No Buts

“No Buts”
Thanksgiving 2025

Lately Eli has been saying, “no buts” when we tell him we love him and it reminds me that declarations should come with no strings attached.  The same could be said of practicing gratitude… to be thankful, with “no buts.”

This year marks five years of completing adjuvant endocrine therapy, following radiation, being induced during a pandemic, chemotherapy while pregnant, being diagnosed with breast cancer at 18 weeks.  It’s a milestone to celebrate and at the same time recognizing survivorship is hard.  Little did I know that being a survivor would test me in other ways.

I don’t think there is anything that wakes a person up more than having a sick parent.  I naively thought that I’d have more time, not grasping that the age bracket I’m in now has me navigating both taking care of my kids and taking care of my parents.  That naivete didn’t prepare me for the shock and reality of dividing my already-limited time and the logistical nightmare of coordinating schedules between kids, parents, and work, and believing I could show up for all of it.

In May of this year, the day after my parents returned from a trip overseas, my dad was hospitalized.  This was significant because my dad has never been admitted to a hospital so we knew something serious was going on.  After many labs and tests, it was determined that Dad had a blockage and subsequent infection so a stent was placed, and it was at the time of the endoscopy that a mass was discovered (thus causing the blockage).  Adenocarcinoma.

Dad was scheduled for surgery in NYC and Mom and I accompanied him.  Less than a half hour into the surgery, Mom and I were called into a private room to speak to the surgeon.  In my heart I knew it couldn’t be good news when the surgeon was leaving the OR… and it wasn’t.  The tumor had spread and surgery was stopped.  Stage 4.

It wasn’t until that moment I realized what it must have felt like for Anthony when I was diagnosed, that feeling of utter helplessness and uncertainty.  So I did what I normally do in times of crisis – I made my list of to-dos and started checking them off.  Requesting records.  Making appointments.  Setting up the portal.  Calling Mom.  Taking notes.

Dad started chemo, and I was there.  I brought him to his port placement, talked about how foreign mine felt at first and how relieved I was to get it out… until I realized he’s on a different trajectory than me.  I gave him tips to combat the side effects.  He actually let me drive him to and from infusions.  I told him how important it was to disclose all meds and supplements to his oncologist and to keep chugging water.  

Through it all, Dad is hopeful.  He’s realistic too.  We talk about the hard things because there’s no better time than the present.  He tells me stories about coming to the U.S. and meeting Mom, and I find myself transcribing them after our conversations.  He listens and gives advice, and I am reminded of his infinite wisdom. 

If there is anyone who showcases true gratitude, it is Dad.  He remarks how beautiful a day it is in the car on the way to chemo.  He learns the names of everyone he encounters at the infusion center and addresses them by name.  He always says thank you.  He jokes with the nurses to get them to laugh, to lighten their load.  He gets excited picking his post-chemo meal, just as I had.  It’s humbling to witness that despite THE hardest thing, he continues to have the most grateful heart.  

This Thanksgiving, may your hearts be ever present.  May your connections be filled with joy and levity.  May your conversations be the kind that you want to lock in your memory banks.  May your bodies be nourished by comforting food.  And may your time reflect simple and unfiltered gratitude.

I’m grateful for you, Dad – and for all you are still teaching me every day.  No buts.

The After Me... Five Years Later

Five years. FIVE. YEARS! 🎉

This month marks my 5-year milestone of completing adjuvant endocrine therapy. I met with my oncologist today to discuss next steps. We’ve completed standard therapy but due to my age at diagnosis, high risk of recurrence, and current data, we agreed on a plan moving forward.

Five years ago, the thought of making it to this point filled me with overwhelming dread. Five years seemed incredibly far away, and with the whirlwind of diagnosis at 18 weeks pregnant to surgery to chemo to induction to radiation to the end of active treatment at four months postpartum, I hadn’t had much of a chance to sit with my feelings and truly understand what survivorship meant. I didn’t realize that the 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 me would cease to exist and how hard it would be to reconcile with the 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 me.  I didn’t fully grasp how much the side effects of the meds and injections would impact my day to day, that some of the smallest tasks like opening a jar or getting up from the floor would leave me frustrated and in tears. I naively thought that mammograms and screenings each year would become easier, that waiting for results wouldn’t quite literally paralyze me. I definitely didn’t know how incredibly lonely it could feel at times.  

I look back now and acknowledge that I did what I always do when something terrifies me: I kept going. Not a day goes by where the thought of cancer coming back hasn’t come – it lingers, but doesn’t permeate. I haven’t moved on from it, it’s that I accept it as part of my journey now, and choose to share it (because even when it feels lonely, I do know that I’m not alone).

Yes, a lot can happen in five years. I finished my masters. We made it through a pandemic. Our newborn is about to start Kindergarten! I gained three nephews and at the same time, we heartbreakingly lost three friends. I was laid off and started a different career path (exactly one year ago!). We celebrated, we grieved, we traveled, we slowed down (a little). And then earlier this summer, my father was diagnosed with cancer. Accompanying him to his first infusion felt both familiar and foreign, now that I’m on the “other side.” Oh, the fragility of life.

What choice did I have really, then to move forward? To embrace the quiet suffering, the wrath and ugliness that cancer leaves behind? To not allow the fear to overtake me and instead to walk alongside it? I choose this life, both heavy and light.

So as with every milestone, I celebrated it – with a large coffee, listening to new music, and a sushi feast with my family.  If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that it’s always been about #thelittlethings. 🎀 #breastcancer #survivor #fiveyears