Stacy and I were like two kayaks, paddling down the same whitewater river. Despite all we had in common, we were never really in the same boat. As I plunged back into treatment as a metastatic thriver, Stacy was dipping into her first diagnosis, surgery, and treatment. I felt like I could share the random tips and experiences I’d collected with someone who needed it. She taught me how to draw my eyebrows and coached me through wedding planning. As Stacy completed her initial treatment and moved into “real life,” I waited for my miracle.

The hallway was long and fluorescent lit, and empty aside from the two of us, charging wide-eyed towards our respective adventures. Shoes squeaking on the flooring, I stopped abruptly, turned to her, and made a proclamation without thinking too hard about it: “Alright, you go to Scotland. I’ll go to Nepal. Then, when we get back next spring, we are going to be real friends.” Megan laughed and cocked one eyebrow with a mix of curiosity and skepticism in her eyes at my bold prophecy.

It felt quite late when I landed in Thailand. I had been on a flight for two days, if you include the time travel. Bangkok was waking up for its evening shift when I left the airport. As we drove to the hotel, the sky was dark, the streets lined with vendors selling everything from the usual t-shirts to tourist souvenirs to household objects like batteries and pots and pans! The excitement was beyond real… Thailand was on my bucket list for so long. I was ready for anything.

I have always been a girly-girl with a preference for feminine fashion. I loved creating fun, flirty looks for ordinary days. I loved heels for everyday wear (yes, even while working in the vineyard), and I loved wearing sexy outfits that showed off my boobs. My breasts were gorgeous, almost perfect – the kind that had a natural, yet full, teardrop shape with perky nipples. Until cancer happened. Twice.