When your cancer progresses to the tune of John Denver’s Country Roads — As my journey to find stable housing for myself and my children continues, I have gone, as Coldplay sings, All Yellow. Unfortunately, I mean this literally. I recently began a new-to-me form of cancer treatment which caused my liver enzymes to spike dangerously high. The results: Additional weight loss that…

Or, what happens when cancer collides with a single mom’s search for a new rental home. — I will tell you, readers, I’m tired. I would almost say that I’ve never been this tired before, but that would be a lie. …

My latest dispatch from the frontlines. — Yesterday, I sat in the 10th floor lobby of the Georgia Center for Cancer at Grady Memorial Hospital. As I awaited my CT scan, I took out my phone and searched for articles about the connection between autism and cancer. While I didn’t find much specific to cancer, I did…

A poem about all the stuff I’ve been forced to give up lately — So, I guess this is me now; I wanted to be free of all that confined me, and, suddenly, there’s a long list of foods to avoid: Gluten Added Sugar Dairy Did your prep include oil or butter? Thank you, but please count me out. For years, I thought it…

In a sea of pink, metastatic breast cancer patients matter too. — After my daughter arrived a few weeks early, I proudly toted her into my childbirth class. A ring of expectant mothers formed around us, their expressions a classic mix of shock and awe as I lifted her to my breast and demonstrated the art of nursing. …

Here’s what I’m doing to address it. — This year has been pretty rough for many of us, including myself: My cancer progressed to stage 4, my liver malfunctioned, my mother died, and I was walking through a crosswalk and got hit (& badly injured) by a car. …

I’ll be scattering zinnia seeds and watching Mrs. Doubtfire. — I remember September 1, 2021. I’d just returned from getting groceries and somehow managed to bring in most of the items myself. The night was warm with a hint of crispness in the air. I breathed it in deeply and marveled that I was somehow, caught up. My work assignments…

Insight into a 38-year-old, neurodivergent woman’s lifelong patterns of disordered eating, plus a dash of hope — For me, being neuro-divergent has always meant having safe foods. I would eat the same thing on repeat, and I had very little desire to cook anything myself. Despite my oddly high intake of sugar (mostly from soda), cheese, and carbs, I weighed very little and was often ridiculed for…