tears in my eyes..

I have always been a crier. A crier at movies, not real life.

My husband and son like to remind me that I am sappy crier. Their favorite memory that they love to remind me and laugh about is when I cried during an Ernest movie. You know the movies: ‘Ernest Goes to Camp’ ‘Ernest Scared Stupid’ ‘Ernest Goes to Jail’ I am admitting it I cried like a baby when Ernest sang a song to his pet turtle in ‘Ernest Goes to Camp’

I haven’t seen it for years but I remember a part of the song lyric going something like”I ‘m so glad it’s raining so no one can see my tears” I find that line touching, so touching it makes me bawl.

Over the weekend the husband and I did a staycation. We simply needed air conditioning for the weekend so we went downtown and lived like royalty with room service and a maid. We did manage to get out of the room go for a walk and catch a movie. We went and saw the new Meryl Streep movie “Florence Foster Jenkins”

It was enjoyable! I had seen an interview with Streep talking about it and I remember Googling it to read the story of the lady. Even being prepared (I actually forgot some of the story, imagine that) I still cried. I cried and sniffled and cried some more. I laughed at myself. I am still such a baby about movies.

I am not a pretty crier and honestly I don’t think any woman is EVER pretty when crying, but I noticed three things:

#1 my husband loves when I get caught up in a movie/character and I cry. He finds it to be an endearing quality about me.

#2 my eyes sparkle. They truly sparkle when I cry. May be why Keith doesn’t mind the crying?

#3 that I still have emotions and am not a stone cold hard-hearted witch after all. I feel that way most days. Knowing I have tears, even if for a movie means that I still have a sensitive heart in there somewhere.


Weird and Random Renee Thoughts…

I am absolutely in love with the word ‘foobys’ right now! Get it? Fake Boobs!! Ha isn’t it a wonderful ‘Renee’ word? I used to make words up all the time as a kid. This is right up my alley.

I am in a Facebook group for the BRCA1 and BRCA2 people. Many women on there had the pre-mastectomy/reconstruction done to help lower their risk of breast cancer. They post pictures and updates of recovery and other challenges. One lady posted a picture of her breast tattoos. Yes, tattoos that cover her brand new foobys! I have NEVER been a fan of getting a tattoo (terrified of needles) but hers looks so beautiful and it hides that she no longer has nipples (I only have one left) I showed the picture to my hubby. He always told me that if I ever got a tattoo he would leave me. I used to joke around that I have an out. He  liked the idea and was so impressed. Now it is something I may consider down the road.

I was at a BBQ last weekend  visiting with a friend in her swimsuit and all I could do was stare at her breasts. Not in a creepy way, but in a ‘man I wish I had gone bigger way’. I sometimes regret that I stayed the same size. My plan was to never tell anyone about the cancer and surgery so the more ‘normal’ I looked the better. Of course it is too hard to hide the effects of chemotherapy. So much for keeping it to myself.

I went to the gym a couple of times last week and it felt wonderful to be moving on the treadmill. I wrote about how emotional it was. I have not been back since. Funny how life gets in the way. The ironic thing is I need to workout so I can keep my life. It keeps me moving, keeps my mental state stable and brings the focus back to getting revenge.

Last week I ate vegetarian for every meal during the week. I had real food on the weekend. I didn’t mind it at all and it was pretty simple. I liked trying to find ways to incorporate plant-based proteins into my meals. This week I don’t seem to care so much. I don’t know if it is the heat, or that I am fighting off a cold, or the lack of a good nights rest. I just don’t care and have been eating everything! Revenge on my body is hard!

Just when I think I am in control, I am not. Just when I think I have things/life figured out I am reminded that I don’t. I just have to find my new normal and run with it. Learning to embrace the journey of finding the new normal…..hmm.



Today I went to the gym.

This is not a big thing to most. Today it was the biggest thing for me.

It wasn’t a PR.

It wasn’t heavier weights.

It wasn’t a run.

It was me, on the treadmill having a moment.

Let me back up a bit. I was at the same gym on Monday. Same treadmill. Same goal.

Tonight was different.

I started my treadmill. Set my pace (slow) turned on my tunes and tuned out.  I tuned out thoughts of fear, depression, worry. I tuned out the pain of my swollen arm. I tuned out the fact that I wear my survivor/fighter shirts to the gym so others won’t judge me for only being on the treadmill. I tuned out that this is my new ‘normal’. I just tuned out.

With all this tuning out the emotions began turning on.

Fighting back tears. Tears of frustration? Yes. More importantly tears of shear joy that I am capable of going to the gym, getting on a treadmill and mostly that I am  moving. Moving my feet in a perfectly timed cadence. Moving forward.Moving my thoughts to emotions of victory.  Moving, moving, moving.





“Never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line!”

Today I have decided this is going to be my new go to motto. I know, I know, I am not Sicilian, at least I don’t think I am. Yet, I still feel very drawn to this statement.

The statement in my mind has become: ‘Never go in against a cancer fighter when death is on the line!’

Just hearing the words ‘you have cancer’ almost instantaneously feels like a death sentence. No matter what type, what stage, it feels like death is on the line.

This is when you learn that you are Sicilian.

I started this blog several weeks ago and couldn’t get the words to come out right so I saved it for a little later.

Since then I have lost this enthusiasm and drive. I had a really hard week my first week back at work after the oophorectomy. It was so hot and my whole body ached. I mostly spent my days at work trying not to cry and to pretend that I knew what the hell I was doing.

I am not hurting anymore, at least not like that. Thank goodness! But I still haven’t found this inconceivable drive. I know it must still be in me. Somewhere.

There will always be fears, doubts and pains. I know this. I know I worry about recurrence. I worry that my foobs will always feel like defrosted ice packs. I wonder if I will ever have my energy return. I worry mostly that I will never be myself again.

Then I remind myself. I work, full-time. I go out and do things. I have great friends. I actually went to the gym and did the treadmill. I still do my daily Cancercize videos. I have plans like bike rides, anniversary celebrations, BBQ’s and dancing.

I am in a slump. An emotional slump that is manifesting itself physically. This too will one day be inconceivable! I know one day I will focus less and less on the cancer and the toll it has taken on my mind and body. I will be the Sicilian.

Until then body, as you wish.


The nuts are in the drawer….

I know I am losing my mind. You know how I know? I found a bag of nuts in the drawer this morning. Truthfully it was a bag of raw pumpkins seeds.

I do not know when I had them out last.

I do not remember putting them in the utensil drawer.

I do not know why I only just now found them.

I was warned about chemo brain. I was told that I would get very forgetful. I was NOT told that even nearly three months out I would still be a space cadet.

The plus side to being so forgetful:

Drama at work (isn’t there always) I can barely remember what it was by the time I drive home. There are conversations I have with the hubby that start off as ‘oh yeah I meant to tell you about this three weeks ago’ or ‘did I mention this?’

Very little bothers me anymore since I don’t even recall anything happening.

The negative side:

I haven’t had the energy to blog, write, be funny in person mostly because I just don’t remember too.

I have forgotten my mothers birthday.

I can’t remember why my friends husband had his finger amputated.

And I honestly have no idea how the nuts got in the drawer.