Third Act With Pattie

Tag: writing

  • đŸŸ 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.

  • đŸŸ SASSY WALKS: TJ MAX ADVENTURE EDITION đŸ›ïž

    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.” đŸ„¶
    “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. đŸ’…đŸ¶

  • Before the Sun

    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 Chemo: The Strange Place Between Nap and Nausea

    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