journal

A New Chapter

Tue, 21 May 2013 11:00:00 -0500

I wrote my last post about six months ago. For those of you that still check in on my blog, I am sorry to have left you hanging. Yes, I’ve been busy. And yes, the cancer updates have thankfully slowed. But I don’t think those are the reasons I’ve failed to write. Strangely enough, sometimes sharing good news is almost more difficult than sharing bad news. I don’t want to come across like I am bragging. Or worse, I don’t want to jinx all the great things that are bubbling up.

But all of you have been through so much with me—you deserve to hear a little good news, too. I want you to know that my life is pretty wonderful right now. And I have a lot of exciting updates to share with you…

1. Jamin and I got engaged. He proposed to me in our studio surrounded by hundreds of flickering candles. It was the most perfect engagement—definitely a moment I will remember forever. Two days afterward, we jetted off to Italy for a vacation full of delicious food, rich history and bottomless glasses of wine. I cannot begin to express how excited I am to marry Jamin. He is an amazing man and will undoubtedly make an incredible husband. It almost seems like a wedding is just a formality for us. We have already shown that we will be true to one another in good times and bad, in sickness and in health. But don’t worry, there will be a beautiful wedding and an amazing party to follow.

2. As of April 24th, I am officially one year cancer free. The anniversaries of a cancer patient are important ones, as each year out is another year of a life reclaimed. I’m happy to report that there are days, even weeks, that I don’t think about cancer. And when I do, it feels like a more distant memory. These days my darkest moments seem more superficial—the occasional meltdown in the Victoria Secret dressing room as I try to figure out my new body, or my impatience with my hair not growing quickly enough. But those problems I can handle.

3. I quit my job and am going to nursing school. While my departure from advertising has been a long time coming, my diagnosis certainly affected the rate and direction of my career move. I became a student of my own experience the moment I got sick. And the more time I spent with my nurses, the more I realized that I wanted to become one. I am certain that my experience with cancer will make me a better, more empathetic practitioner. After a year of taking my science courses online, I was accepted to an accelerated nursing program.

4. Which brings me to my last exciting update—we are moving to Portland. All of us. Jamin has already started a Masters of Urban Planning program at Portland State University. And I begin classes at Oregon Health and Science University at the end of June. What’s even more exciting is that my family is moving, too. My parents have wanted to move out west for awhile now, and all the stars aligned when they sold their house in Indiana. We are all moving out together. Tomorrow. After all we have been through, I am so excited to begin this next adventure. Sunday dinners at my parents’ house, hikes with my sister and her boyfriend, and studying at the coffee shop with my fiancé. It is all too perfect. Not to mention that two of my very best friends in the world, Kevin and Maggie, are also living there.

Well, there it is. About eighteen months ago, I thought my world was ending. But with the support, prayers and love from each and every one of you, I have come out on the other side. Thank you for helping me through the darker days so I can continue to enjoy the bright ones.

What will happen to my blog? I’m not sure. I want to write again. Maybe about cancer, maybe not. Maybe about this next adventure. But for now, just know that I am better. I am the happiest I have been in a long time. And I could not have done it without you.

Collateral Damage

Fri, 16 Nov 2012 21:36:49 -0600

A few days ago, I drafted a blog post to commemorate November 2nd, one year from the day I was diagnosed. I wrote about surviving a year of intense chemotherapy, two surgeries and incredible emotional upheaval. The tone was inherently upbeat; the sentiment was positive and forward-looking. I even went so far as to say that the whole experience was behind me, proudly stating that there were days I didn’t even think of cancer. Life had continued onward.

But before I could publish this triumphant blog post, I got news that knocked me right off my feet. I debated keeping the news to myself, but I’ve tried so hard to keep my blog honest and my writing genuine, so I’ve decided to share this, too.

After a consultation and ultrasound with a reproductive specialist, I found out that the chemotherapy did too much damage to my ovaries. So much so, that I likely won’t ever be able to conceive.

I am absolutely heartbroken. And shocked. Throughout the process, everyone has continuously reassured me that everything would kick back into gear. Unfortunately, once again, the odds are against me. I am of the small percentage of women whose ovaries will never wake back up.

I’m writing about this because I think it’s important. So many people - people with incredibly good intentions - have asked me when all of this is “over”. When are you done? When’s your last chemo? I truly believe these people mean well. And I think that what they are really wondering is, When can I stop worrying about you? When can I be sure that you are OK?

To those that are wondering, it is never over. There is no distinct end date. Although my appointments have lessened and my hair has lengthened, I am not finished recovering. I am not finished grieving the losses and I have not fully accepted nor understood the long term effects of what has happened to me. News of my infertility is just as debilitating as my initial diagnosis. It’s collateral damage that suddenly makes me question every treatment choice I made to rid my body of this disease. Was it worth it? I don’t know.

Call it denial or call it hope, but I struggle to believe that I won’t ever be able to conceive. Stranger things have happened. But one thing is for sure: I know in my heart that I will be an absolutely incredible mother one day.

Smooth Sailing

Tue, 23 Oct 2012 21:55:59 -0500

Hey everyone! It’s Jamin. I’m back for a guest blog post to update you on Carissa’s operation this morning.

The day was pretty well summed up by what Dr. Migliori (the plastic surgeon) said to us following the procedure: “She’s a super-star”. Carissa went in with cheerful resolve and complete confidence in her doctors and nurses. She came out into the recovery room relaxed and with a quiet sense of relief of knowing another milestone was met.

She’s back home tonight, where Jeff, Kate, Caitlin (and Jack) and will keep on top of her pain meds, take short walks around the block and keep her company. We all agree with Dr. Migliori - she’s handling it like a super-star, as we knew she would.

Save the Date, Part II

Wed, 17 Oct 2012 23:15:45 -0500

Can you believe it’s been six months since my surgery? Time flies..

Next Tuesday, October 23rd, is phase two of my mastectomy. After six months of uncomfortable expansion, it is time to swap my tissue expanders with permanent implants. I am ecstatic to get these things out of my body. The discomfort is hard to describe, but words like cement, rock and bowling ball happen to come to mind.

This surgery will be much less intense than my first one - it’s an outpatient procedure and I’ll be back to work within a week. My pre-op appointment with Dr. Migliori put me completely at ease and I’m happy to report that I’m feeling little to no anxiety. This surgery feels like just another chapter near the end of my book called Cancer.

So, I am once again asking you to send your most positive thoughts, prayers and good energy into the universe next week. I can’t do it without you!

Pink

Tue, 16 Oct 2012 00:26:00 -0500

This month has brought an unusual amount of pink into all of our lives. From the NFL game day apparel to the explosion of pink decor at the local coffee shop, it’s hard not to notice Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

Having unwillingly entered into this club, I’ve found the reactions to pink really interesting. As an outsider, I had wrongly assumed that all breast cancer survivors loved pink. Why wouldn’t they? Pink, Komen, Avon.. they are all just advocating for something survivors must inherently want people to support. As it turns out, some survivors despise pink; others embrace it to the fullest extent.

Some, like myself, sit somewhere in the middle. At a certain point, my tolerance for pink reaches it’s limit. (My limit lives somewhere before Kentucky Fried Chicken’s Buckets for the Cure.)

I work in advertising, and unfortunately, I know how this works. There is no doubt that certain companies “pinkwash” (a term coined by a group called Think Before You Pink). While the prevalence of pink doesn’t really bother me, I do get upset when companies wrap unhealthy, or worse, carcinogen-containing products, in a pretty pink breast cancer awareness bow. Up until recently, nail polishes contained formaldehyde, a known carcinogen. Yet, multiple nail polish companies launched and promoted their “breast cancer pink” colors. And KFC’s Buckets for a Cure? That’s insane. The amount of hormones pumped into that bucket of chicken would have my estrogen/progesterone positive breast cancer rearing it’s ugly head again.

Regardless of questionable marketing tactics, I do believe that there are some positive sides to pink. One is the sense, manufactured or not, that there is a groundswell of support behind breast cancer awareness and research. And as a patient, there are benefits to being diagnosed with what some have called a popular cancer. From the plush robes at the breast center to the endless amount of resources I was offered, it was clear that being well funded had perks. Not to mention I, a twenty-four year old, went in for a mammogram when I found a lump. And I happened to get this mammogram during the month of October, when pink was certainly top of mind.

I also believe that there is something incredible about the walks and races that breast cancer inspires. I can’t imagine what it would feel like to be surrounded by not one, but hundreds and hundreds of women who have been through what I have been through. And hundreds more who support all of us.

While I won’t be running in any races this year, I hope to take part one day. For now, I will cheer on my friends and family from the sidelines. I’m so thankful to my cousin Katie, her husband Gary and my friends Emily, Callie, Jared and Brian for recently running in my honor. I am humbled and proud to have you in my corner. And to everyone who donated to the fundraisers - thank you. Much of your donations help provide mammograms and diagnostics to people who cannot afford health care and this alone is something I am incredibly passionate about.

So as you round out the final weeks of October, please do me a favor by taking five minutes to give yourself an exam. Those five minutes, in my opinion, make all of this pink hullabaloo worth it.

Huge thank you to all the people that have run in my honor!!...

Tue, 16 Oct 2012 00:15:00 -0500

Huge thank you to all the people that have run in my honor!! Pictured here are my cousin Katie, Gary, their friends and my best friend Emily. Love to you all :)

Be the Match

Tue, 21 Aug 2012 22:05:00 -0500

Many of you know the story of Eric, my friend and coworker who was diagnosed with cancer exactly one month after me. In a moment, I’m going to ask you to help Eric, but first I want to tell a story about the type of person he is.

Eric came over about a week before my mastectomy. At the time, I was getting over shingles, anxious about surgery and not in the best frame of mind. As Eric and I settled onto couchbed, he noticed a book resting on my coffee table. It was hard not to notice this book, as the cover featured a beautiful photograph of a topless woman.

The book was Reconstructing Aphrodite, a collection of photography and stories of women who had undergone breast surgery. My friend Maggie had given it to me to help me cope with losing my breasts.

As Eric leafed through the book, I wondered if he was uncomfortable. Very few people know what breasts look like after a mastectomy. That first peek can be rather jarring. And the subject of breast reconstruction - while every day conversation for me - can make others a bit uneasy.

But as Eric perused the photos, he sweetly announced that he was going to read the stories to me. That afternoon, the two of us sat on couchbed eating Chipotle, while Eric read through story after story of strong, beautiful breast cancer survivors.

Eric’s optimism was contagious, and his empathy so genuine. Those few short hours of story time gave me such a boost as I prepared for surgery. As I listened to Eric reading the stories of these remarkable women, I knew that one day I would stand topless in the mirror and be proud, not sad. I knew that one day I would be able to see my scars as me reclaiming my life, not losing it.

While those weeks after my surgery were some of the toughest I have ever gone through, Eric is now in the midst of his uphill battle. Although initial results were good, his latest PET scan showed that after five months of chemo the cancer advanced to Stage IV. Eric is undergoing aggressive chemotherapy right now and faces a bone marrow or stem cell transplant in his near future. With no immediate relatives as a match, Eric must turn to the National Marrow Registry to find a match.

I’m asking (pleading) for anyone who is eligible to sign up to join the registry. There are a few drives in Minneapolis (one tomorrow at Fallon), but if you live outside of the Twin Cities area you can still register.

Visit join.marrow.org/ericg to register. The website provides details on eligibility and commitment so you can fully understand what you are signing up for. If you are eligible to join the registry, Be the Match will send you a kit to swab your mouth for DNA samples then send it back, free of charge. You can also click here to find bone marrow drive locations near you.

The National Marrow Registry is Eric’s only hope for finding a match. Whether it’s Eric or another cancer patient, signing up could truly mean saving a life. Please consider joining for Eric, for me and for every other cancer patient that needs something to believe in.

Two days after my surgery, Eric wheeled over during his chemotherapy session to say hello. The two of us were high as kites, earnestly attempting to have a conversation. As he put it, “imagine a couple of drunks who don’t understand the difference between nouns and verbs trying to do Mad Libs”.

Finding Strength - My Article for GiveForward

Sat, 28 Jul 2012 00:00:00 -0500

Finding Strength - My Article for GiveForward:

I love it when good things come out of crummy situations - an act of kindness during a crisis, a rainbow after a threatening storm or the discovery of oneself after a time of trouble.

I don’t think I will ever get to a place where I feel grateful to have had cancer. I don’t wish cancer upon anyone, nor do I believe that illness is something survivors should feel lucky to have gone through.

But I do feel grateful for the reactions that cancer lured out of myself and the people around me. I am most grateful for the support and love of my family and friends - without that, I never would have opened up about my experience. And the act of opening up, or in my case writing about my experiences, has been such an important part of my recovery.

There were times when I couldn’t process how I felt until I began drafting a blog post. Some days were so bad that the only way to get through it was to type it all out. And on other days, I turned to the blog to broadcast my medical successes and stories, like Paris and the bracelet, that inspired me along the way. This blog has been intrinsically braided with my cancer experience, and I am grateful to have everything documented for me to look back on.

A few months ago, GiveForward, the company my friend Nicole used to fundraise for me, reached out to see if I would write a guest blog post for them. A summary of the story many of you are familiar with, I wrote about a message that inspired me to see my own strength differently.

Click here or on the title of this post to view my article on GiveForward, and thank you all for your support of me and my writing!

Big Day

Tue, 10 Jul 2012 23:45:51 -0500

Seven months ago my family, girlfriends, Jamin and I gave an emotional send off to my long hair and raised a glass of champagne to my new, bald look.

And today, my cousin Hannah gave me my very first post-chemo haircut.

Yahoo!!!!

A big day for the little things.

Pictures of the amazing “welcome back” reception my...

Tue, 03 Jul 2012 20:27:38 -0500

Pictures of the amazing “welcome back” reception my friends and coworkers put together for me this morning. I am lucky to be surrounded by such incredible people!

Moving On

Tue, 03 Jul 2012 08:55:55 -0500

About two months ago, I sat in my living room feeling like I hit rock bottom. My mom, Jamin and my cousin Katie sat around me, each offering their support while I cried through my giant pile of feelings.

I was home from the hospital - after a wildly successful surgery - yet I felt hopeless, exhausted and sad. The happy ending of my cancer success story seemed like it should have been within reach, but I couldn’t even begin to see it through all the haze. I cried about my lack of ability and dependence on others. I cried about not being able to shower or stand on my own. I cried about my drains. I cried because I couldn’t stay awake for two straight hours or recall what day of the week it was.

I cried about being cancer-free. I didn’t feel cancer-free. I had imagined my cancer-free self with long beautiful hair, hiking somewhere in Colorado or swimming luxuriously long backstrokes in Lake Michigan. I had not imagined my cancer-free self dependent on this ridiculous lift chair, drains attached to my body, fatigued, drugged and upset. This was supposed to be the start of my new and improved cancer-free life and I was failing at it.

What I couldn’t see then, but I know now, is that time does heal all wounds. Katie, Jamin and mom - I now understand and believe your words of encouragement. Recovery takes time. It takes patience. And it takes a lot of love and support from the amazing people in my life.

When I think back to that day in my living room, I can’t believe how far I’ve come. I needed time to fully embrace recovery. And with recovery comes acceptance, and with acceptance comes a will to move on.

Remnants of my chemo and post-surgery life have fled the building - our apartment looks less like an infirmary and more like our home. My drains are gone, my breasts are continually “growing” and my hair is almost an inch and a half long. I have energy for the first time in a long time.

Today is my first day back to work, marking a very official dive back into the real world. A world outside the off-the-map recovery bubble I have loved living in for the past two months. I may be done with my official recovery time, but I know that moving on and making myself whole is going to be a lifelong process.

So for now, I am moving on without forgetting what I’ve been through. And I’m moving on with the understanding that I may take a few steps forward and a few steps back. I will still have good days and bad, and some days cancer will consume my thoughts more than others. But that’s OK. In time, I know the good will trump the bad.

In the meantime, I’m looking forward to enjoying a delicious Fourth of July BBQ, slurping melting ice cream off of my ice cream cone and enjoying a perfect, long holiday weekend with Jamin.

Happy Fourth of July to everyone!

Happy Father’s Day to the man who taught me how to climb...

Sun, 17 Jun 2012 12:05:50 -0500

Happy Father’s Day to the man who taught me how to climb mountains.

Lalu Daddio!

If you would have told me a year ago that we would be featured...

Wed, 06 Jun 2012 21:15:16 -0500

If you would have told me a year ago that we would be featured on a billboard and in that billboard I would be bald - I would have laughed in your face. Life is pretty crazy, if you ask me.

(Minneapolis friends - this is off of 100 at Excelsior!)

Taking Time

Sat, 26 May 2012 15:05:36 -0500

I was diagnosed almost seven months ago and up until April 24th I continued to work full time. Thankfully, my employer was understanding and allowed me to miss days for chemo and work from home when side effects took the biggest toll. While working theoretically brought a sense of normalcy to my life and seeing my work friends certainly lifted my spirits, I often felt like my outward self did not match the truth of what I was experiencing internally.

It got increasingly difficult to care about status reports when what I really wanted to status about were my blood count levels, decreasing size of my tumor and upcoming surgery. And I had trouble stressing about conversion rates, when my biggest concerns were my own rates of recurrence, fertility and survival.

After my surgery I began my short-term disability leave. The first two weeks were the most surreal. I occasionally get flashbacks of moments that I completely forgot about due to my drug-induced stupor. I couldn’t focus on mental recovery because I was in so deep managing the physical pain.

After all of my initial post-op appointments, my mom whisked me out of Minneapolis to spend ten days at my parents house in Indiana, on the shores of Lake Michigan. Caitlin, who had just graduated from college, was home with me, too. Ninety-percent of my luggage was made up of different varieties of pajamas. And I never once put on an ounce of make-up. I did not have to put on a face for anyone.

The week and a half I spent at home was nothing short of perfection.

Caitlin and I slept in every morning and after a smoothie for breakfast we worked on my physical therapy exercises. Some days we napped on faux couchbed, others we sat outside and read. Some days we had visitors (thanks to wonderful family and great friends for stopping by!), others we kept one another company until my parents came home for a family dinner. The weather was stunning every single day. Whenever possible we walked down to the lake to sit, read and enjoy the calmness of the water. During the first few days we took short walks along the lake, but after awhile our walks got longer and longer. We could walk as slow as we wanted - there was no rush and no expectation for anything.

For the first time since I was diagnosed I was able to embrace the idea of recovery - physically, emotionally and mentally. Each day I felt my body working to repair itself, and by the end of the week I was completely off of my pain medication. With less medication, my chemo / post-surgery brain began to restart. My thoughts were a bit clearer and engaging in conversations no longer wiped me out. When Jamin came in for the weekend, he instantly picked up on my emotional shift. He told me that for the first time in months he heard the happy, carefree voice of the woman he fell in love with three years ago.

Those ten days were an incredible kick start to my recovery. With chemo and surgery behind me, my family and I took a massive and synchronized sigh of relief. We were finally able to be together without worrying about my next chemo appointment or the complexities of my pending surgery. And I didn’t have to put on a strong face or pretend to care about anything other than my recovery and my time with my family.

I will forever be grateful for my mini-vacation at home. There is nothing better than giggling with my sister, laughing over dinner with my parents, relaxing with Jamin and enjoying perfect moments on the lake with my entire family. Pure bliss.

Our morning physical therapy session turned into a dance therapy...

Sat, 26 May 2012 15:05:29 -0500

Our morning physical therapy session turned into a dance therapy party.

Caitlin, you have way better moves than I do. And I can’t even blame surgery for my geekiness.

The Strangest Thing I Did Today

Tue, 22 May 2012 22:47:37 -0500

Today I went in for my first expansion.

Dr. Migliori and his nurse walked in with two (giant) syringes of saline. We chatted about my trip to Indiana as he used a magnetic device to locate the port of each of my expanders. Switching topics, we began to discuss Michael Jackson vs. Prince as he sterilized the area and - synchronizing with his nurse - slowly injected the contents of the syringes into my expanders.

I felt my chest muscles and skin tighten as I watched my boobs ever so slowly inflate. Or was it my imagination? Probably.

To most people (even friends or family) I look no different than I did yesterday. Physically, I am almost as unendowed as I was pre-surgery. But in my mind the girls are huge and it is really weirding me out.

Progress Notes

Wed, 16 May 2012 19:20:17 -0500

Three weeks post-op and I feel worlds apart from where I was at the end of April. By this point I have had appointments with all three of my wonderful doctors - Tsai, Migliori and Bretzke. Surgery was a gigantic step forward, but there are still lots of appointments, treatments and monitoring in the near future.

Oncology updates: My mom, Katie and I were hanging on each one of Dr. Tsai’s words as she walked through the post-op pathology report and talked about my five-year plan. But the things we wanted to hear most were “cancer free” and “no radiation needed”. We all applauded when she finally announced both. The next five years will be about maintenance. If you remember from way back when, my cancer was estrogen, progesterone and HER2/neu positive, so I will undergo targeted therapies against estrogen (tamoxifen) and HER2/neu (herceptin). I’ll continue my herceptin infusions every three weeks until January 2013. And within the next month I will begin taking tamoxifen pills, which I will take daily for five years. While many claim tamoxifen to be a miracle drug, I am not looking forward to taking it. The drug essentially puts me through an early menopause, so the hot flashes and mood swings will continue until I turn 30. Watch out, world.

Reconstruction updates: A week after surgery, my mom and I visited Dr. Migliori. He and his nurse removed my surgical drains in a choreographed manner that would have made the cast of Cirque du Soleil proud. We gawked at how much tubing was inside my body (at least 16 inches each side), and how effortlessly they removed it. I’ll see Dr. Migliori every two weeks or so to begin the expansion process, which I must say makes me blush. The process - though intriguing - will set me back a bit each time, though the pain won’t be nearly as bad as after my surgery.

General surgery updates: My mom and I also spent an afternoon with Dr. Bretzke. She, too, walked us through the pathology report and marveled at how well I was healing. While I won’t need to see Bretzke for another year, I will see a physical therapist to regain my range of motion and learn about lymphedema prevention.

Mental health updates: More on this later. But for now, I will say that there is no place like home.

Happy Mother’s Day to the strongest, most graceful woman I...

Sun, 13 May 2012 11:52:00 -0500

Happy Mother’s Day to the strongest, most graceful woman I know.

I love you, Mom!

To My Nurses

Sat, 12 May 2012 17:46:00 -0500

Today wraps up National Nurses Week and I have so many incredible nurses to thank.

First, to my oncology nurses who I have come to know and love. To Cindy, who affectionately called me her Paris Girl, and can’t wait to receive a postcard when I finally make the trip to the City of Lights. And Rebecca, who was my first treatment nurse and taught me to approach chemo with a “bring it on, baby” attitude. To Mary and Staci who made me laugh even on my worst treatment days. And Karen, Jane, Lynn, Mary, Lisa and Colisa who quietly supported me and chatted with the continual cycle of friends and family I brought to each visit. To Viv, who was the first to access my port - flawlessly, I might add. And to Lori, who talked “hippie politics” with me and introduced me to her cousin Dianne who runs a breast center in Salt Lake City.

Then there are the nurses at the breast centers. To Jeanne, who first told me about my diagnosis and gently guided my family and I through those first few weeks in November. To Darla, who shared her experience with breast cancer and helped me understand that reconstruction is a way for me to grasp control of my life again. To Rebekah, who patiently walked me through my first round of post-op exercises.

To Dr. Migliori’s nurses, Rebecca and Chelsi, who wear crisp lab coats and pumps. You make me feel like I am at a spa instead of a doctors office and I just love that.

And then there were my two hospital stays. First, to my nurses who cared for me when I was admitted with neutropenic fever. To Sarah, who asked “Would you rather?” questions while sneak-attacking me with a shot of Heparin to make it less painful. And to Amanda who laughed when she found Jamin and I curled up in the hospital bed watching her favorite movie, The Princess Bride.

Then, to my most recent set of nurses who helped me recover from my mastectomy. To Anna, who tenderly fed me ice chips when I awoke. And to Dianne, whose peppiness almost woke me out of my valium haze. To Sonya, my night nurse who told me “I’m 25, and I would have made the same choice as you.” And to Jillian, who did a dance the first time I passed gas. (Too much information, I know, but made me laugh nonetheless!) And to Mary, the sweetest of them all, who held my arm as I crept around the nurses station and gave me my first sponge bath.

Last but not least, to the two best nurses I could ever ask for - my mom and my cousin Katie. To Katie, for managing my drains, taking me for my first walk outside, “gettin’ up in my business” and reminding me to celebrate the small successes in recovery. And to my mom, whose healing hands have nursed me through a lifetime of bumps, bruises and, now, breast cancer. You are the closest to my heart.

Thank you to all my nurses for everything you do!

What Do You Live For?

Wed, 09 May 2012 21:27:00 -0500

Here’s some exciting news to mix things up a bit!

A few weeks before my surgery, the marketing team at Park Nicollet contacted me about being a part of their new advertising campaign. Since I have had nothing but wonderful things to say about my experiences with the Frauenshuh Cancer Center, I, of course, said yes.

The campaign shows people at different stages of life and health, and poses the question “What do you live for?”

I’m excited to give everyone a peek as the campaign launches! Take a look at us featured on Park Nicollet’s website, Facebook page and commercials that launch on TV next Monday (below).

Jamin and I had a blast filming and are excited to see our faces pop up on TV. How surreal is this?!

Big thank you to Park Nicollet for asking us to be a part of their campaign, but more importantly to the doctors, nurses and staff who have helped me get my life back.