This Body is Bullshit

Today is my mom’s birthday. She would’ve been 78.

And today, my dad pulled a new one on us.

This afternoon at work, I checked his location like I always do—though usually not as obsessively when Kathy is home. Thankfully, I did. Something was off. He was somewhere unfamiliar, and Kathy wasn’t with him. My stomach dropped.

I called her immediately. She had no idea he’d left the house. I could hear her running down the stairs while we were on the phone, checking to see if the car was in the garage. She’d been working in her home office. They only have one car. It wasn’t there. I was at work.

Cue instant panic.

My first call was to Aunt Susie, hoping she might be babysitting the grandkids, which is right down the street where Life360 said he was. She wasn’t—but being who she is, she immediately jumped into action. She headed home and sent Uncle Brad out to search. From what little we knew, Dad was supposedly in a strip mall parking lot, walking his dog. That’s what Kathy had managed to get out of him on the phone. How that idea got into his head—or where that location came from—we still don’t know.

Knowing my aunt and uncle aren’t exactly close, I called Donna next. She and Mark dropped everything and jumped in the car. They arrived just as Dad had found his car and was pulling out of the parking lot, and started driving. I stayed on the phone with me while they followed him all the way home. At least he was able to do that this time.

Watching my dear friends chase my father around town like this feels surreal. Terrifying. Exhausting.

What makes it worse is that just the day before, I’d already reached out to the doctors because things felt like they were moving fast.

On Friday, Dad and Kathy stopped by my house on their way to Costco. Kathy came in looking visibly shaken and quietly told me Dad had just asked what Matt’s name was—my husband.

But then Dad came inside, joking like usual, greeting Matt and me, loving on the dogs—totally normal. Regular old him. They left shortly after. Then Kathy texted me: he said he thought they had been at Susie and Brad’s. He couldn’t remember Brad’s name.

Is that a cover-up? Or is it better than him not knowing he’d been at my house—or worse, not knowing my husband’s name? I honestly don’t know which is scarier.

And then Sunday.

His main weekend activity is watching the Bears. After the game ended—an hour later—he asked Kathy when the Bears were going to be on. She reminded him they’d already played. They’d watched it. They’d won.

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” he said.

An hour later, he asked again.

The next morning, while getting ready for the day, he asked when they were going home—then quickly corrected himself.

“Oh, never mind. We are home.”

It’s getting scary. And sad. And devastating. We still don’t know how to navigate this.

In the middle of all that, I had my quarterly injection and a follow-up with my oncologist last week. My DEXA scan showed a 17% bone loss since my last scan two years ago—which is significant and alarming. I’ll be starting infusions early next year, likely in March.

I adore my oncologist. He’s boisterous, funny, smart. But while discussing my worsening symptoms, I got the sense that he genuinely felt bad for me—and that threw me. I’m a push-through-it, power-forward, slap-on-a-grin kind of person. I think he respects that, but still… it was sobering.

I’m looking at a minimum of five more years on these drugs, and they are unrelenting. The joint pain is real. Significant. Not related to the bone loss—that’s a whole separate issue. The fatigue is real. The brain fog and memory problems are also real—but not dementia, thankfully, he assured me. Just side effects.

The dry skin. The dry everything—you know what I mean. I now have a new insert for one of those issues that contains estrogen, which feels ironic considering the entire point of these drugs is to block estrogen. He assured me it won’t absorb systemically.

There’s a new drug coming out that works more like tamoxifen—attacking instead of blocking—and is supposedly much easier on joints. He doesn’t know if I’ll qualify, but he’s researching it. I’d be one of the first patients to try it. Not sure how I feel about being a guinea pig.

The infusions should help my bones—but I need to be prepared. The first one can knock you flat for a couple of days with flu-like symptoms. And I’ll most likely experience “growing pains.” Laughable.

I still haven’t tried the temporary nipple tattoos. I think it’s because my chest finally feels settled—less swollen—and I’ve realized… I just don’t like them. I know Dr. Fine went for natural, and they probably are. But honestly? I think I wanted fake-looking. Why not?

I still plan to do the tattoos eventually. I just need to get over this mental block. I’m going to make an appointment to get fitted for a bra and see if that helps—even though the whole point was hoping I’d never need one again. If I want high and tight, though, a bra is required.

Megan and Mike hosted an absolutely amazing Friendsgiving. Way too much food (in the best way), games, high school reunions, a homemade photo booth, and just a lot of laughing and catching up—plus surprising Lauren and celebrating her 50th. One of those nights where you leave full, tired, and reminded that chosen family really matters.

A couple weeks later was Donna’s annual girls’ Christmas grab bag party, this year with a winter white theme. We always look forward to this night. It was small, simple, and perfect. Same vibe—lots of laughing, a little shenanigans, and really good company. I posted a few pictures afterward and got way more compliments than expected about how good we all looked in white. Another fabulous evening at Club Tavo.

I cannot believe Christmas is next week.

I love Christmas. I love family. I love celebrating friends. And I’m also exhausted and want to crawl into bed and do nothing. I’m trying hard to lose weight—finally dropped two pounds after what feels like forever.

After the new year, my cousin will need a hysterectomy for suspected cancer—similar to what my friend Tammy went through and thankfully came through without complications. I’m hoping the same for Jennifer. I never want to see anyone face surgery, but here we are. Hoping she comes out unscathed with minimal—if not no—treatment required.

Work is still nuts. I left after 6 p.m. tonight. But I’m focused on the prize—after the first of the year, I can drop one building and be back with my people. Just need to get through the next two weeks.

There’s good coming: Heather’s birthday, dinner with Heather and Rusty and Ben—the Fab Five Fam. Then the Wilsons’ annual pre-Christmas prime rib dinner—fancy, fabulous, and always slightly too rare for Matt and me (though that is how it’s supposed to be eaten, I believe).

Christmas Eve will be here—Dad and Kathy, Matt’s mom and aunt, maybe Ken stopping by. Christmas morning is our annual brunch at Aunt Susie and Uncle Brad’s—almost exactly what my grandmother used to serve. I cannot wait for Aunt Susie to make Grandma’s cookies.

I really need to sit down with her and learn how to make her lasagna. And those cookies.

Happy birthday, Mom.
If you were still here, you’d probably be just as crazy as Dad is now.