Cancer Support

Everything Happens for a Reason and Other Useless Greeting Card Bullshit

“Everything happens for a reason.”
Those words sting. They are applied liberally by well-meaning friends and family to situations which don’t make any sense. They’re used as a coping mechanism in situations where people feel helpless and scared. They’re a cop-out wherein you separate yourself from having to emotionally invest in the individual experiencing the trauma.
Those words may make you feel better, but it’s at my expense.
Would you say that to someone whose newborn baby was born with a terrible birth defect? Someone whose newly-licensed teenager was in a horrific car accident? Someone whose husband died, leaving behind small children? Someone’s friend who committed suicide?
The only purpose behind that sentiment is reassurance. That the universe somehow makes sense. That your religion remains intact. The thoughtless phrase flung in my direction implies that I deserve it, that something good will come from it. Sometimes people die at 32 years old at the mercy of stage 4 breast cancer, like my friend Lindsay did, and nothing good comes from it. Sometimes good things may happen again on the other, stronger, healthier side. But regardless of what happens after cancer, I would never wish the physically-draining, life-changing, mentally-maddening, time-sucking, body-altering process on anyone. Terrible things happen to good people, and sometimes there is no reason at all for it. Sometimes, there is no explanation.
Answering that I was not genetically pre-disposed was typically followed up with intrusive inquisition about my pre-cancer health, diet, activity level, and substance participation. Which all insinuates it must have been something I did. I will always wonder why it happened to me and not the guy filling his grocery cart with processed food. How it snuck into my home, cleaned with essential oils and vinegar. How it crept like a ninja into my body, nourished with organic foods and exercise. How it penetrated my skin, slathered with non-toxic personal products. How it took root and grew in my breast while I was nursing my 18-month-old.
I may allow my experiences to guide my decisions in the future, but that’s simply personal growth. Most human beings practice this from lessons learned, mistakes made, and trials overcome. I imagine the possibility of death may accelerate one’s decisiveness and lengthen the metaphoric leap one is willing to take. But I don’t think that my near-death tragedy somehow granted me the clarity to live life with a newfound purpose that I wouldn’t have found otherwise. I could have gone skydiving instead. Sometimes I feel that I’ve somehow become a spokesperson for life, and that is exhausting. We just want to return to our “normal” lives.
You’re allowed to not know what to say. Before I had cancer, I’m not sure I did either. Just admit it. Your friend/family/loved one will understand. From collective experience, here’s a quick reference guide of stupid things NOT to say to someone with cancer:
But your hair grew back, aren’t you done?
You have cancer? You should try this thing I read about on the internet where you grind up this rare plant that only grows in the emergent layer of the Amazon rain forest and then mix it with cannabis oil and make an enema…
Get the fuck out of my house, Becky.
They actually do have a cure for cancer but aren’t releasing it because if all of the cancer was cured then the pharmaceutical companies wouldn’t make so much money.
You probably believe in the lochness monster too.
Cancer isn’t as hard as it used to be.
Right, now they apply numbing spray to your skin before they shove the needle into your port and pump you full of chemicals that make your hair fall out and cause permanent nerve damage.
Oh, that’s the good kind of cancer, right? I mean, the one they can cure?
Please read a book.
Well, it could always be worse.
Please tell me all of the ways because I haven’t thought enough about horrible things lately.
Oh, we didn’t think you could so we didn’t ask you to come along.
Invite me! Even if I can’t come, invite me so I don’t feel like I’ve fallen off the face of the earth. And then SnapChat that shit to me.
When God closes a door, he opens a window.
I’m sure God has better things to do than be my personal architect.
God has a plan!
Well that shit’s fucked up then.
I’ve always wanted to shave my head.
Lucky me! Sure I have no choice in this but I’ll wear your teenage rebellion badge proudly!
It’s only hair, and it will grow back.
Thanks, you’ve just minimized the trauma of wearing cancer on the outside for everyone to see. And also made me feel shallow for worrying about a seemingly superficial thing. Some chemotherapy prevents hair regrowth. Some women have bald patches when their hair grows back in. Some die bald.
Wow, you look terrible.
Thanks, I have cancer! What’s your excuse?
But you look so healthy!
You’re right, it was just probably some indigestion from something I ate.
If anyone can beat this, you can.
But what if I don’t? That’s an incredibly high pedestal to be placed upon without any kind of guarantee I won’t fall.
Congratulations! You’re done!
Cancer doesn’t end when treatment ends. It’s really weird to suddenly stop seeing the people who have cared for you on a regular basis, to stop going to a place that’s oddly become a second home, even though you never wanted to spend time in an infusion center, however fucked up that may be. There was a plan, a routine, a schedule, something to actively fix in a tangible way…  And then you think, now what? There’s a whole process of re-acclimating to the life you had before you had cancer. And sometimes it doesn’t work. And some things don’t fit back together anymore. And you’re changed forever, never able to go back to the person you were. And you’ve got to chip away at the mountain of emotional residue. And you feel more fragile. And you’re more reliant on prescriptions because you can’t stop wondering if the cancer will come back. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to celebrate.
When will you be all better?
Metastatic cancer is cancer that has spread from where it first started to another part of the body. A person with late-stage cancer will never be “all better.”
They cure cancer all the time now!
Metastatic cancer has no cure.
Keep fighting!
Bitch, please, that’s what I’ve been doing.
This is a really amazing journey you’ve been on.
I haven’t been on vacation.
I don’t know if I can handle it.
We’re probably not real friends.
It’s nothing compared to what you are going through.
Distraction can be welcome, and hiding what you’re going through makes me feel like I’m not participating in your life. If we’re friends, I care about you and want to know what’s going on with you!
I’m really sorry your friend lost her battle.
Listen, she was triumphant right up to the very end, she didn’t lose anything. She helped so many other young women around her who had cancer. She was brave and full of grace and was fucking robbed of the rest of her life.
God never gives you more than you can handle.
And now you’re dead to me.
And the worst offender: (A person) I know had cancer… they died.
Seriously?!?! Go fuck yourself.
Here are things not to say randomly to strangers, because you never know what they’re dealing with in life.
Oh you have much shorter hair than in your ID, what made you get it cut?
Look lady, I just want to drink some wine. Have a look at my birth date and get on with it.
Is that your only child? Don’t you want to have more children? Why not?
Maybe I want to have more children but cannot, due to infertility. Maybe I have been shot up with countless hormone injections and my partner and I have fucked like bunnies in the hopes of getting pregnant. Maybe the minuscule window which allowed for my decision-making process of whether or not to freeze my eggs was a complicated one which involved delaying treatment, dangerously raising my estrogen levels as part of the procedure, and forking over an insane amount of money which ultimately may or may not work. Maybe the behavior of my only child has greatly influenced my decision to not have another. In any case, it’s more likely to ruin someone’s perfectly good day bringing up a sensitive subject instead of opting for the ‘ol standby weather forecast commentary.
Here’s a whole bunch of things to say instead that won’t make you sound like a heartless asshole!
I’m sorry you’re going through this.
Sometimes a simple acknowledgement really helps.
This must be really hard for you.
I don’t really know what to say.
It’s OK for you to be honest about how you’re feeling. We don’t expect you to be an expert in dealing with this really tough situation.
This fucking sucks.
I’m thinking of you.
Do you need a lift home from chemo?
Specific offers of help are much better than general “I’m here if you need me” type statements. We’ll actually take you up on them, and they will genuinely make a difference.
If you need a laugh right now, you should watch…
Netflix recommendations are invaluable for days when we can’t get off the couch or resting from treatment.
What can I do?
How can I help improve your day today?
Can I bring you some dinner?
Take you to a movie?
Clean your house?
Watch your kids?
Walk your dogs?
Help you organize all of the paperwork?
Drive you to an appointment?
Take you out when you’re feeling up to it?
Fold your laundry?
Take you to a deserted parking lot where you can scream four-letter words?
Sometimes all we need is for you to listen to the scary stuff we can’t believe we’re saying out loud. And to not imply that it happened for a larger-than-life, blockbuster feature film, God’s master plan kind of purpose.
[Published on Medium 11.22.17]
Cancer Support, Rock Climbing

My First Descents Rock Climbing Adventure

So, cancer camp doesn’t sound especially fun, especially when I tell you that our meals were mostly gluten-free, dairy-free, and sugar-free. Oh, and there was no booze. And I was sore, terrified, and completely out of my comfort zone at times.
The Overlook Ranch in Estes Park, Colorado set a majestic backdrop for a week-long adventure this summer. Life slowed down for me that week as I temporarily set aside the daily obligations of a working, single mother. I hit my reset button and got enough rest each night, exercised each day, ate delicious, healthy meals, and emotionally engaged with some amazing individuals.


The First Descents Program gave me the courage to discover what I am capable of accomplishing, humility in the presence of so many strong individuals who recounted their years of struggle, and vulnerability to connect with people in much more meaningful ways beyond our common ailments. We had camp names like Paco, Princess Bear, Shaman, Cricket, Dexter, Dawg Pound, and Pow Pow. Buttercup, Peanut, Big Papi, Bumble Bee, CK, and HD. Scooter (Rooster), Queenie, Ice Cream Sherpa, El Rio Gordo, Huckleberry, and Pyro. Pistil, Spearmint, Rocky, Hans, Meetball, Indy, Again, Patches, and Hollywood. And I was Bumble. We left loved ones at home, pushed the pause button on treatment, and abandoned our everyday lives for a week to experience something incredible.
I challenged myself doing something completely new that I had never tried before and turned out to be pretty good at it. I sat around the campfire with my group as we vocalized gratitude for the day and the positive actions of each other. Little did I know, that first day of climbing as we all stood together watching “The Great American Eclipse of 2017,” yelling at the clouds to move out of the way, we’d share an incredible bond and get matching tattoos by the week’s end.
Programs like this are so important to young people with cancer. I can’t tell you how many times I heard from others how nice it was to be surrounded by people their age who ‘get it.’ Having cancer at cancer camp means you’re normal! And it means you’re not alone. Being a member of a supportive community that stays in touch even after the program ends is priceless. We were shown that eating healthily can make us feel better. We were physically challenged which made us feel stronger, even in bodies which sometimes don’t feel like our own.
Here’s my highlight reel:
  • Meeting Buttercup – walking arm in arm though Rocky Mountain National Park’s Bear Lake; her in a purple tutu and crown and me in a moose hat, sharing all things inappropriate and cracking each other up
  • Sharing something deeply emotional with someone, then having to ask their real name because we only know each other’s camp names
  • Literally waking up to a mountainside view
  • Giggling, snuggle parties, and late night talks like we were all 12 again
  • Ending each day with a campfire
  • Giving shout outs to each other
  • Huckleberry and Pistil for being vulnerable and giving us grace while we learned to see the world a little differently
  • Watching Cricket read my writing, which made her laugh and then cry
  • Getting matching mountain tattoos with my new friends on my birthday
  • Learning new songs and singing them all together
  • The food! Fish tacos grilled kebabs, thai, avocado pudding – All hail CK!
  • Feeling healthy! Low/no sugar, high fiber, low gluten, low/no dairy, no soy, no booze, getting to bed at a decent hour and getting up early
  • Overcoming fear and climbing, belaying my ass off, repelling, and multi-pitch climbing
  • Doing yoga with Queenie mountainside
  • Dining all together at the really long picnic table
  • Watching my new friends overcome fear and push through personal obstacles
  • Celebrating my birthday with people I just met, who made it so lovely! I got a card with a unicorn, a purple tutu and birthday hat to wear for the day, a signed placemat at the picnic table. I got silly stringed and I screamed as I walked up to the ranch then was surprised by everyone waiting there with decorations. Everyone sang happy birthday to me as apple crisp with a candle was delivered to the table. I even got to pick my favorite yoga sequences that morning!
  • Being so incredibly moved by Huckleberry’s quiet strength, their soulful vocals punctuating the day. The song they sang humbly about being born and everyone around you is smiling and you’re crying, and to live so when you die, you’re smiling and everyone around you is crying. This was in the dark of night, standing around a wheel barrow filled with water which carried our paper cups-turned-lanterns with little flames burning inside, representing those who could not be there with us. To feel that in the moment and have the courage to put it out there so freely, it’s as if they had no choice; their beautiful, soothing voice needed to find our ears
  • Feeling like I was living in a gallery every day being treated to these stunning views
And here’s what I’ve learned:
  • You’ll be photographed like a celebrity if you’re wearing a moose hat in the mountains
  • Really amazing friendships are formed when you allow yourself to be vulnerable
  • Celebrating your birthday with strangers is underrated
  • You can accomplish more than you think you can when people believe in you
  • Campfire shout outs should be applied liberally in life
  • Make time for things and places and people that make you happy
  • You CAN climb mountains while wearing a tutu and birthday hat if that’s your thing

If you’re feeling generous and want to contribute to the program, you can make a donation at my personal First Descents fundraising page. Professional images courtesy Rebecca Elliott, Sunnybrook Photo.




Mastectomy Tattoo

My Four-Year Cancerversary

This October, I celebrated my 4-year cancerversary. October 1st was the day I found out I had stage 2B invasive ductal carcinoma. As Nancy Clancy would say in the chapter books my daughter and I read together, that’s a fancy way of saying cancer. That same month in 2013, my wonderful surgical oncologist rid my body of cancer with a double mastectomy. So, I celebrate. Because I am here, I am alive, and I am doing things.

I marked the occasion by completing my decorative mastectomy tattoo, done by the amazingly talented Miranda Brouwer of Wealthy Street Tattoo! It takes up half my body and it is GORGEOUS. It is being featured along with an article I wrote in Inked Magazine! My friend and favorite photographer, Tyler Steimle of Ghost Code Studios spent some time capturing these intimate details in tasteful and flattering portraiture.

And then I put some clothes on and we took some fun and sassy photos in my trademark pinup-style look and favorite red heels!

Thank you, Miranda and Tyler! I am so grateful to have you creative, caring beings on my path to healing.


Dating After Cancer

How To Be Single

Did you ever see the movie How to Be Single? There’s a scene where one character dumps a bowl of peanuts on the bar top and sweeps away groups of them as she lists all of the reasons they’re undateable. Not peanuts — all peanuts are undateable, just to clarify. The peanuts are guys, in this scenario, if you didn’t catch on to that metaphor. Mine went something like this:

My friend Tom: What are you doing online? I mean, you’re a pretty girl and there are two hundred thousand people in this city!

Me: Yeah, but how many eligible people? Here.

[I dump a bottle of tamoxifen tablets on the table]

Me: Okay, there are two hundred thousand people in this city. Sounds like a lot, right?

Tom: Why are you pouring your medication all over the table?

[I separate half of the tablets]

Me: But, half of them are women, and even though I sometimes swing that way, our city is a conservative landfill in regards to alternative dating. Plus, most of the women I’d be into are already friends of mine.

Tom: Tell me about how you sometimes swing —

Me: Let it go.

Tom: I think the dog is eating one of your pills.

Me: So, one hundred thousand people. And then you have to have some age limits. Let’s say over 30, because I don’t have time to deal with millennials.

[I start separating the pills again]

Me: Under 42.

Tom: Why under 42?

Me: Because otherwise they message you on your dating profile and tell you about their sweet ride and their AAA membership and all you have to do is be a good wifey and cook for them… not interested. So anyway, now it’s twenty five thousand.

Tom: Right, we’re talking about twenty five thousand guys.

[I start separating the pills again]

Me: But half of them are married, ten percent are gay.

Tom: That’s still quite a bit —

Me: [throwing peanuts] Thirty percent of them don’t have a clue what to do with a kid. Fifteen percent just want to play guitar or Super Mario Brothers or whatever.

Tom: Shaneé, that game is from the 90s.

Me: Seven percent work at my favorite local music venue and I am not giving up going to my favorite place because it didn’t work out.

[There’s only one tablet left on the table]

Tom: There’s your boyfriend.

Me: I wish.

[I smash the pill with the bottom of my pill bottle]

Me: Twenty percent are going to be scared as shit when I tell them I had cancer.

[I start separating the little parts of the pill]

Me: Five percent are gonna think it’s weird I only have one nipple.

Tom: I think it’s weird you have a bunch of pills all over the place. That’s gonna trip up your game.

Me: And most of them are on Tinder.

Tom: These are the women?

[referring to the pile of pills on the counter]

Me: Hmm.

Tom: Thanks.

[He gathers up the pills into his hand and pops them into his mouth]

Me: Tom! Those are estrogen blockers!

[Posted on Medium 9.11.17]