It’s been a whole week since I had the vet put my beloved Boomer dog down. I have cried and sobbed so much that I’m convinced I have run out of tears.
Boomer followed me every where. If I was outside doing yard work, Boomer was also outside. If I was inside but her sister Mal was also outside, Boomer would be inside with me. She would keep me company in my office as I worked from home, and Boomer slept on her bed in my bedroom. It broke my heart last year when I had to ban her from going up and down the stairs because she had way too many trip and falls.
Boomer was also a very talkative dog. She barked allllll the time, even when I wanted her to stop. If she was frustrated, she barked. If she wanted my attention, she barked. If she wanted me to play with her and her stuffies, she barked. I could not have picked a more appropriate name for her.
I also didn’t realize how much I talked to Boomer every day or sing absolute unhinged songs about her to her. I would hold full conversations with her about how much I loved her, her silliness, or my day. Now, it is just so quiet in my house. Boomer’s sister is not vocal inside the house (just outside the house).
Even when I kicked my no-good, cheating ex out of my house, I never felt alone because I had Boomer. She was always by my side.
I used to think my past breakups were heartbreaking. They pale in comparison to losing my heart dog. You get over breakup, especially. I will never get over losing Boomer. I still look for her every day. She was my purpose in life when I had none. She gave me a reason to get up when I wanted to stay laying down. She saved me time and time again.
Until we meet again, Boomer. I hope Mom was greeting you at the Rainbow Bridge, and Aunt Maggie (aka the Beags) also met you at the entrance. I loved you every day of your life, and I will love you for the rest of mine. Death can’t and won’t change that.
It is with a heavy heart that I announce the passing of the most beloved dog, Boomer TheDog Huffman (aka Boomer T Dog, Boomie, Boomerlicious, Boom Boom). Boomer is survived by her heart-broken mother, Lara, and her sister, Mal, who is probably happy that she is now an only dog. Her mom, however, is devastated, and will forever have a Boomer-shaped hole in her heart.
Boomer enjoyed de-squeaking and de-fluffing toys, playing keep-away because nothing made her happier than having a toy she thought YOU wanted, modeling for her photographer Mom, patrolling her backyard with her sister, and making sure nobody had fun without her present (aka the Fun Police).
Boomer wasn’t just any ordinary dog. She was a life saver. Boomer was a Christmas gift to her Mom from her now Ex. Boomer arrived in her Mom’s life when she was going through treatment for Stage 1 breast cancer and thyroid cancer. She kept her Mom company during chemotherapy, radiation, and multiple surgeries. There were many naps together.
After treatment ended for Stage 1 breast cancer, her Mom ended up suffering from debilitating depression. Boomer was her Mom’s anchor when life seemed hopeless and void of any happiness. When her Mom finally sought help, a therapist asked her what’s kept her from making a plan, the response was: “Boomer. I have to stick around for Boomer.” When nothing in life seemed worth living, her Mom had Boomer.
Boomer’s greatest love was people. She absolutely loved everybody and everyone. Boomer had many honorary aunties who loved her fiercely. She never met another human being that she didn’t immediately love. Not once was she ever scared of going to the vet because all the vets and vet techs were her BFFs.
Her Mom is going to miss her dog shadow and canine garbage disposal when she cooked. Boomer loved cucumbers, bell peppers, bananas, everything. She was part lab, after all. She was the Goodest girl, the best. The fact that a large breed dog like Boomer made it to 13 is amazing and for that, her Mom will always be grateful but still believe there should have been more time.
If you feel inclined to honor Boomer, please make a donation to Senior Pet and Animal Rescue, a local non-profit in Pittsburgh dedicated to helping senior pets.
Until we meet again, Boomer. I will be running full speed toward you andMom when it’s my time.My heart is broken.
Buckle up for a story time on how I ended up at the Emergency Room and then two nights in the hospital. I’m okay now or at least, I’m on my way to being okay.
Last Friday evening, my stomach started to do the thing it does where it makes me want to die just a little by making everything, um, explosive. When I woke up last Saturday, I had a splitting headache that didn’t feel like my typical sinus headache. I took Ibuprofen to get rid of the headache, and it took roughly three or four hours for the headache to go away.
Between my stomach problems and headache, the day was not looking good for me.
However, my boyfriend came over to my house in the afternoon to hang out. I was hoping my day could get back on track after such a rough start. We were watching TV, and I was laying on him, as I normally do. I started feeling extremely cold, which is unusual for me. I am never cold. When I began to shiver, I knew something was wrong with me.
I took my temp, and it read 100.4. I took ibuprofen in an effort to break the fever. I really did not want to go to the ER. I re-took my temp before going to bed and it was 99.3. Before going to sleep, I felt confident that I could avoid going to the ER.
When I woke up at 3:30 am on Sunday because of my explosive stomach, I realized that I was wrong. I took my temp and it read 101.2. I called the on-call oncologist, who quickly told me, “Yes, go straight to the ER.”
I asked my neighbor to take me to a community hospital ER because I wanted to generally stay away from people. Honestly, I thought I would just be receiving fluids in the ER and sent home with antibiotics for my fever, but that’s not what happened.
They asked me if I had any cough, and I responded, “Yeah. Just a slight dry cough.” The doctor ordered a chest CT with contrast. Shortly thereafter, the doctor came back to my room to tell me that I had blood clots in both lungs, and they would be admitting me. On top of the blood clots, they diagnosed me with colitis.
It took me several moments to process what they told me. A blood clot? Blood clots? I had no idea. The doctor asked me if I had been experiencing any shortness of breath, and I replied, “Yeah, I noticed shortness of breath when I went up and down stairs, but I just thought it was because I’m fat now.” Other than that, I was not experiencing any other noticeable symptoms.
Since I was being admitted, the community hospital had to get an ambulance to transfer me from their facility to the downtown main hospital. The one tech really lectured the hell out of me for coming to the community hospital when I should have gone to main hospital location. I told him, “I thought I was just coming in for fluids. I had no idea this was happening.” Grr.
I spent three days, two nights in the hospital. I was hooked up to a heperin trip and had my left arm poked and prodded so much that I felt like a human pin cushion. The nurses had to routinely take blood from me to monitor the heperin, and they had to access my veins through my hand and wrist. I am pretty sure you could torture me for information by obtaining blood through my wrist.
After I got home, I used two days to rest up from my three-day stint in the hospital pokey. I am still processing what happened to me. Breast cancer, blood clots, colitis… oh my. Talk about an evil trifecta designed to make me miserable and tired. They sent me home with a starter back of Eliquis, and I’m adjusting to my life on blood thinners.
Once again, I am adjusting to a new normal, and my new normal now involves me being tired quite a bit. Good times, good times.
If you know me, then you know that I have never considered myself a religious person. I was raised Catholic, but as soon as my dad told me that I was an adult in the Catholic Church’s eyes and no longer had to go, I peaced out so hard. After that, I would only attend church on Christmas and Easter for my dad, but I would never willingly attend church by myself on days that weren’t religious holidays.
After my dad retired at 65 and moved down to Florida, I stopped going all together.
My connection to the Catholic Church was only through my dad, and when he was removed from the equation, I had zero connection to the church. If I ever spend a Christmas or Easter with him, I’m sure I’ll probably attend church with him but other than weddings or funerals, I will not go.
While I do not considerer myself Catholic or religious, I wouldn’t consider myself an atheist. I have been identifying as an agnostic for two decades now. I feel absolutely nothing whenever I’m in a mass and a priest or pastor is talking about the word of God. My main issue is that I just cannot separate organized religion from the harm it has caused in the world.
A friend of mine shared this spot-on quote with me:
The greatest single cause of atheism in the world today is Christians who acknowledge Jesus with their lips, then walk out the door and deny him by their lifestyle. That is what an unbelieving world simply finds unbelievable.
Brennan Manning
I cannot and will not separate the Catholic church from all of the the documented abuse and coverup. Story, after story, after story, after story, after story, after story, after story, after story, after story, after story. I could keep going when it comes to abuse in the Catholic church. It’s not specific to the Catholic Church. In 2022, news broke about abuse in the the Southern Baptist church. The LDS church has not been immune from this either.
I understand that it’s not all Catholics, Baptists or LDS members. I have loved ones who are members of these churches, and they are fantastic, loving people. My issue is primarily with the institutions itself, as well as the individual members who want to use their religion to be hateful toward marginalized groups. Regardless, my neuro-spicy brain cannot reconcile the disconnect between these religious institutions screaming about “protecting the children” when it comes to LGBTQ people while ignoring the actual child abuse within their own places of worship.
Some of the worst people I’ve come across claim to be a child of Christ but then say or do the most absolute hateful things to people. You know the ones. The people who actually seem gleeful when they condemn others to pain and suffering in hell. Who does that? Who feels satisfaction and joy at the idea of other people suffering for eternity? That’s sadistic and pretty sure that’s the opposite of Christ like. These people use their religion as a license to just be hateful to others.
When I walk past Church members on the street picketing an abortion clinic, I wonder how many of them actually care about all those babies once they are born. Did they vote for the candidate advocating for subsidized childcare, free lunches for kids at school, common sense gun legislation so kids don’t get shot up in school, or paid medical leave for parents?
I would not be opposed to attending a place of worship if I thought it was a good fit. I just would not associate myself with any religion that spends more time oppressing marginalized communities or screaming at women than actually helping communities. I do not understand those who are more focused on what might happen when we die than focusing on what is going on while we are still alive.
However, if I ever get married, I would never get married in the Catholic church. The idea of going through marriage classes with a priest sounds like absolute hell on earth for me. As much as I love my dad, I draw the line at lying to priests about my beliefs or lack thereof.
Whenever I do die, I absolutely do not want a Catholic priest for my memorial service or even have there be a Catholic mass. That’s the last thing I would want. If my family wants to do that for themselves, I can’t stop them but I hope they understand that the mass would be for them and not a way to honor me. I do feel the presence of God whenever I’m walking in a trail and surrounded by nature.
When I’m gone, I want to be cremated and spread out throughout as many forests possible. That way, there would be no grave marker for me but my loved ones could visit me whenever they step foot on any trail.
I moved into my yellow brick house in 2010, and since day 1, I have hated the yellow and green main bathroom. In recent years, I have seen some serious water damage coming from my bathroom in my kitchen ceiling. In one corner of my kitchen, you can see obvious water damage to the drop ceiling tile that looked like it came from the toilet.
After many years and aggressively saving what I could, my bathroom is finally being remodeled. Squeeeeeee. I hired a contractor that my friend, Amy, had hired and recommended. I was so nervous about hiring any contractor, especially after two of my friends had a contractor horror story, resulting in losing $17 grand. So when a friend recommended a contractor and his price was reasonable, I jumped on it.
I’ve been dreaming about and talking for years about renovating my bathroom, and now it’s currently happening. My nerves are shot to hell due to happy excitement and anxious excitement. This is going to cost so much money BUT I’m going to have a waterproof bathroom in an aesthetic that I actually like. I will be able to take a shower without worrying about the ceiling in my kitchen collapsing.
This new bathroom also means that friends can visit me and actually stay with me! Last time my best friend was in town, I ended up paying for her to stay in a nearby hotel room instead of staying with me. I didn’t want to subject her to my bathroom, plus I didn’t have a functioning spare room for her either. Thanks to my wonderful boyfriend, he fixed the broken bed in the spare room and now there’s a place for someone else to sleep here!
I wonder what my stress and anxiety levels will feel like when the renovation is 100 percent done. Ever since my stage 4 diagnosis, I have been worried about what is going to happen when I can no longer work. If I had to sell my house and move somewhere, I knew my awful bathroom and kitchen would screw me over. Now, I’ll just have my kitchen as the main project to do next.
When all of this is done, will I finally be able to relax?
This month has been a busy one with scans and doctor’s appointments, and I am happy to report that I remain stable and unremarkable (*insert joke about my mental health here).
Earlier this month, I had my yearly brain MRI, and I was nervous about this one, to be honest. I have been experiencing more headaches than normal and some ringing in my ears. Happy to report that the brain MRI showed that my brain tumor has not grown in the past year, and I still do not have any brain lesions. My headaches are more than likely due to the up and down weather and that always beats up my sinuses. I experienced one headache that felt like an ice pick going to my right temple, and it took me out for the entire day.
This week, I had my most recent round of scans – a nuclear bone scan and a CT with contrast. I am happy to report that my CT scan shows that I’m stable and unremarkable. The nuclear bone scan also shows that my sternal met remains stable, and I do not have any new mets in my skeleton. The scan did show degenerative changes in my spine and both my knees (!!!!). Great, I’m officially old, ha.
When I saw that my knees are showing degenerative changes, it made me relieved that I gave up running in late 2021. I do miss running, but I actually miss all the time I got to spend with my running friends. I should really make an effort to volunteer for races this year so I can still be part of the community that I love so much. I don’t have to run to still be part of the running community.
The news I got this month feels like such a relief. My birthday is next week, and now I feel like I can celebrate another year on this planet. Every birthday feels like a satisfying fuck you to breast cancer. For so long, I thought I was going to be dead from breast cancer at 40 just like my mom. Here I am, about to turn 43, and my cancer is stable and I’m going to the gym on a regular basis. I have an amazing boyfriend who makes me so loved and happy. The best way I can ever “beat” stage 4 cancer is to keep living my best life.
“You beat cancer by how you live, why you live, and in the manner in which you live.”
As 2022 comes to an end, I want to reflect back on what was a pretty transformative year for me. To my surprise and probably everyone else who knows me, I am ending this year in such a great mind space.
The biggest highlight for 2022 – my cancer has been stable, and I remain unremarkable. That is absolutely my number one highlight. If I can go a whole year without any surgeries and/or progression, then that’s a big win in my book. I have seen the struggles that my friends who also have stage 4 have gone through in 2022, so I remain grateful and appreciative that I have been okay this year.
I probably do need to get a cane to help me walk in certain situations because concrete surfaces make my back hurt and ache. It took me awhile to come to terms with that fact, but I got over it. Who cares if I need a mobility aid to walk long distances on concrete? My other option is to just stay home, and I don’t care to do that. I want to keep moving, and I should not let my weird pride get in the way.
I had a handful of big wins at work this year. I really enjoy figuring things out and working with data. I participated in an initiative this year that focused on data analytics. Because of the work done in 2022, I am confident that an audit I have kicking off on Jan 3 will go as smoothly as possible. I have big plans for 2023 because your gal here is gunning for a promotion. I know when I go back to work next week, my life is going to get super hectic so I’m just enjoying this week off (aka calm before the storm).
The transformative part of my year happened during the later half of the year. I really thought my ex dumping me was going to destroy me. We had been together for 6 years, and I really didn’t have any issues with him like I did the ex before him. He didn’t gaslight me or cheat on me with prostitutes and Sugar Baby websites like the Other Guy did. The breakup did negatively impact me and that period afterwards was absolutely brutal. I rebounded though, and I came through it stronger.
You know how and why I came through it stronger? Easy – supportive friends and years of therapy, baby. (Plus, I blocked him on all social media because once I’m done, I am 100 percent done.) I credit therapy with helping me quickly realize I needed to channel my feelings into something productive, and I did. I went back to the gym a month ago. More importantly, I’ve been cooking more in these last four months than I probably have in the last four years. I fucking love it, and I am having so much fun learning new techniques. These wins in the kitchen have done so much for my self-esteem and self-worth.
I am not hopeless. I am not a lost cause!
2022 has ended on such a high note. I’ve met a new man, and he makes me so ridiculously happy. I’ve been grinning so much in the last month or so that sometimes my face hurts from smiling so much. I am looking forward to what adventures await him and I in the new year.
Every year, my new year’s resolution is the same – Read More Books. This year, I’m going to add a new one – have more fun with Boyfriend (name redacted) in 2023. I’ll be successful.
In my effort to get up swinging again (see what I did there), I joined a local gym several weeks ago that offers personal training for an additional cost. I had heard from a friend who joined the gym already that a personal trainer I worked with previously now worked at this gym. I saw Anthony for personal training pre-Covid and pre-Stage 4 diagnosis. Every week, he would kick my ass during these sessions. I would leave the trainer appointment just an absolute sweaty mess and legs that felt like they were jelly.
Even though I am immuno-compromised, I decided to join the gym for a couple of reasons: 1) I am fully vaccinated, 2) When I do go to the gym, I go in the morning when there’s not that many people there, and 3) I needed to make a change when it came to my health and throwing down hard-earned money gets my butt in the gym.
I see Anthony twice a week for 30 minutes in the early morning. Right now, he has me doing high-intensity interval training just to get me back in the swing of things. I jokingly called these sessions my training wheels, but honestly, that’s a good descriptor. I’m a create of habit (both good and bad), so these sessions every week will get me back in a good routine. Also, given that the weather is shitty now and I’m not hiking on the weekends anymore, these sessions will also ensure I do not fall back on my sedentary ways.
Not going to lie, though. Getting back into a physical routine like this is not easy. I am carrying 30+ pounds more on my frame, and I have zero upper body strength anymore. Thanks to hiking, I still have pretty impressive quads, but the upper half of my body – no strength. I keep reminding myself that I’ve had to start over again before. I can do it again… maybe. Haha.
During my most recent appointment with my oncologist, I talked to him about my desire to get back to the gym. Before undertaking any physical activity like this, I need to clear it with him to make sure I’m not going to do anything dangerous and hurt myself. The goal, as always, is to avoid ending up in the hospital. After our talk, he told me that he did not have any restrictions for me. My oncologist agreed with my idea for me to see a physical therapist just to get that peace of mind.
Last week, I saw a physical therapist who specializes in working with cancer patients. He had me do a series of exercises after going through my medical history. After we were done, he happily told me that he had zero problems with me going back to the gym. The only restrictions I have are avoiding exercises that could aggravate the pain and discomfort I feel in my sternum, such as push ups (haha) and fly exercises. Other than that, I’m good to go.
The day after my appointment with the physical therapist, I signed up with the new gym that opened up in the North Hills. I have an appointment tonight with a personal trainer to help me get started. To say I’m excited is an understatement. I miss being active, I really do. I just felt so much better physically (i.e., sleep, weight) when I was a runner and going to the gym on a regular basis.
However, I probably won’t ever be an active runner again because I am too afraid of the threat of spontaneous fractures. Given that I had a hysterectomy and I take arimidex, the risk of spontaneous fractures is too high for my liking. (Again, the goal is to avoid ending up in the hospital.) Maybe I’ll try to do a 5K again? I will keep hiking for as long as I can, but training for races where I’d have to pound pavement and beat up my knees, etc.? Nope nope nope. That’s a risk I’m not willing to take.
I have already shown that I can run a half marathon and shit, marathons. I have the medals and the memories. Now it’s time to pivot and adjust to my current circumstances, and that means doing activities that someone like myself can do. I know that lifting weights will be extremely beneficial for someone who is at high risk for osteoporosis. I also have no idea if going back to the gym will help me lose any of the 30 lbs I have gained in the last 2+ years. I truly hope so because about 80 percent of my current wardrobe does not fit me haha. It was either join a gym or pay a small fortune to replace my wardrobe. I’m trying the gym route first.
My recent breakup really showed me that I was stuck in so many ways, and I did not even realize it. I was emotionally stuck in a long distance relationship with someone who made it clear he did not want to move back or truly commit to me. When someone repeatedly says they never want to get married, you should believe them. Trust me. I kept thinking if I proved to him that I was nothing like his ex, then maybe he might change his mind. All that got me was getting my ass dumped and heart broken after 6 years with little explanation. He repeatedly asked if we can stay friends, which I flat-out refused for several reasons: 1) I have plenty friends, and the friends I do have are open and honest with me; and 2) I have no desire to wait around for more emotional scraps from him. To protect my peace, I have blocked him on all social media that I can found, and it has helped tremendously.
I recently met a new man, but I won’t go into details here. My stalker Randy still reads my blog for whatever reason, and there’s a chance that D might read this too. I’m going to keep this new, amazing relationship that’s been making me grin from ear to ear to myself. Let’s just say that I’m not stuck in this respect, anymore. I will never ever ever do a long distance relationship again.
I am proud of myself for picking myself up after this breakup and being the one to put myself back together. I have been accomplishing so much with my cooking, and I have seen a difference with my stomach issues. Once I get back into the gym on a regular basis, I’m going to feel like myself again, and all it took was for me to remember to get up swinging again.
It has been 2 years since I was diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer. Two years since my heartbroken oncologist informed me that the bone biopsy I had confirmed that the breast cancer was now in my sternum. It’s not an exaggeration to describe that day as the worst day of my adult life. My biggest fear – dying of stage 4 breast cancer just like my mother – came true.
On top of that, I was diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer during a worldwide pandemic, squashing all those dreams and fantasies about going on bucket list trips. Now that I’m thinking it’s somewhat safe (with the right precautions) to go on these trips, my boyfriend of 6 years dumped me. He and I talked about going on these trips when the time was right, and the time ended up never being right.
Even with all these setbacks, I’m not going to let this stop my plans. I do not need a boyfriend to go on these bucket list trips I have on my list. He might have broken my g-d heart, but I won’t allow this to break my resolve. I have gone on vacations by myself, and I will do it again. If I am having issues walking and might need assistance to keep my klutzy ass safe, then I am sure I can find a friend that would join me on my bucket list trips. (I can hear some of my friends now thinking, “Lara going on a vacation by herself? Dear lord, she will trip somewhere and we will never see here again!”)
As of right now, I can walk and hike relatively well. I’m 2 years into a disease that on average, kills patients after 36 months. I’ve been stable since my diagnosis, and as such, been on my first line of treatment all this time. I am fortunate that I only have one met, and don’t suffer from any chronic pain. If I wait too long, will it backfire and I lose my chance to have these trips without dealing with pain and discomfort?
I can’t depend on anyone else for my happiness, and it’s up to me to make this happen. Only me.
Get Up Swinging 