Phase II | Another Month Closer to Ringing The Chemo Victory Bell

It’s been a quite a while since I’ve posted an update! Truthfully, I don’t have a whole lot to share. Simply because Phase II of chemotherapy is starting to feel like the longest episode of Groundhog Day ever. I also wanted to wait until I felt I had adjusted my mindset, and reached a healthy level of acceptance during these new side effects.

Negativity has never really been my thing. This is hard. It’s beyond scary. And I’d be lying if I said I don’t have fears that still creep into my dreams almost every night that bring me to my knees. But my goal has always been to be real about what this journey looks like without draining everyone else’s battery in the process. Finding that balance between honesty and hope isn’t always easy. But I just completed week 5 of phase II, and I am getting there!

Appointments. Lab work. Injections. Infusions. Doctor visits. Home. Rest. Repeat.

I swear I could walk backwards with my eyes closed and find my way to the hospital. It has become my 2nd home. The nurses and doctors and all the staff there are amazing human beings though. I am so confident in their care decisions, and comfortable in the environment. They address me by my first name without me having to provide it, engage in genuine friendly conversation, and cheer me on every single appointment. On the other hand, the staff has also adjusted to MY morbid personality. They have learned to laugh along with every dark and morbid joke that falls out of my mouth, with zero filter. It definitely makes the time go faster while sitting in that infusion chair.

The full time job of battling cancer is one I never would’ve willingly accepted or sought out on my own. This addition to my resume is one I definitely don’t feel is necessary! The PTO is nonexistent, the dress code is stretchy pants, and I definitely don’t recommend the employee wellness program!

Quickly I’ll share a short honest review of the harder pieces of treatment I’m currently experiencing, then we will move on to the happier things, I pinky promise. I won’t drag your mood down, or intentionally induce empathetic tears. Please know that’s never my intention, ever. 💗

The good news is I’m officially 7 weeks away from finishing chemotherapy.

I’ve made it through 9 treatments so far since 5/6/2026. The side effects have definitely been rough, but I’m hanging in there. I’m doing my best to stay on top of my nutrition, exercise and move my body when I have the energy, and use every little thing I can outside of medication to help keep myself comfortable.

The swelling has been the more debilitating part lately. I am so incredibly inflamed from head to toe that I barely recognize myself some days. My pants are tight, and my wedding ring has a muffin top. 😜 Being bald with a naturally round shaped face while retaining a few extra pounds of pure water weight is not very fun to cope with. It is uncomfortable, frustrating, and severely annoying. I barely recognize the person I see in the mirror at this point in time and I struggle knowing people I love also don’t recognize me. There isn’t much I can do besides keep reminding myself that this season of life is temporary and to keep pushing through these last seven weeks. Also… lots of lasix! One step at a time, we have come a long way.

The insomnia and inability to sleep is the second part of the difficult side of things. As I’ve shared before, night sweats (which are quite better now that my kind friend KyLee generously gifted me a Chilipad), IV steroid jitters, bone pain (especially in my sternum lesions), and my racing mind running through every “what if” scenario impact my sleep pretty heavily. Also, I have a 2.5 year old rambunctious little boy who has all the energy in the world! Good luck getting me to pass up an opportunity to snuggle and read stories, build a fort, or stomp around like dinosaurs with him. He also developed the habit of bringing me the whole entire toaster every morning, and setting it on my bed with excitement. His big bright blue eyes end up in my face and I hear his sweet little voice say “a wahhh-full mama please”. That kid is ready for his eggo waffle and yogurt at 6am, sometimes earlier! I know I need my rest, and I do try to slow down a little more every chance I can. Less dinosaur stomping and chasing, more snuggles and Dr Seuss.

My white blood cell count has also stayed pretty low during this phase, so I’ve had to be extra careful about being around people. It’s meant a little more isolation and a lot more naps than I’d prefer, but I’m trying to listen to my body instead of fighting it.

Okay, we made it through the negative.

Onto the happier things now!

Phase II is difficult, but compared to Phase I… this is so much better symptom-wise.

“Chemo brain” fog is a lot less intense, and I haven’t had awful syncope blackout episodes and vomiting. I’m able to be far more mentally present, and I love that part. I’d rather be swollen and present, than stuck in bed and not present at all. The Red-Devil Phase I days seem like they were forever ago, and I barely remember some of it. It was truly a living nightmare that I know my brain is suppressing to protect itself from the PTSD.

I’m so thankful these days are tremendously better! I’m so fortunate.

All of my scans and molecular testing will repeat in September and give us answers we anxiously await. Knowing how effective the chemotherapy has been could be great news, or not-so-great news. But I genuinely do feel very good about the outcome of those scans. The doctors can tell by physical examination along with my weekly bloodwork that my body is showing obvious signs of positive chemotherapy response. We just have to prove how much response with the imaging when we are all done.

Even with all of this, I am surrounded by so much positivity. My family and friends have been amazing about working around my appointments, understanding when I need to cancel or rest, and finding safe ways to spend time with me. Those little moments mean so much more than you’ll ever know.

Every treatment is one less treatment to go. Every week is one week closer. Seven more weeks, and this chapter of chemo will finally be behind me.

💗

---

Since this update was not SUPER long, I wanted to include a little extra since it’s a question I’ve been asked a lot.

What symptoms did I have prior to diagnosis?

• A mass in the 12 o’clock spot on my left breast, it suddenly grew tremendously in size over the course of 2 months (my oncologist believes this is when my cancer went from ductal carcinoma, to invasive ductal carcinoma)

• Struggled with breastfeeding on that side specifically due to the mass. Lactation consultant swore it was normal, and just mastitis.

• Skin texture changed, similar to an orange peel; minor dimpling of the skin

• Swollen left armpit

• My body would not stop lactating. Long after weaning and not attaching my baby

• Sharp breast pain, and swelling while ovulating and during my menstrual cycle for 2-3 months.

• Being extremely sick my entire pregnancy, with hyperemesis and severe and dangerous protein levels

• I developed preeclampsia when I was pregnant due to estrogen overproduction, (yes, they believe I’ve had breast cancer growing in my breast unknowingly since 2022. Despite my concerns about the mass, which was 1/10 of the size all those years ago, I was told it wasn’t anything to worry about by multiple doctors.)

• Sudden poor histamine response. I couldn’t drink coffee, or eat acidic fruits and veggies without getting violently ill and my breast pain increasing.

The hindsight of it all haunts me. I know I made my own mistakes, but the reality is… I was also failed by multiple healthcare professionals, including a breast specialist.

Diagnostic testing and imaging was blown off and I was told my insurance would never cover it… why waste time and money on a test so many doctors said was unnecessary and that I was perfectly fine?

I pushed back HARD when I developed sharp pain between February 2026-April 2026 with my menstrual cycle. My new PCP immediately ordered imaging and was disgusted that it had not been done in 2022.

My insurance still did not cover imaging because I am only 31 years old, have zero family history of breast cancer, have “young, cystic breasts” (um what??), and they didn’t see any reason for it to be necessary.

You bet your ass I pulled out my checkbook and credit card this time. I knew deep down this wasn’t right.

Advocate for yourself.

Intuition is EVERYTHING.

I wish so badly I would’ve pushed back as hard as I did this year, 4 years ago.

Even if it wasn’t cancer yet in 2022, it would’ve provided more information and ensured follow up testing happened every 6 months afterward for that mass.

As pissed as I am, I’m slowly letting go of my resentment. It’s getting a lot better, just like the physical symptoms. I can’t allow myself to carry that in my soul; it comes with so much anger.

Setting a positive example for my son, and putting in the work to ensure my mental health remains strong and steadfast through this are my top priorities.

Thank you for being here. Thank you all for caring. Thank you for loving my little family, and I every single day. I love you all.