Pigtales 06: The One About Chemo

Post-Chemo Photo Shoot with Kait Miller Photography

Pigtales is a glimpse at the going-ons that take place (mostly) outside of the P&Q kitchen. Kiddo stuffs, things I love, general musings and other tales from my life as a momma, wife and semi-professional goofball. This particular post is about my personal experience with breast cancer treatment. For more about my initial diagnosis, see this post. I’ll jump right in with the disclaimer that this post isn’t going to start out pretty, and it likely won’t wrap up pretty, either. It’s not intended to solicit pity or, conversely, to suggest that what I’ve been through on this journey is any worse than (and in reality, I’m sure it’s far from) what others have faced in their experiences with chemotherapy or cancer or any other hardship. I realize that, for many people in this world, this cancer — which I am fighting, voluntarily, with Western Medicine and first world technology and a shitload of health insurance — should not even qualify as a hardship. But — and I say this with an acute sense of Privileged Guilt — it is the hardest shit I’ve ever faced. More physically and emotionally draining than I could have anticipated, particularly in light of … Read More

Pigtales 05: On Thankfulness + News

Family Photography by Kait Miller

Pigtales is a glimpse at the going-ons that take place (mostly) outside of the P&Q kitchen. Baby stuffs, things I love, general musings and other tales from my life as a momma, wife and semi-professional goofball. I wanted to share this post before the holiday. Wait, scratch that. I wanted to share this post a month ago — on Monday, October 24th, to be exact. The day that, as Lana and I were driving home from ballet, singing Five Little Monkeys for at least the twenty-fifth time and cursing the already setting sun, I received the phone call telling me I had breast cancer. I was shell-shocked. Dumbfounded. Numb. I mean, once I stopped the car and got Lana into the house, I was a snotfaced, convulsing mess. But aside from that first tidal wave of emotion (which was triggered by the singular thought that if I die, Lana won’t remember me), I kind of entered a silent zombie mode, punctuated every so often by a spoken aloud what in the actual fuck. Fifteen days later, the electoral college determined that Donald Trump would be our next president. It was a rough couple of weeks, you guys. But here’s the … Read More