This week has been a tale of two extremes. On one hand, I was out here living my best bargain-hunting life—scoring big wins like a dreamy toddler toy and an entire new wardrobe without breaking the bank. Nothing like the sweet, sweet high of secondhand steals to make you feel like you’re winning at life (or at least at shopping).
In the other corner? Cancer. This week it pulled a real power move with an unexpected ER trip and a surprise surgery. At this point, if one more well-meaning person asks me how I’m doing, I might respond with a primal scream or interpretive dance. Either way, I’m exhausted. I’m sick of being sick. And tired of being tired. But hey, at least I’m now tired and stylish in my $3 jeans.
So buckle up. Let’s dive into the highs of bargain hunting, the lows of hospital gowns that don’t close properly, and everything in between.
Bargain Bliss & Budgeting Wins
🐴 The Little Pony That Could (Be Bought on a Budget)
My toddler is currently obsessed with horses—like, wake-up-neighing, sleep-holding-a-stuffed-pony obsessed. And honestly, it’s been a dream of mine since he was a newborn to find the perfect classic wooden rocking horse for him. I’ve scoured every corner of the internet, visited thrift stores, and spent hours scrolling through Facebook Marketplace looking for just the right one. It’s like I was on a never-ending quest, and let me tell you, nothing ever seemed to check all the boxes—until now.
When I stumbled across a solid wood rocking horse on Facebook Marketplace for $50, I didn’t hesitate for a second. I probably messaged the seller faster than the speed of light. These beauties typically go for $200 or more brand new, and this one looked like it had jumped straight off a Pinterest nursery board. The fact that it was actually affordable felt like the universe was rewarding my endless, sleep-deprived bargain hunting.
It’s sturdy, charming, and—best of all—didn’t require me to sell a kidney. The look on his face when he saw it? Pure magic. He jumped on and shouted “Giddy Up!” within five minutes, and now it proudly resides in our living room as a full-fledged member of the family. Honestly, I half expect it to start getting its own mail soon.
👖 New Clothes, Who Dis?
Even through cancer treatment, I’ve been working on getting healthier—moving more, eating better, and just generally treating my body like something I don’t completely hate. And what do you know? It’s working. Slowly but surely, the pounds have been coming off… which is great until you realize one morning that every shirt you own makes you look like you’re auditioning for a role as “Disheveled Woman #3” in a low-budget indie film.
My closet had become a museum of my former size, and every outfit made me look like I was wearing someone else’s laundry. So I finally gave myself permission to go shopping—but in budget-conscious fashion, I headed straight to the thrift store. And let me tell you, I cleaned up. For only $100, I walked out with a full new wardrobe: dresses that hug in all the right places, tops that don’t fall off my shoulders, and even a few “just because” pieces that made me feel like a person again. It’s amazing how much more human you feel when your pants stay up without a belt and your shirt doesn’t double as a parachute. It was the kind of satisfying, confidence-boosting win I really needed—and I didn’t have to take out a small loan to get it.
🏥 Cancer Update: If One More Person Asks “How Are You?” I Might Just Lose It
You know that question everyone seems to ask me—“How are you?”—Well, I have a new answer for you: If one more person asks me that, I’m going to either start speaking in whale like Dory in Finding Nemo or, even better, bust out a PowerPoint presentation entitled “Still Not Great: A Visual Journey.” I have cancer, people! I’m not exactly out here living my best life. I don’t know, maybe people expect me to be doing cartwheels and juggling pineapples? Spoiler alert: that’s not happening. But here’s the real deal on what’s been going on.
If I could sum up this week in one word, it would be doodoo. The kind of week where your body betrays you in every way possible, and you’re just trying to hang on while juggling a million different things.
First, my immune system is like, “We’re out, guys,” thanks to chemo, and guess what I catch? Rhinovirus. Ooooh, sounds fancy, right? But it’s just a glorified cold. Normally, I’d power through it with some chicken soup and a good Netflix binge. Except when your immune system’s shot, your body’s like, “You know what would make this cold more fun? Let’s amplify every symptom and make you feel like a human garbage disposal.” Enter sinus headaches that feel like tiny, angry little people are hammering on my skull with tiny sledgehammers. If I could rip my eyeballs out to stop the pain, I probably would. And the runny nose? Oh, it’s not just a little sniffle—it’s like a walking faucet. Seriously, I’ve been blowing my nose so much, I’m thinking of starting a GoFundMe for Kleenex. The only peace I get is when I curl up in my cold, dark, quiet room, ice pack over my eyes, and pretend I’m not a walking biohazard. I might have even started talking to the ice pack. It’s that kind of week.
But wait, it gets better. The headache got so intense one night, I ended up in the ER begging for pain meds like a starved animal begging for scraps (thankfully, they obliged). After spending the night in the ER, I woke up the next morning and promptly had to go in for an impromptu surgery to replace my chemo port. The incision had opened up again, exposing the port, which could’ve led to a serious infection if it wasn’t replaced. The procedure itself was relatively minor, but trust me—it’s more than a scratch. The incisions might not be life-threatening, but they sure do feel like I’ve been run over by a truck. And Tylenol? Ha. But apparently a port replacement is not “major enough” for the good pain meds, so here I am, two days post-op, not exactly moving like a normal human being—more like a stiff, cranky robot. So, for the past few days, I’ve been in slow motion as I try to recover, all while dealing with my leaky eyes, nose, and the sinus headaches that won’t quit.
Oh, and did I mention I’m still flying solo as a parent? There’s the toddler—basically a tiny tornado with zero chill—and then there’s my ten-year-old, who’s firmly in her “Mom is my personal assistant/life coach/entertainment director” era. Honestly, it’s a miracle the house is still standing. Between the nonstop requests for snacks, snuggles, and sanity—and my own body deciding to betray me—I’ve been feeling like a hot mess wrapped in an exhausted, slightly unhinged, possibly coffee-stained blanket of chaos.
So yeah, How am I doing? Let’s just say it’s a miracle I’m still standing at this point. I’m sick, I’m tired, I’m sore, and I’m definitely not “fine.” But I’m here, I’m making it work, and I’m trying my best, even though “my best” might look more like a person who’s trying not to scream into a pillow every five minutes.
In conclusion, most of this week consisted of me shuffling around the house in mismatched thrift store clothes, no hair or eyebrows in sight, clutching a tissue in one hand and a coffee in the other, muttering to myself like a sleep-deprived raccoon. Glamorous, I know.
But here’s the thing: even in the middle of all this chaos, there were wins. Big ones. I scored that magical rocking horse I’ve been hunting for since my kid was in utero. I found jeans that fit and shirts that don’t double as tents. I felt, if only for a moment, like a person again—one who can be sick and exhausted and still feel kind of put together in a $6 dress.
This week reminded me that life isn’t just one thing. It’s not all bargains and it’s not all breakdowns. It’s both. It’s buying a $50 rocking horse while sneezing your soul out. It’s trying on a new outfit in a thrift store dressing room, then barely being able to bend over because you’ve got fresh stitches in your chest. It’s feeling like a mess and a miracle all at once.
So if you’re out there juggling your own highs and lows—whatever they look like—just know you’re not alone. Some weeks are bargain-bin wins and ER visits. But we keep showing up. We keep parenting. We keep trying.
And maybe next week, someone will ask me “How are you?” and I’ll respond with something wild and shocking like, “You know what? Pretty good.”
(But only if I’ve had coffee first.)
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