🌸 July – My Sweet Month of Mine

July arrived with a string of “uneventful” days—almost close to normal. Before starting my fifth chemo 💉, I said goodbye to my coworkers, knowing I was heading into the final stretch. Just two more treatments to go, and I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel 🌅. I’m more than ready to get this over with.

This month, I continued rebuilding my strength. I had my second physical therapy session 💪—part of the recovery arsenal I began assembling back in June. Each visit brings me closer to feeling like myself again.

I’ve also become more social, spending time outside and soaking up Vitamin D in my backyard 🌞. My garden flower portfolio is blooming beautifully—geraniums, hydrangeas, and more 🌸🌿. I told my physical therapist that gardening keeps me active: it helps me stretch, bend, and reach my step goals for the day 🚶‍♀️.

And maybe, just maybe... I’m starting to feel normal again. Is that too much to ask? Let’s see 🧘‍♀️.

🌸 July 2, 2025 – Genes & Ingenuity

First thing this morning, I had my genetic counseling appointment—a key part of my cancer health plan. I’ve been wanting to explore the genetic factors behind my ovarian cancer. Was it environmental? Genetic? Or did one rogue cell simply refuse to die, become abnormal, and decide to settle in my ovary, quietly mutating into something life-altering? 🧬

Before the session began, I filled out a detailed questionnaire about my family history—both maternal and paternal sides. Every answer helped establish a baseline that could later be validated by the results of my genetic testing.

As I completed the forms, I was fascinated to see a tree map generated from my responses 🌳. It was incredible to visualize my family’s medical history—seeing patterns, connections, and how genes intertwine to create a living map of inherited possibilities.

When I met with the counselor, I was struck by her depth of knowledge. She explained what genetic testing involves, walked me through my personal and family history of cancer, and outlined what to expect from the results. If any gene abnormalities are found, they could guide future screenings and prevention strategies 🩺.

After our meeting, a thought hit me: What if there’s another gene quietly waiting to rule my body’s world someday? It scared me—but also reminded me that being prepared is better than being surprised. As Francis Bacon said, “Knowledge is power.” 💡💡

🌸 July 4, 2025 – Genes & Ingenuity

It’s the birthday of the USA 🇺🇸, and I wished I could fully embrace the holiday freedom. Right now, I can only manage a limited amount of outdoor activity—especially in the summer heat ☀️. Still, it was a beautiful day, even with rain in the forecast 🌦️.

I love summer. And this time, I decided to work in our backyard and begin transforming it into my natural Vitamin D sanctuary 🌿. So I did!

I started planning and picking flowers to plant. I wanted every bloom to remind me of something deeper: my vulnerability, resilience, sound mind, and grit 🌺. Even when things got bad, I managed to crawl out of the grave and soar like a phoenix 🔥🕊️.

That’s what these flowers mean to me. They bloom because I’ve bloomed—from cancer, ER visits, oncology appointments, chemotherapy, blood panels, ambulance rides, CT scans, MRIs, and living with a port for nearly six months 💉🚑🧬.

Since college, I’ve worked nonstop—except for the two years I was on maternity duty with Jacob 👶. After that, I went right back to work. And now, I can feel the determination in me again. This transformation needed to happen—and I made it happen 💪🌸.

🌸 July 25, 2025 – Nerve Check: 1, 2, 3, 4 My nerves have been complaining for the longest time 🧠⚡. After my follow-up visit last month, my doctor ordered an EMG (electromyography) on my left leg to assess nerve health.

Back when I was hospitalized a few months ago, on the third day of admission, my left leg began to drag—I could barely walk properly 🚶‍♀️. The EMG was meant to investigate that lingering weakness.

Let me tell you... this was no ordinary test. It was electrifying—literally ⚡😵.My doctor had described it as “simple,” but that was an understatement. At first, it felt like acupuncture: the EMG technician inserted tiny needles from my left foot, under the arch, around the ankle, and up through my upper leg 🦵.

But here’s the twist—these weren’t just needles. Each one had a mini microphone that measured the sound and vibration of my nerves 🎙️🧬. And that was just the beginning.

Then came the intensity. The technician began increasing the electrical stimulation through the needles. She checked on me constantly, but the pain escalated. I was crying 😢.

And she wasn’t done yet. Have you ever been shocked before? I have—but not like this. This went from level 1 to 10 in seconds. The current traveled from my skin deep into my nerves. It hurt. I nearly lost consciousness ⚡😖.

If I ever have to do this again, I’ll say no without hesitation.

Later, the doctor called with the results. Thankfully, my nerves in the left leg are healthy 🙌. The conclusion? This could still be one of those lingering chemo side effects.

The recommended treatment: physical therapy to help restore strength and mobility 💪🧘‍♀️.

Even though the test was far from pleasant, my effort wasn’t wasted. My nerves are intact.

Thank goodness all is well. 🌈

🌸 July 29, 2025 – Hallelujah, Amen to the 6th Chemo!

When you reach the peak of a hike and take in the full 360° view—yes, I’ve experienced that before. But nothing compares to this moment.

Today, I rose from the dead. This is the last time I’ll feel that chemo fog. My cells finally have the chance to rise, regenerate, and repopulate—without the fear of being ravaged by treatment 🧬🔥.

I woke up early, following my usual routine. Mike was just as excited as I was. We said goodbye to Jacob, reminding him (as always) that the bathroom is off-limits for the next two days 🚽😅.

Nurse Michelle welcomed me into my room, helped me settle into the chair, and brought warm blankets and pillows 🛏️. I set aside my chemo bag, filled with water and snacks. She prepped me and accessed my port to draw blood for my panel—checking that all my numbers were in range, or at least manageable 💉📊.

Once she finished, Dr. Rivard walked in with a smile 😊. She knew this was my final stretch. Seeing her felt like coming full circle—from my initial checkup, to planning, surgery, biopsy, staging, chemo... and now, the last dose to address my ovarian cancer 🎗️.

I asked if we could take a photo together—she gladly said yes, and Nurse Michelle kindly took it for us 📸.

As always, I made a few bathroom trips. I’m still fascinated by what my urine looks like after chemo—tiny bubbles that sparkle oddly. I even uploaded a video. People might wonder why, but here’s my logic: if I saw this kind of pee under normal circumstances, I’d think it was “normal.” Just like I once thought my ovarian cancer symptoms were “normal”—just part of perimenopause. My body had been whispering, “Hey, something’s going on in your ovary,” long before the obvious signs appeared 🫧🩺.

I asked Nurse Michelle—one last time—if I could film her removing my final chemo IV. She said yes again 💖. I wanted to capture the moment. This was it. Wohoo! I’m done! I said goodbye to the nurses, thanked them for their care, and walked out smiling all the way to the door 🚪🌈.

Later, I invited friends to come over and bring perennial plants to commemorate this milestone 🌱. I hope they’ll bloom year after year, just like I will. Grace and Mayet came; a few others had prior commitments. Mike was waiting for me at reception, all smiles—you could see the relief on his face. I’m finally done.

We went downstairs and ordered avocado shakes to celebrate 🥑🥤. Then we had lunch at our favorite Vietnamese spot, smiling ear to ear. We even had a group call with Jane to share the joy 📞🍜.

I’m finished. I am the light.

Now I can move forward and put my recovery plan in place 🌟

✨ My 6th Final chemo Reflection

So much has poured out of me over the past few months. Every moment counted. I revealed a resilience I didn’t know I had. I discovered I can be calm. I can hold myself together—even in the darkness of disease.

I’ve learned to accept. To trust. To be grateful. Because no matter what, life has been good to me. And I am proud of who I am, what I’ve endured, and how I’ve become 🕊️💪🌸.

Me and Dr. Rivard