Third Act With Pattie

Category: Same Me

blogs about the things I do and refuse to let my battle change

  • Dancing Alone (and Liking It)

    Sometimes I just want to be alone.
    I think I’ve always been this way.

    There’s something deeply peaceful about sitting in my own silence — just me and my thoughts, no noise, no small talk, no expectations. It’s not lonely. It’s re-energizing. I actually like my own company.

    When I was a little girl, I used to sneak into the living room, put on my mother’s Tchaikovsky album, and dance with the door shut tight. I didn’t have a clue how to dance — but oh, the freedom! The music would fill the air, and I’d twirl until I fell over laughing. It was my secret world, just me being me.

    Now, after days of chemo exhaustion, I’ve found myself sitting quietly again — just like that little girl, alone but content. My body might be tired, but my mind is still stretching its arms toward all the other versions of me waiting in the wings:

    The sewist. The reader. The dancer. The cook.
    The comedian. The writer. The helper. The friend.

    I’m ready for those me’s to come back out to play.
    Because underneath this worn-out chemo girl is still that same dreamer — the one who dances when nobody’s watching.

  • 🐾 Sassy Walks: Mistletoe Madness

    Oh. My. Dog. Did we have fun today!

    Now that I’ve cracked the code on how to trick Mama into walking, we are getting it done. Today’s adventure: something called a “Mistletoe Market.” Don’t ask me what mistletoe is, but apparently it’s festive and doesn’t taste like chicken.

    I proudly walked Mama on the leash (because obviously someone has to take charge), while Makenzie pushed my bestie, Hennie, in her stroller. Hennie is a Chiweenie—a 7-pound diva who thinks “strolling” means standing still while everyone adores her. Walking her is worse than walking Mama. Sooooo slow. And you have to watch where you step. Every. Single. Second.

    The Market was outside with rows of tents full of people, sparkly things, and—best part—FOOD. And even better—DOG TREATS! I led Mama up and down the hills, in and out of tents, showing her how it’s done. Everyone stopped to talk to me and Hennie (because, hello, stars of the show). A photographer even took our picture—we might be famous soon. I’ll let my people handle the press release.

    It was hot out though, and Mama started sweating and huffing like she was pulling a sled team in July. I made her sit down and drink water—hydration is key, folks.

    We didn’t buy much, but looking was fun. Then we hit Wal-Mart! Hennie and I got the royal buggy treatment and sniffed our way through the aisles while Mama shopped. So many smells, so many admirers. People kept stopping to say how cute we were, which I think is good for Mama—it makes her slow down, smile, and remember how to be nice to people. Cancer brain, you know.

    All in all, I’d call today a total success. Mama got her steps in, Hennie and I worked the crowd, and the Mistletoe Market will never be the same.

    Stay tuned—me and Hennie have big plans for tomorrow. Gotta keep Mama moving!

  • Overdoing It (and Owning It)

    So yesterday, in all my excitement, I did too much.
    And I’m a little pissed about that—because “too much” shouldn’t include two naps (one during short chemo, for heaven’s sake), lunch out, and an hour at Belk. One hour.

    Apparently that’s my new limit.

    As the store lights got brighter and the music louder, I realized I’d entered that fuzzy zone where everything blends together—people, hangers, sparkly sweaters, the smell of perfume from twenty feet away. Basically, I became Sassy the Wonder Dog at TJ Maxx—overstimulated and wandering the aisles like I might discover enlightenment behind the clearance rack.

    Then came lesson number two of the day: hydration.
    I didn’t drink enough because I didn’t want to play “Find the Bathroom” every ten minutes. Rookie move. Dehydration turns your brain into mashed potatoes.

    Luckily, my caretaker-extraordinaire granddaughter was with me. Without her, I might still be lying in a pile of comforters humming “Help Me Rhonda.” Instead, she not only kept me upright but also managed to find several things that fit—which, thanks to prednisone, now means “round and rounder.”

    And you know what? That’s okay.

    Because even though I overdid it, I also did it.
    I had lunch. I went shopping. I walked around under my own power and even laughed a few times.

    So yes, I’m mad that I can’t do what I used to do.
    But I’m also grateful that I can still do something—especially when “something” comes with family, laughter, and a good reminder that this journey isn’t about perfection. It’s about showing up, wobbling through the store, and letting the people who love you steer the cart when you start to drift.

  • Chemo Protocol: Closer to the End Than the Beginning

    So here’s the deal:
    My chemo protocol is like a bad sitcom that just won’t get canceled.
    Each “season” (a.k.a. cycle) has three episodes:
    One long chemo day, one short chemo day, and one week off for “recovery” — or as I like to call it, pretending I’m normal again.

    I’ve now trudged past the halfway point — and that fantastic PET scan says the poison is working its magic. Translation: the little monsters are shrinking, I’m still standing, and there’s a flicker of light glowing at the end of this tunnel.

    Last week’s long chemo kicked off Cycle 4, and today’s short one ties it up in a neat little bow — well, a slightly wrinkled, possibly IV-leaked-on bow. Then I get my glorious “off” week (hallelujah and pass the mashed potatoes).

    That leaves only two more cycles, which — if my body and the calendar cooperate — means I’ll be done before Christmas.

    Can you even imagine the joy of a chemo-free holiday? I might just wrap myself in twinkle lights and call it a miracle. Likely completely bald by then, I can wear a Santa Hat!

    I’m not counting chickens yet — chemo loves a plot twist — but I’m hopeful enough to start fluffing their feathers.

  • Together in the Rain

    What if I had nothing to say,
    Just wandered on my merry way—
    Accepted life for what it is,
    And sat alone to mind my biz?

    But you know I can’t do that.
    We’ve all got storms we’re walking in.
    And maybe it’s lighter when we share the pain—
    Sit together in the rain—
    And dance when the sun comes out again.