Today, Patricia “Patti” Harned Probst would’ve turned 90. She was 95 lbs of dynamite, tough as nails and soft as a hug, rolled into one. Cancer came for her three times. Each time she said: “Not without a fight.”
Her Battles: • Breast cancer. She white-knuckled through surgery and scars, the cancer rattled her body but couldn’t touch her sass. • Tongue cancer. Talking, eating, smiling — all harder. Did she quit? Nope. She still showed up at the table and kept talking, even if shorter and sharper. Cancer didn’t shut her up. • Throat cancer. The cruel one. It took her breath, then her life. But it never took her dignity. She still laughed, forgave, and loved on her own terms — even when the terms sucked.
What She Taught Me: Now it’s my turn. I’m in the chemo chair, on my “second battle.” Same smells, same fear, same exhaustion. But I’ve also got her grit — and a sharper tongue. Every time I think I can’t, I remember: she did. Three times. With humor, grace, and definitely with swear words. Her lesson? Don’t just survive cancer. Live anyway. Laugh. Love. Show up. And if all else fails — pour a drink, roll your eyes, and flip cancer the bird.
So today, Mom, on your birthday: I raise my glass. To your strength, your sass, and your love that still carries me. Happy Birthday. Keep teaching me how to live loud, laugh hard, and fight dirty when I need to!
Third Act With Pattie 