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.

I spent a year chasing some future version of myself that would finally feel “healed,” but instead, I burned out. After a few health setbacks, I was forced to pause. To be still. To ask myself: If setbacks are inevitable—whether in health, work, or love—what’s within my control? What can I build into my life, no matter the circumstances, that brings me joy and makes me feel most like myself?

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.

This time was different. I was not sure what it was. I just knew it was not supposed to be there. “What the hell is this?” was my first thought, as I stood in front of the mirror — naked — feeling on my nippleless left breast. I went around and around, up, and down, even felt under my armpit. I massaged the right side — there’s no nipple there either. Only to feel nothing. I immediately thought — not again!

I don’t like a lot of things about myself; I’m one of those people who intrinsically dismiss their value and worth due to a less-than-optimal and abusive upbringing. But there’s one thing I do love about myself despite a long and tangled history: my thick, naturally curly (though often worn straight), shiny, healthy, unique auburn hair.

I stood in the bathroom staring at my own eyes in the mirror while my 2-year-old daughter “brushed” her teeth (read: vaguely chewed on her toothbrush). A week ago this part of the bedtime routine was driving me insane.