The Truth About Chemo Brain — And Why It's Not Just Forgetfulness
I forgot my daughter's teacher's name. I lost my keys four times in one week. Chemo brain is real, it's frustrating, and it doesn't always go away when treatment ends.
Honest writing about what it means to live with Stage 4 breast cancer — the hard days, the breakthroughs, and everything in between.
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Everyone celebrates when you hit NED. What they don't tell you is that every scan after that feels like standing on the edge of a cliff. Here's what scan anxiety really looks like — and how I've learned to live with it.
I forgot my daughter's teacher's name. I lost my keys four times in one week. Chemo brain is real, it's frustrating, and it doesn't always go away when treatment ends.
My friends loved me. My family showed up. But there was something only another Stage 4 woman could understand. That's why this community exists.
We don't talk enough about the grief that comes with a Stage 4 diagnosis. The life you thought you'd have. The version of yourself you lost. This is that conversation.
I sat in my car for forty-five minutes after leaving the oncologist's office. I didn't know what to say. So I just said: 'Help.' Here's what happened next.
I wish someone had handed me this list at my first appointment. After years of navigating Stage 4 treatment, here are the questions that actually matter.
Thirteen miles. Two years post-diagnosis. One very ugly cry at the finish line. This is what it felt like to run toward life instead of away from cancer.
No spam. No toxic positivity. Just honest writing about this life — delivered when it's ready.