Or I Stop and Rest, or I Stop and Rest

⚠️ Trigger warning: This post touches on sensitive topics and may stir deep emotions. Or simply can make you think!

People who know me—those who’ve spent real time with me, my friends, family, or even anyone who’s read my birth chart—would describe me as “energetic,” “passionate,” “a hard worker.”No one close to me would ever say “calm,” “cute,” or “zen.” That’s just not me.

Patience? I've been working on it since forever. Procrastination? Not in my vocabulary. I’m a doer. Always with a new project or idea. I feel like if I don’t create, I’ll explode from excess energy.

Meditation? I like it—for 5 minutes. Yoga? Love it—as long as it’s fast-paced. That’s just my nature. Denying it doesn’t help.

On top of that, I like to control things. Not people—just me: my schedule, my health, my routine.Annoying, I know.

Now mix that: high-energy + control-freak…Add physical limitations, being 95% at home, needing help for nearly everything I usually do, for at least five weeks, plus the looming fears: “Will my skin heal? “Can I still do the reconstruction? “How long until I get back to my active life?”“When will I be able to raise my right arm again?”

Simple questions with no simple answers. And the only thing I know for sure is: I need patience. Which, of course, is the one thing I lack.

I was doing really well with this second treatment, just like I did with the first. I was even recovering fast from the one-sided mastectomy. But then my skin (thanks to previous radiation) decided not to cooperate. Two unexpected surgeries within two weeks later, and here I am… deep in “WTF is life?” mode.

Yes, I’ve had my “poor me” days—they’re mostly gone. I’ve had (and still have) sad days. But I’m managing: therapy sessions, spiritual tools, and lots of venting to my mom and Alan (thank you and sorry!).

I know that in a couple of months, I’ll read this and think, “Why was I overthinking? Everything’s fine now.”But right now, riding this bumpy road is exhausting, and my butt is tired.I want to reach the final destination—with new boobs, good news, and full independence. Is that too much to ask?

Apparently, yes. But this time, there’s no other option.

Either I stop and rest, or I stop and rest. That’s it.

It may sound silly, but I wrote myself a Post-it note that says “REST” and stuck it to my laptop.I even set daily timers to remind me of this incredibly hard task: just relax. Ommmm.

From Your First Dove

First dove— that’s what she used to call me. I’m her first granddaughter, and she gave me that curious nickname.

Grandma Therezinha was always a fun, vibrant presence in my life, full of stories about her childhood in Cuiabá — tales of the unusual (and to me, hilarious) names of her friends in that quiet town that, according to her, later became unrecognizable, without the shady trees and inner gardens she remembered so fondly.

I never visited her hometown, but it felt like I knew it like the back of my hand from her countless stories — from the accident she had as a child, falling onto an iron fence and being bedridden for a year, to her strength, her mischief, and at the same time, her impeccable sense of organization and financial discipline.

I also remember visiting her at work at the State Health Department. As modest as it was, to me it felt like a dream. I still remember her black leather pencil case filled with pencils, erasers, and pens. She took the bus from Leblon to downtown Rio — and of course, more stories came from that route, like the one about a drunk man who passed out during a turn and landed on her foot, actually breaking it. A tragic story, yes, but when she told it, it became pure comedy, always accompanied by her wonderful laughter.

That was Grandma. A passionate Aries who could go from laughter to anger, from teasing to praise, in a heartbeat.

During my teenage years, I started spending even more time at her place, especially because of the beach. I’d stay weekends — and even weekdays — after fencing classes with my cousin Inoã and my aunt Leila, who lived with her. I’d sleep in her room — and even with her legendary snoring, I loved it! You know how a grandmother’s home feels, right?

A few years later, I moved in with her completely, bringing everything I had. It was a sort of crazy deal — “I’ll keep you company” — since she was living alone again, and I had been craving a room of my own since I was three.

Grandma Therezinha became my second mother in a quiet, loving agreement that lasted until I was 27 and got married for the first time. Those were years full of life lessons: about self-esteem — how she always said she saw herself as beautiful and confident, without shame — about family, in our big Sunday lunches, and about friendship, during our trips to Talho Capixaba, our gossip sessions, and the soap operas we watched together.

I remember the letter I wrote her, crying, as I said goodbye to her house when I got married for the first time. Less than two years later, I divorced… and went back to her company. We lived together for almost seven more years, until I married again and moved to the U.S.

These past 10 years living abroad, I visited Brazil four times, and each time I emotionally recharged by spending time with her — asking her to tell my favorite stories again, flipping through her photo albums, asking about old acquaintances, begging her to make the banana cuca I loved, and soaking up her gentle head rubs with her long fingernails.

Ah, I could stay here reminiscing forever... even about when she’d pretend to understand what I said but actually hadn’t heard a thing because her hearing aid was off.

Oh, Grandma Therezinha... a lover of life, of cold beer, of vanilla ice cream she sometimes hid from guests. On my last visit, I got to introduce her to my furry son, my dog Herkey, who I took with me to Rio. She could never pronounce his name correctly, but the way she said it was the sweetest and most loving version — in true Therezinha style.

Your first dove is here, going through treatment, getting stronger, inspired by the way you lived and looked at life. I love you!

It Is What It Is

I was about to celebrate two years cancer-free on January 19th—my birthday and also the day, two years ago, when my doctor told me the cancer was gone after surgery and six months of chemo. I was ready to get my hair trimmed, now that it’s growing back. I was excited to plan 2025, filling it with new projects, fresh ideas, places to visit, and people to see.

But then, there was a “but.”

An unexpected “but” arrived this winter. Oddly enough, it came with good timing too—the cancer is back.

Actually, according to my oncologist, it seems the MTF breast cancer never really left. The cancer was resistant to the drugs. I always knew triple-negative breast cancer was aggressive and stubborn, but I never imagined this. Seriously—never.

But it is what it is, right? There’s nothing I can do to change or control it. I have to go through the process again. The only thing I can do is continue with the attitude that I am healed, no matter what!

I can’t understand why this is happening. I can’t understand what I still need to learn from this.

We still need more information to figure out the next steps, but the waiting is torturous. For now, I welcome prayers, good energy, kind thoughts, work opportunities, and donations—yes, that will be on my list soon. Being a freelancer and a cancer patient is a tough combo.

And one more thing (not to be rude, but): please don’t give me unsolicited advice about what I should or shouldn’t do unless you’ve checked with me first or you’ve had firsthand experience with cancer. The information out there is overwhelming, and trust me—I tried everything imaginable during the first treatment: traditional medicine, Chinese medicine, and even the woo-woo stuff. I’m open to suggestions, but ask me first.

As if that weren’t enough, my husband is still in rehab, and on the same day I got the news about the cancer, my 96-year-old grandmother was hit by a car. She just underwent a very complicated surgery. She’s a rock—she’s 96 and still fighting.

It is what it is. We keep moving forward. Let’s go!