Dhremo Therapy :: Chemotherapy IV Decals

06/15/2024

I don’t remember the drive home from work. I was numb. Pulling up to daycare I wiped my eyes and composed myself behind a stoic mask of feigned okayness. At 3, my son was far too innocent to know about this. As I drove him home my eyes fell on everything in my world sorting them into one of two camps: means everything or means nothing. I struggled to find anything to put in the means everything camp. The reflection of my son in the rearview, singing happily to himself was it, not even my own reflection made the cut.

I continued wearing the mask that evening, auto-piloting through dinner, bathtime, story time and bedtime. I was a shell. As my little boy let go of the grips of the day and fell into sleep, so did I release my facade. I held him as if it were my last chance, sheltering him from my silent tears, dropping like bombs on his bedsheets. My ego ran the familiar scripts of victimhood, powerlessness and defeat.

I eventually pulled myself away from my boy, and wandered out the front door. I was looking for answers. For anyone. All I saw were blurry tail lights. I sat on the stoop ugly crying from the depths of my soul as this feeling of alone-ness permeated my bones.

Somehow a thought made it’s way through the swirling clutter to the surface of my mind, “Good. Thank you cancer for coming to save me. I’m done. Life is too hard. I can’t do this any more. Take me. Because I want out.” It was the first piece of hope I’d felt since the phone call. But it was immediately squashed by the hatred I had for myself as the vision of my son in the rearview resurfaced. How selfish could I be?

THIS was my rock bottom.

Much like the phoenix, you can’t rise again without burning down the former self. This was the fire. My ego’s last stand and surrender. The bombing that finally destroyed the war torn city. I was to sit trapped in this impossible rubble for weeks. Wishing it had just taken me, or still would, before realizing no one was coming to save me. I had to dust myself off, make sense of the mess, and begin building anew.

05/26/2024

I was collecting caps and gowns from sweaty art school grads, when I got the news. I stepped away from my black and white spreadsheet to take the call. Even after 2 weeks of being carted from scan to, ultrasound, to biopsy by doctors using the word “suspicious”, I was not prepared for this moment.

She never actually used the word cancer. What I did hear was a jumble of nonsense soon to become my familiar badge of courage “in situ invasive ductal carcinoma, ER and PR positive HER negative”. The words tossed by me so quickly there was no catching them. I’m not sure which dropped first, my heart, my stomach, or the floor. There was no time to think, I was engulfed by the angry currents of a violent river. No footing, no sound, no bearings, no control. I would stay trapped under those dark waters for the next month. Tumbling for tiny breaths of air. Desperate to find the ground and the light.

What I heard was a death sentence. The end. And in a sense it was. But I see now it was the beginning. A miracle so divinely timed and presented. Of course commencement would be the day chosen for this journey to embark. My students, for the first time in their lives, were released from the grips of their predictable and predetermined path. They, like me, plummeted into the waters of uncertainty.

On this day, the tornado tore me out of Kansas. I would never see the world the same. It was a calling to rise above my perceived prison of monochrome drudgery, and begin the journey home.

I took the call. I was initiated. And so, on Monday, May 19, 2014 it commenced.

05/13/2024

I found the lump on Mothers Day.

I had just finished reading to my 3 year old who now lay cuddled up next to me in his big boy bed, singing random notes and phrases. I wiped his sweaty hair from his forehead. Both of us were still sticky from a full day of play-doh, picnics and chases around the back yard.

As my boy tossed about, so did my mind. It was the usual. A ping pong match of mix matched perceptions. Of gratitude for this amazing little piece of myself laying beside me. But also of resentment, inequity and victimhood handed down from the many mothers before me.

My mind was busy pointing fingers, while my fingers were busy pointing me to a hidden truth. Unconsciously I slid my hand up to adjust my bra, releasing my damp skin from my underwire. My focus zapped back to my body. I felt something. A curious pea sized pebble just below my skin. My eyes widened and my body stiffened as I explored it.

Immediately, I was teleported back to 9th grade health class. All of us girls were handed out grubby silicone b***s stocked with these same curious pebbles. A treasure hunt of sorts. Here I was again, finding the pearl.

I knew immediately. Which is odd, because never once before that moment had I given this possibility even a thought. Hell, I’d never even checked myself regularly. Cancer was never in my cards.

I blinked away the water mounding over my eyelids as the heaviness of this moment set in. I held it all inside except these quiet tears. I didn’t want to alarm or disturb my innocent son. Quiet like a volcano.

I had haphazardly stumbled on a key that would unlock a new chapter in my life story. A plot twist I never saw coming even though somehow I knew it had been written long ago.
And as this fateful page unfolded, I knew there was no going back.

Of all the days. Mother’s Day. Of all the places my breast. It seemed too scripted.

So like a child who finally made it up the towering ladder to the top of the high dive I felt trapped. The way back was impassable, crowded with scowling impatient kids. I knew my only choice was to walk forward and jump into the unknown. Every fiber of me was not ready to cross this threshold, but I knew in my soul it was my destiny.

05/08/2024

Sometimes you just know. You take action without any idea why or where you might be going. You just get that undeniable nudge, and you walk forward. On Feb 22, 2014, three months prior to my diagnosis, I did one of those things.

I was flying cross country from Baltimore to California. It was one of those flights where you take off in the cold rainy nastiness of Baltimore winter only to puncture through the cloud cover revealing a perfectly sunny day above. I felt the shift as we made this transition, and simultaneously had an impulse.

I opened my laptop and saved a new document entitled “E.Motion=Power” I’m not sure I even knew what that meant at the time. The words rushed out before I could think them. What I did know was like this sky there were two competing parts of myself; My ego mind that was a swirling undercurrent of 38 years full of stories, fears and limiting beliefs; And my higher self, a new way of seeing, that was waiting patiently for the storms to subside. I needed to find the truth. And so I began the purge.

Two and a half hours of intense typing later, we landed in San Francisco. The sky was now the same above as below. Clear, blue and expansive, except for a small feathery wisp of clouds to the north. As I gazed, I realized they were in the shape of a bird. A phoenix!

Looking back I see what a huge turning point this was for me. In that window seat, high above the heaviness, I had created the vessel and the ritual to burn the ashes of my old life so I might rise anew.

Exactly one year later (to the day!) from this fateful flight on 2.22, I was given the clear. I was in remission. I’d completed my walk through the fire, the phoenix had risen, and the storm cells of cancer were gone. But more importantly, I had taken the courageous steps to find peace from within.

Don’t ignore the nudges my friend. Trust your knowing and move forward in faith that you will understand why you did further down the road.

05/05/2024

And so the story begins:

1. Some people have asked me over the years, were there signs?

Overwhelmingly yes. So many. The universe had set the stage in so many ways for me to walk through this time.

Perhaps my favorite sign was a visit from my Grandfather. Since he parted in my early teens he had paid me visits periodically over the years in the form of vivid dreams.

This night (10 years ago) was the most multi-sensory experience I’d had yet. Granddaddy, as I affectionately called him, swooped in energetically and embraced me in a giant hug. My smile pressed against his scratchy plaid wool suit. I had forgotten what he smelled like.

I breathed him in and tried to savor this reunion, until we both giggled, clumsily falling out of the hug as our feet tangled in a dance to find our grounding. We caught each other, steadied, full belly laughed and embraced once more.

I awoke feeling the deep significance of this visit, but I didn’t know why. Little did I know in the coming weeks I’d be finding a lump. That it was already there during that hug, hiding between his heart and mine.

Looking back I realize he knew I was about to embark on an epic adventure. He was excited for my journey out of darkness. He was giving me his vote of confidence and letting me know I’m always supported. I won’t fall. I could find joy and connection and fun in this dance of life, even if I start to lose my footing.

Guess what, y’all!? He came to visit me again this week - 10 years later. This time his smile was wider than I ever remembered. The kind of full toothed grin you beam at your child who just sang their first solo at the school talent show. Proud, elated, joyful and humbled that this little angelic voice somehow was an extension of you.

I leave for you some pictures of us. That’s me in the front with the white hat. We were “sledding” in a cardboard box. He was (and will forever be) my creative, resourceful and joyful muse. And I know he is proud of me for telling you my story.

Look for the signs my friend. We are always supported.

05/04/2024

Hello my dear friends,

This month marks 10 years since my cancer diagnosis. The weight of that sentence fills my soul with such a mix of emotions.

I am still here. 🙏🌈 Not a morning goes by that I don’t have that thought. I. am. still. here. I wake with the deep knowing and gratitude that I have been given one more day to breathe, connect and play in this miraculous world. What a gift.

As a gift to all of you who stood by me then and now, I feel called to tell my story. My aim is to let you see behind the curtain of my internal struggles, mindshifts, realizations awakenings and growth through this time- in real time a decade later.

My hope is by bringing you alongside as we walk through this time, we can all build our collective strength to see more light in the shadows of whatever we are facing in this life.

I’m not sure where this path will take us. But I do know I’m ready to take the first step. I welcome you to come along.

Because a little shift of mind can make a big difference.

01/11/2024

Light and love headed out the door! Let’s all send positive energy to the beautiful receiver of this box of vitality. She’s gonna drink in the miracles and mind the current!

Because I believe in miracles and I believe in you! -Marsha

01/09/2024

I’m humbled every time I send these out knowing my dark night of the soul means now someone will be infused with miracles. A little shift of mind makes a big difference. www.dhremo.com

09/20/2022

Thanks for the tour of the amazing Ulman House in . What a beautiful gift for young adults to be able to stay, connect and have an incredible community during treatment! Donating some Dhremo for their epic Bow Tie Ball auction.

02/26/2022

I love when I get to send large kits of DIY decals. Because I know many hearts and hands beyond my own will be helping transform hundreds of chemo infusion experiences.

11/02/2021

Thanks Arona at Because Love for highlighting Dhremo Therapy :: Chemotherapy IV Decals on your blog! If you know someone who is going through chemo, check out all of these great products!
https://www.itsbecauselove.com/blogs/love-notes/top-5-unique-heartfelt-chemo-care-package-items-for-her

Undergoing chemotherapy is a difficult time for our women cancer fighters. As caregivers, we don't always know the right thing to say or what to give to support them. They also have their own struggles with managing symptoms and figuring what types of clothing to wear. Eye masks, lip balms, and herb...