A tale of tumors, treats, trusting Jesus—and trying not to impulse-buy plants
Let me just start by saying that if you had told me last year I’d be tracking tumor shrinkage and spending habits with the same intensity, I would’ve laughed you out of the budget meeting.
But here I am: knee deep into a breast cancer battle while also clutching my financial spreadsheet like it’s my emotional support animal. Because why not tackle chemo and budgeting at the same time? Apparently, I like a challenge.
This post is an update on both journeys—cancer and cash—with some detours through iced coffee, gumbo, and that $10 plant I wasn’t supposed to buy (but did, and no, I’m not sorry).
Let’s do this.
Squish, Pray, Repeat: My Latest Mammogram Adventure
So I had another mammogram and ultrasound this week. Let me just say, there is nothing quite like being repeatedly squished by a machine that feels like a cold, robotic panini press while a tech squints at a screen and mutters things like, “Let’s get a few more angles of this area.” She spent what felt like an eternity trying to get a good image—zooming in on my lymph nodes and re-imaging one spot in particular that looked…iffy.
It’s incredible how quickly you can go from “just a check-up” to “what if this is it?” The moment that probe lingered a little too long and her expression got a little too serious, my heart dropped. I lay there gripping the exam table, whispering prayers and reciting Scripture like a one-woman praise party in a cold, sterile room:
🕊 “Don’t be afraid, for I am with you.
Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you.
I will hold you up with my victorious right hand.”
— Isaiah 41:10
🌿 “Be still, and know that I am God.”
— Psalm 46:10
💪 “The Lord himself will fight for you. You need only to be still.”
— Exodus 14:14
🔥 “O Lord, you are my lamp.
The Lord lights up my darkness.
In your strength, I can crush an army;
with my God, I can scale any wall.”
— 2 Samuel 22:29–30
🕊 “I know the Lord is always with me.
I will not be shaken, for He is right beside me.”
— Psalm 16:8
🪶 “He will cover you with His feathers.
He will shelter you with His wings.
His faithful promises are your armor and protection.”
— Psalm 91:4
💖 “They do not fear bad news;
they confidently trust the Lord to care for them.
They are confident and fearless
and can face their foes triumphantly.”
— Psalm 112:7–8
And then…two radiologists walked into the room. Cue stomach sinking. Because surely if two radiologists come in together, it must be because one of them is there to gently break your soul.
But no.
It was GOOD NEWS.
✅ My lymph nodes? CLEAR.
✅ The suspicious spot? Just dense tissue, not more cancer.
✅ And the cherry on top? My tumor has shrunk by half a centimeter!
HALLELUJAH! I basically floated out of that room, praising God the entire way to my car, where I promptly burst into grateful, ugly tears.
All glory to Him. Seriously.
I celebrated the only way I knew how: an unplanned iced coffee. It was glorious. It was refreshing. And it was $4.32. A small price for joy. And yes, I got a small. Because we don’t play fast and loose with the budget—even when we’re being spontaneous.
Easter Joy on a Zero-Dollar Budget
This Easter looked a little different. My daughter spent the weekend with her dad’s family, which meant it was just me, my mom, and my two-year-old. And let me tell you, we had a blast at a completely free community Easter Egg Hunt.
Eggs everywhere. Bounce houses bouncing. Slides sliding. Weather? Absolutely perfect. My toddler ran around like the joyful chaos gremlin he was born to be, stuffing eggs into his little basket like he was on a candy stockpiling mission.
We even got a picture with the Easter Bunny—who, let’s be honest, looked like he moonlights as an overworked mall Santa. But still, it was FREE, it was fun, and I didn’t spend a dime. In this economy? That’s a Resurrection Sunday miracle right there.
Confessions of a Budget-Conscious Bunny
So, picture this: it’s Easter morning. My 10-year-old calls me from her dad’s house. I answer the phone, expecting a cheerful “Happy Easter!” but instead, I’m greeted with the deeply concerned voice of a child whose world has just been rocked:
“Mooooom… the Easter Bunny didn’t bring me a basket.”
Now, let’s rewind to Friday, when I very responsibly and proactively gave her a fully-stocked Easter basket early, since she was going to be out of town for the weekend. I filled it with her favorite things. I fluffed the tissue paper. I even included a few budget-friendly extras that made me feel like the Beyoncé of Bunnydom.
But apparently, early Easter Bunny = nonexistent Easter Bunny. Because my Friday effort didn’t count in her book.
So I took a deep breath. And then I said the words every mom eventually has to say when the charade can no longer be sustained by Target runs and Pinterest lies:
“Sweetheart… I am the Easter Bunny.”
There was silence. The kind of silence that only happens when a child is simultaneously processing betrayal and mentally reviewing every holiday she’s ever celebrated.
So I kept going.
“And listen… the Easter Bunny gave you your basket early this year because she’s on a budget. And she was NOT about to go out and drop another $25 just to maintain the illusion. The real miracle of Easter is the resurrection—not redundant gift baskets.”
Friends, the budget is real. And so is the exhaustion.
Now, I’m bracing for what comes next. Because if the Bunny is busted, surely Santa and the Tooth Fairy are circling the drain too. I’ve already heard her mention something about the handwriting on her Tooth Fairy notes looking “a little familiar.”
So please. Pray for me.
Pray for wisdom, discernment, and a really solid follow-up strategy for when the “Is Santa real?” interrogation comes. Because this budget-conscious mama is one magical identity away from being fully exposed.
But hey—at least I got away with just one Easter basket this year. That’s what I call a resurrection AND a recession-proof win.
The Gumbo that Slayed My Chemo Taste Buds
I innocently entered the grocery store with the pure and noble intention of buying diapers and wipes for my toddler.
Did I walk out with only those items?
You must be new here.
There it was: the deli section, smelling like Cajun heaven. Two steaming pots of gumbo. The angels may as well have been singing over the loudspeakers.
Chemo has wrecked my taste buds and robbed me of all flavor. Food is just…texture at this point. But that gumbo? FLAVOR CITY. It was the first thing in six weeks that didn’t tase like damp cardboard. I could taste the spice, the richness, the soul. I bought two bowls and of course two slices of sweet cornbread to go with it…like the responsible food enthusiast I am.
And yes—I ate them both. And I would do it again.
Fifteen Minutes and One Money Tree Later
I had to stop at the grocery store for two things:
- Dog bones
- Prescription meds
But the pharmacy was backed up, so they told me it’d be a 15-minute wait. So I thought, “What harm could a little browsing do?”
Cue the budget screaming in the distance.
I wandered aimlessly. I considered gourmet popcorn. I almost bought a bath bomb. And then…I locked eyes with a $10 money tree. You guys, it was cute. It was leafy. It whispered, “I’m fiscally ironic and slightly hopeful.”
So I bought it.
Yes, I know plants are on my “Do Not Buy in 2025” list. But here we are. Maybe this one will grow me some actual cash.
Chemo Round 3: Snacks, Scripture, and a New Friend
This week marked chemo round THREE out of six. That means:
🎉 HALFWAY THROUGH!
I came prepared this time. Snacks? Packed. Water bottle? Filled. Chemo bag? Locked and loaded with fuzzy socks and adult coloring books.
My dad came with me again (because he’s a superhero in human form), and one of my sweet friends from church dropped off some soup and sandwiches for lunch–because Jesus shows up in broccoli cheese. Food delivery is love language #1 during chemo.
But the real highlight? Meeting an incredible man sitting next to us—an 80-something-year-old veteran who’s been coming in for treatments on and off for 15 years. He had melanoma caused by radiation exposure while stationed on Christmas Island during nuclear bomb testing in the ‘40s and ‘50s.
His story moved me beyond words. The resilience, the history, the calm in his eyes. I finished coloring a page during my infusion—a beautiful floral design with the words:
“I will get through this.”
I gave it to him as a gift, along with a tear-out prayer card—something to bless and encourage him like he unknowingly blessed me.
So, here’s the state of the union:
✅ Tumor is shrinking.
✅ I’m halfway through chemo.
✅ I cried happy tears in a parking lot.
✅ I now own a $10 plant that may or may not finance my future.
✅ Gumbo is now my emotional support food.
✅ And I am still here. Still fighting. Still trusting.
Life is a messy blend of faith, finances, and fried cornbread. But through it all, I see God’s hand—steady and strong, even when I am not.
To anyone else walking through deep waters—of illness, debt, or anything in between—know this: You are not alone. Your story isn’t over. And joy, my friend, is still allowed—even in the form of iced coffee and $10 plants.
With love and slightly improved taste buds,
—Your girl in progress 💖
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