Embracing a new routine. March 13, 2026
Because I am trying to minimize hair loss by utilizing Penguin Cold Caps - The Original Chemo Cold Cap during chemotherapy, today was my last opportunity for the foreseeable future to wash my hair under warm, running water and use styling products and heat to dry it, so I snapped a photo before getting into the shower. What will my hair look like in the weeks ahead?
Because of my experiences in Haiti, I don’t take warm running water for granted. But today was different. I appreciated the warm water running over my head in an entirely different way. Washing my hair was not a task for the morning. It was a luxury to savor.
Ironically, when I went to use the shampoo and conditioner I love so much, both bottles were nearly empty, and I had to shake them down to get enough of each product to adequately clean my hair.
Starting today I am not allowed to use styling products on my hair, but I was told I could add just a bit of nourishment to the ends, so I chose to use this oil that I have loved for many years. (This oil is the reason my hair is always shiny! I am going to miss being able to use it as usual.)
I am allowed to dry my hair with heat one last time today, but I have decided to let it air dry to see how manageable it will be as I adjust to the new normal.
Many things will be completely out of my control in the days ahead, but I’m hopeful that having this one option will give me something on which to focus my time and desire to “do something.”
If I keep my hair, that will be a win. If I don’t, well, that was what was expected anyway.
A day in the life of a chemo patient. March 12, 2026
9:45 am
Today is the day I am scheduled to get my port inserted. We’ll leave for Novant Health Scotts Hill Outpatient Surgery Center in just a few minutes.
The worst part of the morning so far? Fasting. I'm hungry. 😂
Because of the later surgery time, I was able to walk at the beach this morning. For that I am thankful. As an added bonus, I found two shark’s teeth.
I bathed in the antibacterial soap… again. This soap and I have had too many meetings. I am not a fan.
10:25 am
Rick and I are here at Scotts Hill and waiting to be called back for prep.
11:15 am
Still waiting to be called back. Still hungry.
12:30 pm
The procedure is finished, and I wake up fairly easily. I’m hungry, so the nurse gave me a snack.
1:30 pm
I am discharged.
2:30 pm
I arrived home. But before that, because I was so hungry, Rick stopped at PTs and got me my favorite veggie burger. Now to rest up for the remainder of the afternoon. It is rumored Clara might stop by. That would make my day complete.
I’m likely to be a little sore for the next couple of days, but this puts me one step closer to being ready for Monday. Now it’s time to pack my bag for my infusion!
Countdown to Chemo. The last stop. March 2026.
“God loves us, so He makes us the gift of suffering. Through suffering, we release our hold on the toys of this world, and know our true good lies in another world. We’re like blocks of stone, out of which the sculptor carves the forms of men.
The blows of his chisel, which hurt us so much, are what make us perfect. The suffering in this world is not the failure of God’s love for us; it is that love in action.
For believe me, this world that seems to us so substantial is no more than the shadowlands. Real life has not begun yet.”
CS Lewis
When I went to my December 29 post-op appointment with Dr. Rossi, I brought printed out calendars of January, February, and March. I knew I would be starting chemo sometime after the first of the year, but I wanted to push that out as far as possible, so in a red Sharpie I had written down all of the events I had already planned for the first three months of 2026. I really didn’t believe I would be able to do everything on the calendar, but I thought that by stretching the calendar, she and I might be able to meet in the middle.
Instead, because Dr. Rossi understands my desire pursue quality of life, she was open to my finishing all planned events before starting chemotherapy, the last of which was this week - attending the Risk Management Network meeting in Orlando, Florida.
Tonight, if God wills, I will be back home. Tomorrow I will have surgery for the port placement at 10:30 am.
These 4 days with the RMN have been full of learning and laughs, and I am so thankful I was able to come. My friends even surprised me with a birthday cake, which was very special.
I also had the opportunity to give the opening devotion this morning, and I shared how there is joy in suffering if we fix our eyes on Jesus.
How thankful I am for these last two and a half months of travel that have allowed me to prepare my heart and mind for the days ahead. My first chemo infusion will start at approximately 9 am on Monday. I value your prayers as the day will likely be a long, emotional one.
“Dear brothers and sisters, when troubles of any kind come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. ”
Countdown to Chemo. Stop #7
POV: Run a half marathon with a critical care nurse. That person will get you to the finish line. 5/5 recommend that medical professional be your own son.
POV: Run a half marathon with a critical care nurse. That person will get you to the finish line. 5/5 recommend that medical professional be your own son.
The Myrtle Beach Half Marathon 2026 is in the books, and it was a great time.
The next stop on my Countdown to Chemo is tomorrow, and I can hardly wait.
Countdown to Chemo. Stop #6.
Concilium is the family I didn’t know I needed.
It has been my great joy to be part of the Concilium team for the last three years. Though we do trainings at a number of locations, my favorite place to train is in Sunset, TX, at a camp called Charis Hills.
It was here at Charis Hills in March of 2023 that I decided that I would move my care from Novant to Duke and that I would launch fearisnotmyfuture.com with this first post: The first text - March 2 — Fear is Not My Future. During those two weeks in 2023, I got a different perspective on my diagnosis, and I became determined to find joy on the journey.
Sometimes you find friendship in the most unlikely places, and some people become the family you never knew you were missing. That’s how I feel about my team at Concilium.
As I was planning my Countdown to Chemo, I believed this was a stop that would be good for my soul. I was not wrong.
We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance. And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation. And this hope will not lead to disappointment. Romans 5:3-4
I’m headed home today, fully conscious of the fact that in just a few days the Countdown to Chemo will be over, and I’ll actually be starting down a road I never believed I would choose.
There are tears, so many tears, as I think about the days ahead, but the memories of this week are tucked in my heart to bring a smile to my face when needed.
Countdown to Chemo. The Novant Half.
“If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.”
African Proverb
I would not have made it to the finish line today without some of my favorite people.
I’m sitting here on my flight to my next Countdown to Chemo stop with tears in my eyes because I have been blessed by knowing some of the best people in the world.
I saw some of my favorites out on the course, and their hugs were the best encouragement. I even saw the PA from my oncology practice and friends from Wrightsville Beach! Thank you to all of those spectators who accepted my sweaty hugs!
Special shoutout to Rick for rolling with it all this weekend and chauffeuring us to the start and finish.
“Goodness of God” just came up on my playlist. How appropriate.
“With every breath that I am able, I will sing of the goodness of God.”
I’m not looking forward to the days ahead, but I know without a doubt that I will have the best support system. How thankful I am for relationships which breathe life into my very being.
Chemo dates
You've walked me through fires
Pulled me from flames
If You're in this with me
I won't be afraid
When the smoke billows higher, oh and higher
And it feels like I can barely breathe
I'll walk through these fires
'Cause You're walking with me.
I just got test results from yesterday’s oncology appointment. Numbers are up again, indicating that there is growth and that (as suspected) the surgeons were not able to remove all disease during the December 29 surgery. That really makes the decision to pursue chemo that much easier as Lupron is not working for me.
A number of things have been happening since January, but I have been slow to share publicly because experience has shown that just about the time I think we have a plan, plans change.
I can say with certainty, however, that I am not starting chemo on March 13 at Duke. Instead, the plan is for me to start chemo March 16 here in Wilmington, under the care of Dr. Robinson.
Further, I have decided to have a port inserted, and that surgery is planned for March 12. I can have the port removed at a later date if I find that it’s not for me, but weighing the pros and cons of having one, I decided it was worth trying.
Another “worth trying” decision that has been made is the choice to cold cap with Penguin Cold Caps. I am fairly low maintenance when it comes to a beauty routine, and cold capping comes with a long list of rules, so if it is something I find too cumbersome or it does not yield the desired results, I can stop at any time.
Yesterday I met with Dr. Robinson, and we established infusion dates. Infusions will be in two parts that last, in total, about 5 hours. I will also have labs and an office visit with each appointment, so it looks like, in total, I’ll be at the Zimmer Cancer Center 7+ hours on infusion day. (This was a big factor in deciding to do chemo locally versus going to Duke and adding 5 hours of travel time to an already incredibly long day).
The current plan for infusion dates is:
3/16/2026
4/6/2026
4/27/2026
5/18/2026
6/08/2026
6/29/2026
This can change, however, depending on how my body responds to each round of chemo, particularly in relation to my white blood cell count (which is already on the low side of normal).
I have an appointment Friday morning for “Chemo Ed,” and I hope to walk away with an even greater understanding of what to expect on infusion days.
Recently a song came up on my playlist that I haven’t heard in quite a while, and I have listened to it daily since then. I believe it will be my anthem in the days ahead.
“You’ve walked me through fires
Pulled me from flames
If You’re in this with me
I won’t be afraid
When the smoke billows higher, oh and higher
And it feels like I can barely breathe
I’ll walk through these fires
’Cause You’re walking with me”
Countdown to chemo. Stop #5
“Yes, I have finally arrived at this Capital of the World! I now see all the dreams of my youth coming to life. Only in Rome is it possible to understand Rome.” – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Rome wasn't built in a day, but we saw a good portion of it on foot Sunday.
We had planned to take the high-speed train from Milan to Rome Saturday afternoon, but after rail lines were sabotaged earlier in the day, we were forced to drive.
The drive ended up taking more than 6 hours, but we arrived in time for a late Valentine's Day dinner with Haiti friends. It’s a small world after all. Tammy had picked the spot, and it was magical.
Sunday we saw Rome. On foot. For 5 hours - 10 am to 3 pm - we covered roughly 8 miles and saw all of the places we had on our list - and a few more that we stumbled upon.
At 3 pm, we returned to our hotel, had a lovely lunch, and were on the road by 4 pm - an earlier departure than we had planned via train, but with the long drive back, it seemed like the best decision.
After an unplanned stop in Florence for some gelato, we made it back to Milan around midnight, tired but so happy for time in one of the most magical and historical cities on the planet.
