Writing Prompt: Sizing Things Up

 Writing Prompt: Pick a day this past week and write about it.

Sizing Things Up

Prominently located on the first floor of Ohio State’s Stefanie Spielman Breast Center is Hope’s Boutique. It sells assorted gifts, but more importantly, bras and wigs designed specifically for cancer patients.

I made an appointment at Hope’s for Monday afternoon to be fitted for new bras. Since my breast cancer surgery and subsequent reconstruction, my chest is entirely different from what it used to be. Still, I walked in thinking the appointment wouldn't be that big of a deal.

Damn, was I wrong.

Cassie was the fitter assigned to me. An older woman with a nice face, she handed me a soft robe and gently told me to take off my shirt and bra. When she stepped back in, she produced a cloth measuring tape, wrapped it around my ribs and across my chest, and pronounced me a 42B—maybe even an A cup. Then she slipped out of the fitting room to find some bra styles for me to try.

I was left standing there, completely dumbfounded.

What happened to my D-cup breasts? How had I shrunk three full cup sizes down to an A? It hit me all at once, like a ton of bricks. I am a breast cancer survivor. I endured the grueling path of a mastectomy on one side, followed by an implant, and a lumpectomy with a reduction on the right side just to make the breasts match. My plastic surgeon did a wonderful job, but damn, I lost so much of myself to cancer. Why me?

The doctors prepare you for the surgeries, the incisions, and the physical healing, but no one prepares you for the sudden ambush of grief. My husband looks at me and insists I’m beautiful, but standing in that fitting room mirror, I struggled to believe him. On the outside, I stayed polite and stoic, but inside, I was sobbing. My body is forever changed, and I had no idea how to begin getting comfortable in this new skin.

I ended up leaving Hope’s in a daze, carrying a pretty boutique bag holding two new bras I wasn't sure I’d ever have the heart to wear. All this week, I’ve stayed in that funk—carrying the quiet weight of what was taken, trying to give myself permission to mourn what’s gone, and wondering how long it takes for a survivor to finally feel whole again.

Writing Prompt: Under My Thumb

 Prompt: Write about an object you became emotionally attached to.

Under My Thumb

This week’s prompt to write about an object I became emotionally attached to was a little more challenging than what I first thought it would be when I selected it for our group. I had to really think about it, and walk around the house looking at things in bookshelves and on the fireplace mantle for inspiration. 

I ultimately decided to reflect back upon my youth, reaching back in the dusty archives of my memory bank to find something intriguing to discuss. Then I hit upon it: Let me tell you the story of my trusty right thumb, and the years I spent sucking it! Yes, I was a voracious thumb sucker, all the way up to 6th grade. This forced me into wearing awful metal braces on my teeth to correct the damage that innocent thumb caused.

My mom says I loved my thumb so because it was a handy replacement for the rather active breastfeeding habit I had as a newborn. I don’t remember that far back, but I do remember my thumb and what comfort it brought me all throughout my Elementary school years. I was very open about my habit in my younger years, but as I aged I learned to conceal it. I was embarrassed I think for others to see me sucking away. I think too I remember my parents lecturing me a bit about stopping the sucking, and me being defiant and resistant.

How do I describe how comforting it was to have that thumb of mine nestled within my mouth? I guess it was like the pleasure I got from having a cigarette there, or maybe how it feels to have a tobacco pouch or whatever those things are called resting between your cheek and gums. 

Writing Prompt: Sweet Surrender

 Prompt: What do you want to surrender?

Sweet Surrender

When I think about something I want to let go of, to surrender, I immediately think about all the wasted hours I spend worrying. My worry mostly centers around things that are uncertain, or are in the future, or are things I don’t have control over. But I also worry about taking chances, changing up comfortable routines, indeed, I worry about most kinds of change. This has dogged me for a long time.

I’ve spent a lot of time talking to sponsor Shawn about all this, and my troubles just letting go, surrendering this harmful anxious habit of worry, and simply trusting in something greater than myself to handle things and give me peace. We are trying an experiment this week: to list three situations where I will ask for my Higher Power for guidance in letting go of a particular fear or worry. 

I know the first situation where I need help: I am currently extremely worried about an increase in cognitive impairment I am experiencing that is caused I believe from this new cancer fighting medication I am taking. Brain fog is a well known side effect which results from the suppression of estrogen this medication causes. My short term memory is getting worse, and I’m forgetting things. This frightens me.

But this morning as I was waking up, I silently asked my Higher Power to give me strength to let go of all the obsessive worrying about my medication. I thought about how I do have an appointment with my medical oncologist next week to go over things, and possibly get switched to a different medication. By surrendering this worry to the doctor to figure out, I can let go of the paralyzing fear that grips me.

I’m realizing that I’m finally writing again, I’m using this space here to unpack things and settle my nerves. How I miss my written words, I need to make a concerted effort as part of my surrendering to record my thoughts and feelings about that. 

I am really hopeful that today I’ll get some semblance of peace from less worry about my meds. Help is on the way, a power greater than myself (the oncologist) is stepping in to run the show, to restore me to sanity. I just took a deep breath and it felt good and grounding. Letting go can offer such relief! Why do I struggle so hard to do just that?

Now, I can so easily go down a rabbit hole of Why do I do this? And Why do I do that? But that ends up getting me nowhere. Overthinking breeds chaos, I am finding, and actually more anxiety. Let’s keep things simple, shall we? Ah, sweet surrender. Here, Higher Power, take my worry about medicine away. I hand it to you, oh wise one. And promise you’ll fight me off when I try to grab it back.

An Update on My Cancer Journey and Bipolar Management

 Hello there reader(s), I have been away for a long time, trying to get through this breast cancer treatment and remain stable as far as my bipolar goes. I turned 60 (!) along the way, signifying that I’ve been managing my bipolar with psychotic features for about 25 years now. I’m definitely an old timer in that regard, now dedicated to taking my bipolar meds religiously, as prescribed; going to bed at a reasonable hour every night; and living a life of much reduced stress (except when things like cancer pop up and you are thrust into the stressful thick of things).

I wanted to give an update of what is going on with my cancer treatment, and my bipolar. With the treatment, I’m done with radiation, I had 25 sessions, targeting both sides of my chest. Gratefully I didn’t need chemo. Last week I started up the final phase of treatment, taking an estrogen blocker medication that I will be on for 5-10 years. Fingers crossed, so far I haven’t had negative side effects including depression, joint pain and hot flashes. Actually, I’ve noticed that the crippling morning anxiety I’d been having since I entered menopause 10 years ago has seemed to have vanished? I’m not going to celebrate yet, but my God, what a relief!

Now, fatigue is something radiation causes, and post radiation fatigue is a big issue as well. Basically I’ve been worn out for two months, and I’ve been told I’ll still be recovering for months to come. Add this to the fatigue my bipolar meds (Depakote and Risperdal) cause, plus the sedation my Gabapentin causes (I take this for my Generalized Anxiety Disorder), and I’m left in my chair for most of the day and night. This is so, so frustrating! I’m learning I must be patient as I wait to recover, but gently push myself to do things like walking in the morning to try and move more.

Another thing I’m contending with is some additional cognitive impairment, on top of the difficulty my Risperdal causes. I’ve been told this is common for people going through cancer treatment, and things will improve over time, as I continue healing. I must really try hard not to panic and worry that I am permanently compromised. But it’s unsettling when your mental faculties are impacted. I’m talking about memory, ability to do things like follow my recipes and cook (it takes much longer than usual), finding words when writing, ability to write, etc. I think this is caused by”Chemo Brain” or something like that.

On my bipolar, I have continued to remain stable throughout my entire cancer journey since last October 2025. Heck, knock on wood I’ve been stable going all the way back to 2022, and before that blip, 2017. By this I mean my mood has remained steady, no mania (and psychosis) and no depression. This comes from two things: strict med compliance (and monthly sessions with psychiatrist) and complete sobriety (no alcohol and no recreational drugs like marijuana). 

The downside is I have continued to struggle with medication side effects. This includes fatigue, sedation, weight gain, hair thinning, lots of sleeping, heat intolerance and cognitive impairment. I’ve bitched about this for over two decades; I’m now at the point of saying, Hey, I’m 60. Let’s lean into acceptance and stop fighting things. I cannot risk stopping the meds and courting mania because my manias have psychosis attached. I have delusions, spend money, and wander into dangerous places. I can start drinking again, and I’m a recovering alcoholic. Just too much at stake, so I keep taking the meds. Side effects are just something I have to manage.

Ok so this is about all I can pen today, I’m getting tired from the effort. This is what I’m talking about, writing is difficult. I’ll keep practicing though. Thanks for reading. See you again soon.

Writing Prompt: My Mother, Myself

 Prompt: Write about the oldest person you know. How have they influenced your life?

Definitely one of the oldest people I know is my 85 year old mother, Wendy. She’s one of my major support persons, I have been calling her every morning for the past decade as I’ve been building a sober, med-compliant life here. My mother has over 40 years sobriety herself, so she’s a big inspiration to me in that regard. While my own experiences with sobriety have included lots of relapses, she’s been painstakingly consistent with racking up an extremely long sober life. I cherish the day in 2024 when I gave her a 40 year anniversary AA coin. 

The thing about my mom that I count on the most is knowing when I call her, she most likely will be there to pick up the phone and provide support. This has been crucial, particularly during my long, recent journey through breast cancer treatment. I do not take for granted how lucky I am to have my elderly mom alert and extremely capable of providing soothing support when I need it. And since we live in the same city, I’m able to visit with her often and do things like go to dinner, or just spend time with her in her home talking.

My mom devoted her life to being a housewife and raising her three children. Although she never had a professional career, she made sure her two daughters had careers and tasted independence before settling down and getting married. My mom had an active volunteer life, working to provide donations to the impoverished and also for years was a docent at the art museum and led educational tours for schoolchildren from across the city. 

She was married to my father Charlie for 48 years, until he passed away from bone cancer at age 68. I have always wanted to emulate her strong relationship with my father. Since he passed, my mom has successfully carved out an active, independent life, managing her affairs herself and doting on her three children, five grandchildren, and two great grandchildren.

 She’s a voracious reader, an intellectual, and loves a good philosophical discussion. These days she streams a lot of murder mysteries at night, and is particularly fond of the Danish series, I think because her  grandfather emigrated here from Denmark. I always wanted to be as smart as my mom, and it’s been a struggle having to contend with the cognitive difficulties my bipolar meds cause which interfere with things like reading, watching television, and engaging in lively dialogue. I’m not as jovial as mom is, and I get frustrated by that.

“Comparisons are odious!” mom says, when I wail about not being as productive or inquisitive as she is. And  “It’s hard being human!” my Mom said to me this morning, 

“Let whatever you do today be enough.”

Writing Assignment: Cancer and Me

Starting to write again after a five month dry spell feels awkward and difficult. Much has happened to me during this period, most importantly I was diagnosed with breast cancer and I had a mastectomy on one breast and a lumpectomy on the other in January.  I’ve hesitated to write this news down, not wanting to give this cancer a voice, a chance to take me over and render me helpless. But maybe I’ll find strength by naming it, and just starting to slowly write my thoughts down about my particular experiences.

So I’ve been on a breast cancer journey for months. My husband Michael has been incredible, supporting me all the way through initial tests and breast biopsy leading to diagnosis; switching treatment providers; another breast biopsy; three surgeries; bone, chest and abdomen CT scans; a liver biopsy; and we are now waiting for radiation treatments and medication I must take for at least 5 years. It’s been a long, stressful ordeal.

Michael has been responsible for nursing me, changing dressings after surgeries and stripping drains and emptying their fluid for me twice a day. He had the courage to look at my breasts when I could not; telling me I was beautiful and loved. That meant so much. I would not get up the courage to look at my chest until about three weeks post surgery in January. I’m so frightened of change; hopefully the experience of seeing my transformed chest and not being displeased at all might teach me once and for all that change is not such a bad thing.

So today I’m about 10 days out from my last surgery for awhile. I got my implant for my mastectomy breast, and my plastic surgeon told me yesterday I was officially No Evidence of Disease (NED). That’s the term they use instead of saying cancer-free or cured. Yet the fact remains I did have breast cancer, and I’m joining the ranks of numerous other women who’ve been in this boat. I had been so naive about what it means to be diagnosed; it seemed like it was something that always happened to someone else, couldn’t possibly happen to me. Nope.

There are several parts of my experience I want to explore in writing: How this breast cancer affected my husband, what he was called upon to do, how our marriage is affected, where we go from here. Next, write about how my anxiety disorder focusing on small, insignificant shit completely disappeared and was replaced by a strong, kick ass survivor mentality. “Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff.” Also, giving back, how can I contribute to the ongoing dialogue about breast cancer survivorship? And of course more topics will just come out over time.

So here’s my return to writing. Just take it slow, Melissa. Practice when you can. There’s been a lot going on in your world lately. Welcome back.

Writing Prompt: Night Moves

 Prompt: Write about a special Fall evening you had or write about what you’d like to do at night this Fall.

Night Moves

I approach this particular prompt with a sigh, because lately at night I’ve been conking out in my chair in front of the TV around 9:00 p.m. every night, and this is vexing me. I feel so old, even though I’m only 59. Perhaps I look at this as a rite of passage, trading in the late nights for an early bedtime, and waking up at the crack of dawn. This is just inevitable, particularly if you’re like me and take sedating evening meds every night. 

But can I rig the system, say, on a special night I want to stay up late, take my pills later and perhaps drink some coffee in the afternoon? Sure I can, I’ve done this on countless occasions. This is my new normal as  a bipolar who is rigidly med compliant: Evening activities for me to do take planning, and altering a pill dosing schedule that is set in stone for 7:00 p.m. every night.

One such occasion this Fall I’ll be managing my evening pill schedule is on Monday, October 13 when my husband and I are going to the Blue Jackets Opening Night game at Nationwide Arena. It’s actually also our 24th anniversary and we are celebrating by treating ourselves to special lower bowl seats for the game. The game starts at 7:00 p.m. and will go until around 9:30. Then we have to make our way back to the car, and usually make it home between 10:30-11:00 p.m. That’s when I’ll take my evening meds, almost four hours later than usual. 

Because I’m normally sleeping during the hours when the game is on, it’s very novel and interesting to me to be awake and watching the hockey action live. The fans can be loud, the rink chilly, the music and game feed thrilling to experience. My senses feel alive, and this helps to keep me alert and focusing on things. I cannot imagine being this awake every night of the week, but for hockey game days I certainly can handle being alert and on top of things.

Opening Night this year offers up a lot of hope and expectation that our team, which has struggled the last five years, might finally take it to the next level and have numerous exciting wins this season for us to celebrate. We have some really good players, capable of burying the biscuit in the net when we need them to. Hopefully our game we are seeing will result in a victory. Bring it on boys!

I’d like to note that my husband and I have gone to every Blue Jackets Opening Night game since the team was founded in 2000. This year will mark 25 years’ worth of opener experiences. What was it I was saying about being old? Sheesh. So there’s a little poignancy to this upcoming evening event. No chair sleeping at home for me! Let’s Go Jackets and all that jazz. Show us your night moves on the ice and get us a win!