A huge thanks to these two beautiful women for driving all the way from southern Indiana to hang out, take me to what was supposed to be my last expander fill appointment (but turned into my 5th of 6th fill instead), treat me to lunch, and lift my spirits with love and a whole lot of laughs. I love you both so much.

I’ve said for the last several months that I can feel my heart being carried through this time in the hearts of my friends. I’m not a religious person. But I have always loved the Footprints poem. My God is Love, and my friends are incarnations of Love. And they are the arms of God/Love carrying me across the sands of this particular season.

Tonight I had one of those moments where, out of nowhere, a tiny reminder or little insignificant unexpected interaction will detonate a giant shockwave of grief and overwhelm—a resounding “What the fuck?”—of what has unfolded in my life in this last year. I was trying to describe what it’s like to feel out of place in my own body—to feel unrecognizable to myself in some way—to no longer have any feeling in my entire chest at all—to know I never will again. I was trying to explain that the expander fills have helped a little with the body dysmorphia as I wait for post-mastectomy reconstruction, but that this journey with my body has just been downright hard as hell, in a wide variety of unexpected ways. And as I was talking about the bizarre experience of getting the expanders filled, I just broke down. Out of the blue. No warning. And I was mortified.

But in the way that God/Love brings me the right incarnations at just the right time, I was filled with the humility that comes from a friend who receives that kind of a moment with grace, compassion, and love, a friend who extended his arms and quietly let me walk into them and have a good, old-fashioned ugly cry.

And afterwards, I felt whole and strong and held and safe again. I felt okay. Back to the business of putting one foot in front of the other until I’m on the other side of this chapter, forever changed, certainly softened, and filled with the wisdom of whatever this season is inevitably gifting me.

Five fills done. One to go. Two surgeries done. Two (possibly three) to go. Left. Right. Horizon. Breathe.

Onward.

Big hugs and big love, friends.