see Meg thrive

If you’ve ever been blindsided by life and forced to rewrite your story overnight, you’re in the right place. Getting a breast cancer diagnosis at 37 wasn’t on my bingo card, but here we are — and I’m choosing to thrive anyway. If you’re walking through something heavy, confusing, or downright unfair, I hope this space feels like a warm hug and a deep breath.
Today, armed with equal parts courage and curiosity, I’m kicking off my blog. Is it scary? Absolutely. Is it empowering? You bet. And yes, I fully intend to sprinkle in humor because laughter, without a doubt, helps me get through difficult times. You know what they say: laughter is the best medicine. A little comic relief has helped take the bitter edge off the reality that is breast cancer.
This blog is where I’ll share the messy, the meaningful, and the moments that make me snort-laugh. My hope? That by choosing to thrive through breast cancer, I can help you find your own version of thriving too.

Getting the Diagnosis (And Asking the Doctor to Repeat It)

When the doctor said, “It is malignant,” my brain hit the pause button. I remember thinking, Wait… is that the one that means cancer? Within seconds, I became the star of a medical drama — except the script was missing, the lighting was terrible, and I definitely didn’t audition for the role.
My reaction? Awkward silence. My head hung. My face twisted into a confused, questioning expression. I thought, Okay, I’ll bite. I respect her. She IS a doctor. But I’m sure it’s nothing. I’m only 37. Maybe it’s cancer’s baby brother or something like that. I mean, I’m healthy. I’m an athlete. I ran a marathon last year.
But then the radiologist continued, offering soothing reassurances that I wasn’t alone — followed by a gentle shove that further tests, including biopsies, needed to begin ASAP. And just like that, choosing to thrive through breast cancer became my new reality.

Facing the Unknown (Or: Will My Insurance Cover All This?)

The days that followed felt like entering a bizarre raffle:
Congratulations! You’ve won more days off work!
And behind door number two… a new set of boobs!
Not to mention the endless medical jargon. And heaven forbid you Google anything — that’s a twisted rabbit hole no one should willingly enter. If I had a nickel for every time I said “mastectomy” to friends and family, I’d have a nice little nest egg set aside for medical leave.
Choosing to thrive through breast cancer meant learning to navigate uncertainty, paperwork, appointments, and the emotional whiplash that comes with all of it. It’s a lot. And yet, here we are — still moving forward.

Finding Strength in Vulnerability (And Accepting Free Food)

My husband and I have always been independent, but now I’m discovering the unexpected joys of letting people in. Family and friends have shown up with soups, hugs, care packages, cozy socks, and — bless them — cake. Turns out vulnerability isn’t only about tears; sometimes it’s about listening to kind suggestions and accepting help.
It’s about leaning into discomfort.
It’s about sharing hard truths with the safe people around me.
It’s about realizing that choosing to thrive through breast cancer doesn’t mean doing it alone.
And honestly? The free food is delicious – can I get that recipe please?

Why I’m Writing This (Because I Want Cancer to Fuel Me, Not Defeat Me)

This blog is my playground for emotions: fear, hope, triumph, and the occasional snark. Writing helps me process what’s happening, and maybe — just maybe — if you’re here, you’re on your own wild ride too.
All I can say is this: we may not know where the road leads, but at least we can share a few laughs along the way. I want to live each day like the destination isn’t the important part. The learning is in the journey. And choosing to thrive through breast cancer is part of mine.

Looking Ahead (With Humor as My Sidekick)

I don’t know what’s next — will I need chemo? Will I try a juice cleanse? Will I interview a nutritionist? What I do know is that there is a long journey of healing ahead. Dauntingly long.
Right now, walking my dog around the block makes me want to pass out on the sofa and nap for two hours. But even in the exhaustion, there’s love, laughter, and the kind of tears that remind you you’re still human.
This adventure has no roadmap. But thanks for joining me on it. Let’s tackle it together — one laugh, one day, and one awkward hospital gown at a time.
Because choosing to thrive through breast cancer isn’t a one-time decision.
It’s a daily practice.
And I’m here for it.