at innocent bystanders (mostly me), hunting imaginary dinosaurs, and insisting that he is, in fact, a dinosaur too. I honestly don’t know if I have a son anymore or if I just live with a tiny velociraptor.

I can’t wait until I have enough strength to chase him around the backyard again instead of cheering him on from the sidelines.

If everything stays on track, my very last chemotherapy treatment will be September 16, 2026.

Just 12 more weeks.

Then we’ll repeat my scans and hopefully get the green light to move forward with surgery.

One treatment at a time.

One week at a time.

One step closer to putting this chapter behind us. 🩷

Thank you for the continuous love and support. I’ve never felt more loved.