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Hello, and welcome back to hell. I will be your tour guide as we navigate life at 35 and beyond with BRCA-1-positive breast cancer.

We last left off with my first round of transfusion.

Chemo doesn’t necessarily mean you get the drug and immediately feel bad; no, it builds and builds until you are so weak you can barely get up the stairs to go to bed. I would wager that I spent 80% of 2023 on the couch. Sometimes, I made it upstairs to our bedroom, but it was rare, and if I did, I wouldn’t leave for the whole day.

After my third treatment, my nurse told me to be on the lookout because what little hair I had left from my rad new hair-do would begin to fall out.

I wanted to avoid this situation, so I asked Lee if he would shave my head. With that, we brought a chair to the bathroom; he got his clippers all ready and prepared to shave my head. This is a moment you witness captured all over the internet: women asking their significant others or barbers to help them shave their heads. It is emotional and sad, and yet you can’t look away.

That is not the experience I wanted. While I commend others for going that route, I did not want to document myself in that situation because very few things are not shared with the world via the internet or otherwise. My husband and I shared this tender moment, and it is something no one can ever take away from us. Yes, I know. I am writing this blog, so it seems contradictory, but it’s under my terms and at my discretion. Anyways, I can do whatever I want, so back off!

As the weeks dragged on, my hair began to fall out from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, balder than a newborn baby! Bet you never realized how vital your nose hair is!? Well, let’s put it this way: the tissue companies would be making EVEN MORE money off of us if we didn’t have any – it’s like a faucet you can’t turn off!

As we all know, life goes on whether we participate or not, and mine was no exception. By this point, I had undergone about five infusions, and I was just now beginning to feel bad. My older sister, Kim, had made her way to Fargo to take her turn caring for me and bringing me to and from treatment. It was a treat to spend some one-on-one time with her. We went and got lunch with our dad, had some NA beer on the Granite City patio, and went shopping in the mall like we used to in our 20s. I was surprised how quickly fatigue came; once we returned to my town home, I crashed on the couch while she read her book or worked on a puzzle.

It wasn’t long before she had to go back home to her family and job, and it was just me and Sprout again, holding down the fort while Lee was at work.

I have been very open and forthcoming about my cancer, if you see me in person or text me. I was entirely off social media through the thick of it. I encourage anyone in this situation to do the same. As much as people mean well, not being constantly bombarded with how are you? Or showing up at your house uninvited just to help out is so worth it! I was fortunate enough, as I mentioned before, to have people schedule times to drop off food for Lee and me and help around the house if they were visiting. We will be forever grateful for all the help we received. Still, it is equally important, at least it was to me, to have time to deal with the not-so-pretty parts of cancer without feeling the need to put on a fake facade because I would do that because I am a people pleaser.

Okay, now that we have the random tangent out of the way for this entry, let’s pick up where we were before.

While at home, I spent most of my time watching TV, snuggling with my sweet boy Sprout, and playing games on my computer if I wasn’t sleeping. I did get out occasionally, and one of those outings was to purchase a wig.

Now, I’m not going to go into great detail in this entry because I have a special edition dedicated primarily to wig shopping. Still, I had the privilege of shopping with my friend, Dawn, one of the owners and the graphic designer for Urban Toad Media. So, tune in to my next entry to read about our experience.

It wasn’t quite a month after Kim visited that she returned, but this time, it was for another reason entirely. I had been keeping my illness a secret from my grandpa, Marv, because he was very sick, and I didn’t want to upset him. My paternal grandpa passed away peacefully, not knowing I was suffering from breast cancer. On the one hand, I was grateful that he didn’t know I was sick and that he got to leave this world knowing the ones he loved the most were happy and healthy. On the other hand, it felt so wrong and dishonest to not tell him. We had grown closer over the last few years of his life.

I had the privilege of writing alongside him the year before (2022) for the 100-year celebration of the uninterrupted publication of the Tri-County Sun by the family of G.K. Ness out of Fordsville. (G.K. Ness was my great-grandpa.) It was an honor to have an assignment from my grandpa that detailed how his children and grandchildren (just me for now) followed suit in journalism or an adjacent career path.

His funeral was held at St. Anthony’s of Padua Catholic Church in Fargo, N.D., on July 25, 2023. This church has played a large part in my life. Baptisms, Weddings, and Funerals were all held here. It reminds me of my grandparents’ church in Devils Lake, N.D., before they moved to Fargo.

If you look at pictures of that day, you might not know I was sick, though I cannot look at myself in a wig and NOT see that my hair is fake. However, as it turns out, I fooled a couple of people. It is incredible what phony hair and make-up can do these days, but alas, I was also only one month in, and as the months came and went, so did my health and strength.

It is never easy to say goodbye to someone you love, and the journey to get there is even more challenging towards the end.

After the funeral and burial, the Ness family planned to meet at Brewhalla, the new addition to Drekker Brewing Company, and raise a glass for my grandpa. It was a beautiful afternoon spent on the patio surrounded by family and reminiscing about old times; I even showed some of my family around the brewery. As the day slipped away, we all went our separate ways.

I returned home, got my comfy clothes on, and resumed my position on the couch, where I would lie for the next 3 days until my Friday ritual of waking up early, applying lidocaine and cling wrap to my chest, and waiting for my ride to come around to bring me to treatment. Another ritual was added to Fridays: to get Snicker Smoothies from North Star Coffee, you know, the little brown huts you see in grocery store parking lots and such, on our way to treatment. It is a place my mom would always go to get coffee and visit my aunt, Laura, when she worked there during college. It’s the little things, like coffee before treatment, that can bring you joy in a sea of despair.

You may remember me saying I don’t remember the weekend after treatment very well. Nevertheless, this particular one was special after my grandpa passed away. My buddy, Nick, with whom I went to elementary through high school and who lives just down the street from me, now came by to visit. It was lovely having a long-time friend be there to hang out and not feel the need to be anything but myself. I have said this before, I’m sure, but. I am so blessed with the people in my life. So, thanks, Nick, for being the stand-up friend you always have been.

That is where I will leave off today. Keep your eyes peeled for my special edition entry on all things wigs! Thank you for coming along with me as I reflect on the cancer years.

Thirty(ish), Flirty, and Surviving,

-KB