We celebrate milestones all throughout our lives.
The obvious ones—birthdays, anniversaries, holidays.
And then the bigger ones that don’t come around as often—graduations, falling in love, weddings, the birth of a child, buying a home, a new job, a new pet.
And if you’re paying attention…the smaller ones too.
An A on a test.
Learning from a failure.
Trying something new.
A good vacation.
Time with family.
Even successfully training your dog.
Those moments count.
My cancer journey has reminded me of that in a way I didn’t expect.
Because now?
Every milestone matters.
I’m just over two weeks post-op, and the biggest one, of course, was making it through surgery.
But it’s the smaller ones that have been carrying me forward.
The first time I could get up to the bathroom on my own.
The day the drains came out—huge milestone. I felt like a new person without those annoying contraptions.
Forty-eight hours later—my first shower.
And seeing my dogs again.
That one mattered more than I can explain.
Being able to walk around the house again. Step outside. Move through my own space without feeling confined to one room.
Each step…a little more normal.
The pain has eased. I’m off the heavy meds—just Tylenol or Aleve when I need it.
Another win.
And then there was the moment I looked.
At my chest. At the stitches. At the scars.
I had built that up in my head—fully convinced I was about to see something out of Stranger Things. Vecna-level expectations.
But it wasn’t like that.
Not easy—but not nearly as scary as I imagined.
Another monster, quietly disproven.
Now I’m back to daily showers. Washing and drying my own hair. Even shaved my legs recently—which, honestly, felt like a full return to civilization.
My range of motion is improving little by little. I’m working for full range back—trying to avoid PT if I can.
I’ve been walking more each day, and recently made it all the way around the block. Stopped to chat with neighbors. Felt like myself again, even if just for a few minutes.
Garrin and the dogs are back in bed.
And yes—that absolutely counts as a milestone.
But here’s the other side of this.
Sometimes…waiting for a milestone is its own kind of challenge.
I like to call it cancer purgatory.
The waiting.
Waiting on tests.
Waiting on labs.
Waiting for the portal to update.
Waiting for the doctor to call.
Waiting to figure out if that weird little symptom is nothing…or something.
It’s a very specific kind of mental torture.
Because life doesn’t stop.
You’re still standing there like, so anyway…what’s for dinner?
The dishes are still dirty. The laundry still needs to be done. Your phone keeps going off. People still need things from you.
Meanwhile, your brain is locked in on one thing.
Those results.
This was definitely not written in the cancer manual I got.
Because from the outside, it looks like nothing is happening.
You’re just living your life.
But internally?
Your mind is ping-ponging between “it’s probably fine” and “this feels suspicious.”
Back and forth.
And the hardest part?
It’s not just one wait.
It’s waiting as a lifestyle.
Which is honestly…rude.
Right now, I’ve been waiting on my oncotype results—the answer to whether chemo would be part of my plan.
My doctor told me to focus on healing. Resting. Eating well. Walking. Regaining motion.
Not the next steps.
Which sounds great in theory.
Much harder in reality.
Because that question—what if I need chemo?—has been sitting quietly in the background.
Heavy.
That’s one of the strangest parts of this whole experience.
It’s not always the big moments people imagine.
It’s the lead-up.
The limbo.
The in between.
Trying to function like a normal person while part of your brain is off in the corner…acting a little feral.
And then—today.
A milestone day.
Post-op appointment with my breast surgeon.
My first expander fill.
Progress.
And then…the moment I had been waiting for.
My oncotype results.
A score of 19.
Five percent distant recurrence rate with anti-hormone therapy.
Less than one percent benefit from chemotherapy.
No chemo.
I have never been so happy to hear numbers in my life.
I think I almost danced in the doctor’s office.
For the first time since this all started—I felt real, genuine relief.
Recovery is still very much happening.
My skin is sensitive. Showers can be uncomfortable. I have nerve pain—pins and needles, little electric shocks.
My body is still figuring things out.
Apparently, that’s normal.
Another word I’ve come to appreciate.
It could last a few months, but there are milestones ahead—four weeks being the first point where things should start to improve.
So yes…we’ll be celebrating that too.
I’m planning to return to work next week—thankfully from home.
Another milestone.
The fatigue is real, though.
It’s strange to feel this tired…and still not sleep well.
Sleep has become a bit of an elusive friend.
Also normal, I’m told.
I miss being a side sleeper. I miss my usual routines.
Right now, it’s me and the wedge pillow.
Eventually, I’ll graduate to the pregnancy pillow my friend recommended.
And then, hopefully, back to my own bed—my own way.
More milestones.
There’s still a lot I can’t do.
No lifting more than 10 pounds. No cooking. No cleaning. No laundry. No walking the dogs.
As someone who likes to do things herself…that part has been hard.
But I’ve had help.
Meals from friends and family. Support in ways big and small.
And I’m grateful—because six weeks of takeout would’ve been a different kind of challenge.
Even my dogs are adjusting.
Snuggling looks different right now.
Peppermint usually sleeps like a person—head on my shoulder. Dasher prefers to fully body-check cuddle into my neck.
Right now, there are protective layers, careful positioning, and a bit of negotiation happening.
We’re figuring it out.
But I’m already looking forward to the milestone of “normal” bedtime again.
Because that’s the thing I keep coming back to.
Whether it’s big or small—
Every milestone matters.
And I plan to celebrate all of them.
