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.
Hey everybody, it’s me — Sassy the Wonder Dog!
I just want y’all to know that I have really been trying to get Mama out of the house. Every single day it’s the same old excuses:
“It’s too hot.” ☀️
“It’s too cold.” 🥶
“I’m too tired.” 😴
“Let me rest.” 😒
Excuse me, ma’am? You never accept those excuses from me!
But today… I found the secret weapon.
Two words: TJ MAXX.
Oh. My. Dog.
Do you even know how much STUFF is in that place?
At first, I was nervous (strangers, you know). Mama got this big rolling thing — she calls it a “buggy” — and put her jacket in it like a little nest, then lifted me right in.
Now listen, she’s kinda short and I’ve got long legs, so there was a minute there where we both looked like a circus act.
Then the doors whooshed open and I thought, “Welp, this is it. I’m gonna die.”
And just when I was trying to be brave, some fool turned on a vacuum cleaner. 😳
But I kept saying to myself, this is for Mama.
Mama needs to walk around and see people.
Mama needs exercise.
Mama needs Sassy time.
And then… something magical happened.
The SMELLS.
Good smells. Bad smells. Food smells. Treat smells. I sat up like the brave girl I am, nose in the air, tail wagging, ready for adventure.
Every corner had a new smell and something shiny to look at.
And then people started saying, “Oh, what a good girl!”
You better believe I was proud.
Mama let me pick out a treat (I chose wisely), and the nice lady at the counter gave me another one.
So now we have a new plan:
When Mama needs exercise, we go to TJ MAXX.
Because let’s face it — a girl’s gotta sniff, strut, and shop. 💅🐶
It’s still dark outside.
But I know this will be a good day.
I’m awake—
and more importantly, my brain is awake.
(If you’ve ever had chemo fog, you know that’s headline-worthy news.)
I can hear it churning again,
where sometimes there’s been nothing but silence.
Thoughts forming, sparks flickering,
that little hum of life coming back online.
The air feels almost electric—
like the world is holding its breath
waiting for me to exhale.
It’s still dark outside.
But I feel alive.
And that, my friends,
is how you know the light’s already winning.
Three days after long chemo is a weird neighborhood to live in.
You don’t quite exist so much as melt slowly into the recliner.
Exhaustion hits like a drunk elephant — you can’t stay awake, but you’re also too wired (and too achy) to sleep.
The poison’s doing its sacred little dance —
burn, heal, destroy, rebuild — all at once.
My stomach’s auditioning for a horror movie:
hungry but disgusted by every option.
If it smells good, it’s probably coming back up.
So I sip, nibble, and call that “fine dining.”
The world spins a little, my eyelids weigh a ton,
and focusing on anything longer than thirty seconds feels like graduate-level concentration.
But still — under all the blur and ache — there’s the whisper of hope.
That fierce, stubborn little spark that keeps saying,
“Better days are coming. Hang on. The poison’s working.”
And that’s enough to make me smile… before my next nap
From a cherry to a pinto bean,
From an almond to a pea—
I watch the numbers fall,
the nodules fade,
the poison do its sacred burn.
Shrink.
Dissolve.
Disappear.
Your're disssolving,
Youu should never have thought that I play.
Go Away
And don’t come back
another day.
Third Act With Pattie 