It’s funny — when you don’t have a serious illness, you can hop out of bed a little dizzy and think, “must’ve stood up too fast.”
If you’re me, and you do have cancer, your immediate response is: clearly the cancer has gone to my brain. Or — because I never miss a chance to overachieve — maybe it’s a brand-new cancer. Or possibly a brain-eating worm brought on by sneaking too many M&Ms.
Either way, it calls for hours of internet research to confirm my impending doom.
So this morning, that’s exactly how I woke up — dizzy, dramatic, and ready to self-diagnose. I opened my laptop to “write a blog” and two hours later, I was somewhere deep in the Google hole, no closer to a definitive answer but 100% sure I was dying.
Exhausted from all that medical detective work, I did what any rational adult would do: I pulled one of my mother’s old tricks and went back to bed.
And wouldn’t you know — when I woke up again, there on my nightstand were two medicine bottles, the same ones I’d taken before bed. I picked one up and read the fine print: “May cause drowsiness or dizziness.”
Well, damn. Turns out it wasn’t a brain-eating worm or a rare, one-in-a-billion cancer after all. It was the damn medicine.
Later this month, I’ll zone up to Level 69 (which doesn’t sound right, since you start life at Level Zero, but I don’t make the rules — I just play this weird game called Life).
Now that I’ve almost completed Level 68, I’ve learned something important: I apparently prefer struggling through things by myself over simply asking for help. Somewhere along the way, that became a mental defect — or maybe it’s written into the game rules none of us have access to. Either way, I seem to be a solo-quest kind of girl.
And when you add in my ongoing battle with Chemo Boy, well, asking for help feels like handing him bonus points. He feeds off weakness. I’m convinced if I ask for help, he levels up somewhere in the background, unlocking an “Extra Pain” weapon pack. And I am not giving him that satisfaction.
The Quest for Light
So this morning’s solo mission? Find light. I woke up early to write, the house was dark, and I thought to myself — “Self,” (and I knew it was me because I recognized my voice — I love that old joke, and yes, full credit to whoever first wrote it).
Anyway. Back to the quest.
I thought, I need a lighted keyboard. Do I have one? Hmm. I Google it. Google tells me to grab a flashlight and look for a “keyboard with lines through it” symbol. So I go on an actual flashlight hunt — in the dark — to look for a symbol that literally means “light.” You can’t make this stuff up.
Of course, there’s no symbol. Then Google says, press the Fn key and the wiggly keyboard key.
Excuse me — the what key? The Fn key? I swear I had never seen such a thing in my life. Level 68 or Chemo Brain — take your pick. But after a small archaeological dig across my keyboard, I found it! Because I am nothing if not determined not to ask for help.
The Magic Combo
Back to Google (which doesn’t count as asking for help — that’s a resource, like a library for the socially stubborn).
Turns out I just needed to press Fn + Space Bar. I do it. And — miracle of miracles — my keyboard lights up like Times Square.
Fn-tastic. Fn-bulous. Fn-nomenal.
I was so proud of myself… until the mouse died.
The Mouse That Mocked Me
No joke, the mouse that was working five minutes ago suddenly decided to retire. My first thought: batteries. Nope. I toggled the power switch back and forth like a maniac — nothing.
Finally, I realized the little Bluetooth light was off. Because of course it was. After a few rounds of trial, error, and mild cursing, I managed to reconnect it. Success! Mouse revived. Chemo Boy zero.
Wait… What Was I Doing Again?
There was just one more small problem. I have no idea what I originally got up to write about.
So here we are:
The sun’s coming up over the lake.
I’m feeling good.
Sassy has already informed me that she’s scheduling three walks today because, quote, “Mama, you’re making me fat.” Her words, not mine.
So, that’s today’s adventure: backlit victory, Bluetooth betrayal, and total topic amnesia.
Moral of the story: Never give up, never give in — and don’t underestimate the power of the Fn key.
This morning I sat in the almost-dark and watched the sky split itself open. Every day really is a blank canvas, but let’s be honest—most of the strokes are thrown on by things I’ll never control. Life doesn’t exactly wait for my approval before it slaps paint around.
So I start where I can: ordering the little pieces that actually belong to me. Call it self-care, call it survival, call it refusing to let the day turn beige.
As the sky softened into light, I decided—resolved, even—that I’d throw some light of my own around today. Maybe for myself, maybe for anyone who crosses my path. The geese flew overhead in their messy V, reminding me that forward is the only direction that counts. And the blue heron strutted across the water like it owned the place, reminding me to stay exactly where I am, no apologies.
So here’s the palette I’m grabbing: joy.
Joy in the fact that I woke up vertical.
Joy in feeling well enough to move, not just moan.
Joy in time with my granddaughter—even at 25, when she’s not giggling but building her own damn life and still making me proud.
Joy in collapsing for a nap without guilt.
Joy in dancing if the music insists, even if it looks like a medical emergency.
That’s today’s order. Joy, bold strokes, no beige allowed. Maybe you should order some too.
For me, today—October 2, 2025—was the perfect date.
The sun was warm but the breeze carried just enough autumn chill to keep the leaves dancing off the trees. It was one of those days where you can breathe deeper, walk slower, and not feel guilty about either.
I woke up with a song in my head—sorry, no romance here—it was Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah. My dad used to sing that to me when I was little, and this morning it felt exactly right: My oh my, what a wonderful day.
Here’s the kicker: no part of my body hurt. That alone could’ve made it the perfect day. But then—bonus points—I was gifted the most relaxing massage. Afterwards I got time with my precious granddaughter, the kind that fills your heart without draining your energy.
Later, I drove peacefully to the lake, with my girl Sassy, watching leaves twirl and tumble in their autumn dance. At one point I stopped at a store and, without shame, practically Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah‘d from the car to the store and back again. Sassy was likely mortified.
By late afternoon, I had time to sit outside. I even took a nap out there, wrapped up in the perfect mix of warmth and breeze. And now, as I watch the sun slide down the sky, I can say it again: today was the perfect date.
It wasn’t too hot. It wasn’t too cold. I didn’t need a light jacket. And best of all—I didn’t think about cancer all damn day.
I want to take a moment to acknowledge something important. The movie Song of the South and its song Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah have not stood the test of time, and I understand the hurt it can represent. That film came out long before I was born, but my connection to the song is personal—I loved it because my Daddy used to sing it to me when I was little. That memory still brings me joy.
I never want to cause offense, so please accept my apology if my reference to the song was upsetting in any way. 💚
There is no blog post today because, at this very minute, I’m enjoying the most relaxing massage — a gift from a very dear friend.
After listening to my heart, I realized I need more of this: more quiet moments, more relaxing adventures, and more time with dear friends who remind me to pause. 💚
Third Act With Pattie 