Hello, my shining moonbeams. It’s been a minute. Within that minute I have entered what I feel to be a new phase in my life, a freeing phase that is catapulted by happiness. For nearly a month, I spent time across the pond and rediscovered my life and the things I want out of it.

To start off, wow. Can I just say – I LOVE ENGLAND! I’ve always known that and I had been there times before, but this time felt different. As most of you know, if you follow my story, I have been on travel lock down since my cancer diagnosis in the summer of 2013. By nature I am a jetsetter. I enjoy being in unknown places, without being attached to my “real” life and the troubles within. When I travel, there is a certain romance to it, a freedom that allows you to be whomever you want and for me, that is living without a terminal illness. I’m able to go back to being me; an adventurer with thirst in my blood for worldly experiences. When I was diagnosed, I felt that one of the biggest losses to having cancer was the fact that I could no longer be as free as I wished to be. My citizen of the world passport would no longer apply and I’d be stuck doing treatment after treatment without an escape. My escape had become writing. If I were no longer going to be able to leave and experience life, then I’d write about it, which I have.

This year, 2015, I vowed to myself that it would be different than the last two, that I would yet again spread my wings and live a little. In the beginning of the year I approached my Doctor and pleaded for some independence from my chemotherapy week after week, to which she obliged and advised that 2015 could be my year of travel with chemo squeezed in between. It was the best news I had heard in quite some time and immediately booked a trip to Hawaii with Steve-O and planned the trip for Nan and I go travel to the UK together to attend my beautiful cousin’s wedding and share laughs and love with the family over there that we don’t get to see often enough.

The trip was so important to me and I wanted to ensure that I soaked everything in. My Nan in her very own way was my wish-granting factory, as she made the trip happen. Being that we were returning to her home town, I was fortunate enough to visit her previous homes, where she grew up, the house she was born in, the hospital she had my Mum and Auntie Bev in, where my Granddad went to college, where the two of them were married and so much more. Being able to experience England through her eyes was more than my hearts desire and something I will never be able to thank her enough for.

There were endless amounts of stories, laughs, fish and chips, tea and best of all time with family on both my Nan’s side and my Granddad’s side.   My roots are in full force over there and it was lovely to get to know that side of myself so much more. The posh wedding of my cousin, which we attended, has built memories that will last a life time, as well as traveling to Chester, Liverpool and all over the Wirral with my cousin’s and their other halves, of course also visiting London with the best company and seeing each and every friend and family member. Howls were had, love was expressed and England will forever hold the key to my heart. Quite literally, as Nan and I locked our love on Albert Dock in Liverpool and threw the key into the River Mersey. Our loved ones can continue to visit us in Liverpool, even though we may not physically be there, our spirit will always remain.

Since I’ve been back I have been reliving each moment in my head and finding it difficult to write about. My time spent there was so special, that it is difficult to express. I feel rejuvenated and feel I have a new sense of direction for my life.   Suddenly gears have started moving upon my return and from that, fresh goals have emerged. I’m super excited about the future and what it holds and as things get closer, I’ll share more deets.

In the meantime, check out some photos from my trip and watch out for some upcoming projects and collabos. Big Kiss x.

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Love, Britt x

♂ Baby Blues & Fertility News ♀

IVF Procedure

IVF Procedure

Conceptually, Saturday morning felt like the due-date of my unborn children.  It was a day that I had worked for, poked myself for and was broadly enthusiastic for.  This was going to be the day that the IVF paid off and Steve and I would be able to secure our future family before chemotherapy began.

On our way to the Doctor’s office, I couldn’t help but feel a similar excitement to what it must feel like to drive to the hospital when a woman is going into labor.  Clearly, I recognize that there is a huge difference, but this was an appreciation of birthing our future babies.  The clouds were bulbous and the sky was grey, there was a sort of peacefulness to the day; almost as if it were the calm before the storm.  The retrieval procedure would be the finishing task in the IVF process, and then the port and chemotherapy would begin shortly after and from there I’d be on my way to mending.

Unlike the port and the chemotherapy, we were thrilled about the retrieval and surely interested in the piece of mind that it would reserve for us and the prospective family we would share together.  After all, developing a fertility plan was equally important to Steve and I, as the start of my chemotherapy treatments.  It was an essential enterprise to the point where we placed my health and healing on hold in order to go through the process of IVF.

As I was wheeled to the OR, I recalled feeling differently than I did when I was taken for my surgery on July 1st, where I later received my cancer diagnosis.  This time around I wasn’t nervous, I knew that the outcome would be the product of Steve and I and a creation of something I could fight for.

In what seemed to be minutes, I awoke from my twilight and was advised by the Doctor that everything looked fanciful and a total of five “beautiful” eggs were retrieved.  It felt as though I was being told that my baby had all ten fingers and ten toes.  With the confident news, Steve and I were able to go home and enjoy the rest of our Saturday, even celebrating Steve’s Birthday at our local watering hole later that night, with the company of friends.

When Monday rolled around, my high hopes started to feel a little defeated.  We were expecting a phone call, per the Doctor’s word, to confirm how many eggs fertilized with Steve’s sperm, thus how many that they would be freezing.  Needless to say, when Monday night settled into Tuesday morning and we still hadn’t heard from the Doctor, my optimistic tendencies took a turn for the worst.  Awaiting the official count of our embryos became a nail bitter as the day proceeded and the phone still hadn’t rang.

Ah ha! Finally as the sun was setting, we had received the anticipated phone call from the Doctor’s office.  Immediately I had a pit in my stomach, bracing myself for the news of our future little babies.   As the Doctor proceeded with small talk and how I was feeling since the procedure, I wanted so badly to tell her I had waited for almost 72 hours and to cut to the chase.  Respectfully so, I waited for her long-winded chatter to come to a close and hear what she had to say about the “headcount”.  The sentence started off with “unfortunately” and instantly my attention faltered.  Not more bad news, I thought to myself.  When would things begin to turn around? This was supposed to be the positive in all of this and make it worth going through to begin with.  The Doctor explained that only two eggs had split out of the five and they didn’t appear to be progressing any further.  Yet, they will give it one more day before calling it a futile attempt.

Gasping for air as I hung up the phone, I ran to the living room to cling to Steve.  I felt as though my body, once again, had failed me.  Hyperventilating uncontrollably, Steve consoled me and I, him.  We were grieving for our future together. Nonetheless, despite the unpleasant results of our fertility, we will continue to march forward.  I have trust that we can try again, once my chemotherapy completes.  In the meantime, I will focus on my treatment and myself, and then we can resume the fight for our babies and our family.


Britt x

Thank you ♡


I am so appreciative and thankful for the support I have received from family, friends and strangers as I battle this epic disease that is cancer. Not but a month ago I started this blog as a platform of therapy and to share my story. Thank you for being a part of my journey and caring enough to read my scattered thoughts through this process.


Britt x

☯ Expectations vs. Reality ☯

As promised to myself, I am channeling the good, the bad and the ugly through means of therapy in writing this blog. The “ugly” materialized upon me earlier this week and it succeeded in its endeavor by assembling my feelings to a condensed state. I struggled with publishing this post, as it was a deeply personal and dark emotional frame of mind. But, unfortunately, much like anything in life, cancer is not all sunshine and rainbows. In an effort to support myself, with the possibility of other’s through my experience with cancer, I have opted to share some of my murkiest moments as I continue on this path and the affect this past week had on me.

Sleep, in it’s unvarying form, has been lackluster, but more particularly so, as I knew that my Oncologist would convey the awaited PET scan results when I would see her on Monday afternoon. Noticeably, I have come to have an aversion to any and all activities concerning appointments, as the time consumed in a Doctor’s office is suiting to become more common than time spent at home. Perhaps that’s an exaggeration, but incontestably it feels as though they are the local haunts these days and not by my election. I digress; although not keen, I attended the appointment with an assurance, a positive induced expectation as to what the results would indicate. In my pipedream it went a little something like this, “Britt, after Radiology reviewed the PET, you are clear of any remaining cancer cells….”

Quite the contrary to my expectation, the reality promptly infected the idea that my hopes could not have been reasoned to be correct. Resolutely, the epic tale of expectations versus reality was my front and center. Per the norm, the moment I heard, “we found a….”, I transcended into the first law of nature, self-preservation. As it turns out, through all of the clicks and whistles I heard thereafter, the synopsis was that another diseased formation was living in my body, rent-free. This particular invader is making up a new colony of cancer cells, outside of the originating habitat on my colon and ovary. The Oncologist said that the precise dwelling is ambiguous, but it appears to be in the stomach region.

As my Doctor is becoming more personal with me, she grasped to touch my knee in a form of comfort as she was relaying the disappointing information. It was as though I was reliving the lurid pangs of the initial diagnosis and the news was pummeling me in the gut, yet again. This time, I didn’t go straight into business mode, as per my initial reaction when being diagnosed as I lay in the hospital bed, just hours out of my invasive, unpredictable surgery. Now I departed into the dimmest part of my brain and felt vacant. The Oncologist proceeded to share her thoughts on the newfound formation and the lack of measures that could be done, outside of chemo. However, as I was drenched in the residue of the new proceedings, all I could hear was the inaudible voice of Mrs. Donovan, the teacher in Charlie Brown (wah, wah, wah, wahh, wahhh).

In all fairness to the Doctor, my zoning out was to no fault of her own. She cordially and candidly provided me with the thorough details of what the PET scan had to offer and simply advised that being that my diagnosis is already Stage IV, there is nothing outside of the already planned chemo treatments to fix it. Of course, there was always a chance that there were remaining cancer cells, post surgery, but to hear of new cancer cells was the glorious fact that sent the alarm bells ringing. Customarily, Steve and my Nan were there, the glue holding me together and of course questioning the Doctor and the next steps, where I could not in my trance like state. The only question, or demand rather, was that I be prescribed anti-depression medication. I was there, I had irreversibly exhausted my positivity at that moment and my mind was seeking numbness out of the teeny white pill. In concluding with the Oncologist, she said that she would continue to monitor me and check in after my first chemo treatment to see how well I did, or lack thereof.

Seizing every fiber of my being to hold it together during the walk out of the Doctor’s office and into the parking lot, I finally fell apart as we reached the blackening hot asphalt. Steve and my Nan both held me, with reassurance that it would all be okay after chemo. The truth is, I know it will all be okay. Very few times have I truly questioned the alternative, but this time I was pushed into anger. For weeks now I have been a poster child for the brave and the positive. Reassuring other people that yes, I will be just fine and more importantly reassuring myself that the PET scan results would come back perfect. Then I started to question my positive mentality. Is there such thing as being too positive and optimistic? After all, everyone says attitude is everything and positivity is half the battle. But what’s the catch? In that moment I felt trapped in my own hopefulness and it became clear that there was a huge difference between expectation and reality.

Expecting one thing and receiving a different outcome, in any situation can be gravely disappointing. Walking into a Doctor’s office, awaiting the nature of your future health and expecting to walk out scotch free is a colossal mistake in the realm of expectations. My two lovely supporters expressed that they were happy with the results. Not of course that another cancer cell was found, but that it was just one, instead of the many that it could have possibly been. They viewed it as a fortunate outcome, while I viewed it as a partial death sentence.

The moral of the story is that this is all a learning experience. You can’t help how you feel, whether it is good, bad or ugly. I walked into the Doctor’s office with an upbeat approach that I would be clear of any additional cancer cells, to what I already had. My expectation was that I would be unblemished of any disease but the reality turned out to be misrepresented. Could my results have been worse? Absolutely! But, the reality is, I am going to be undergoing chemo treatments next week and my expectation and reality will be that I will make it through triumphantly and one day merge my expectations with reality by dubbing myself a cancer survivor.


Britt x

Right on Target… ➳◎

As I conclude today, I feel a sense of accomplishment.  I have successfully completed the IVF (In Vitro Fertilization) shots required in order to preserve and harvest our embryos for our future family.  Thus far, having cancer has been an immeasurable waiting game and I have felt as though we have been stuck in limbo for two months.  Although we have been going to incredible amounts of Doctor’s appointments each day, we have not successfully crossed a milestone within the process as a whole.  Saturday will mark the day in which I will undergo the operation for retrieval of the eggs, in which case Steve will also be required to supply his half (if you know what I mean…).  Needless to say, it’s been a jagged two weeks experiencing IVF, but I am anxious and excited for Saturday to get here so we can officially cross something off of the long list of cancer “to-do’s”.  Everything is right on target…

Love, Britt x