Breast Cancer

My Living Legacy: Advocacy Born from Survival

Cancer doesn’t just leave—it plants itself in your mind, body, and spirit. Even after ringing the bell, it clings to every aspect of who I am. The scars I carry are not just physical from my double mastectomy, hysterectomy, and DIEP flap reconstruction—they’re etched into my soul.

Expected Losses, Unexpected Gains

I don’t like surprises. As a child, I was told that when I received a gift I didn’t like, I had to swallow my disappointment and pretend that I liked the gift. I found this immensely difficult to do, and would often say “thank you, I love it,” with a grimace and tears threatening to spill over the edges of my eyelids.

When Cancer Conjured the Ghosts and Revived New Spirits

Even before I was diagnosed with cancer, my still-young body was already plagued by exhaustion, and I was slowed down in my drive and rhythm. It seems as if my life was pointing a finger at me and saying, “Watch out, it can’t go on like this!”

Phantoms of Daily Life

I remember when I was first diagnosed with breast cancer: I remember falling to the floor and violently sobbing. After adjusting to the diagnosis, I had assumed that I would just have a double mastectomy and move on with my life.

My Scars Tell a Story

Mommy has an ouchy boo boo.
Kalli has nipples. Mommy has no nipples.
Mommom (aka grandma) has boobs. Mommy has no boobs.
Can I touch it?

Long Progression

“I’d really just like to feel like me.”

That was my go-to answer. Just wanting to feel like me.

When my cancer was first diagnosed, I felt like my body betrayed me. The only thing I knew had started working against me and now I was left with a fierce mistrust that followed throughout my treatments, surgeries, recoveries, and everything after.

Cancer Haunts Me Still

The ghost of cancer haunts me—its presence lingering in the shadows of my memories, a specter that refuses to fade away. It was a day etched in sorrow and disbelief, a day when the fabric of my world unraveled before my eyes.

Silenced by the Language of Cancer

As a cancer patient, you learn a whole new language. Well, it’s regional: I learned the breast cancer dialect; you may be fluent in lymphoma. But we all learn it—no choice, total immersion, keep up or die. 75 visits to the hospital in one year is one heck of a Duolingo streak.

Just One Puzzle

Imagine this—you are visiting your parents for a weekend trip that your kids have been counting down to for weeks. You are sitting with your family, puzzle on the table and snacks abounding. Your family’s love for puzzles has passed down generations and across marriages, and there are two rules: nothing under 1,000 pieces and you always start with the border.

A Specter of Myself

I lost myself. I don’t recall a specific date or time nor a fleeting moment. It happened somewhere between the dozens of oncology appointments, $10,000 bags of poison, the 100,000 hairs I shed, and the 100 pounds of weight I gained.