The Rogue Boob Blog

This is a collection of ongoing updates I have shared with family and friends. There’s a lot of emotion and bad boob jokes in them! Each update is its own post - the top entry is the most recent.

3/5/26

Hello friends and happy March! I’d say “spring is right around the corner!” but I’ll believe it when I see it this year, lol. Three weather delays have resulted in a month-long extension of treatment. I’m over it. 

TL;DR because this one is a fatty with a lot of bad jokes - I was on Susan G. Komen’s podcast!; menopause kicks ass (in both good and bad ways); my back and legs have a shot at healing; the body changes are downright horrifying and I want to fistfight the universe about it.

Well, it’s March. Back in September when this started, I asked myself what life would look like 5 months from then. What would 5 months of treatment and acclimating myself look like–what would this winter bring, emotionally and physically? I’ve stopped trying to anticipate the twists and turns life has in store because, clearly, you could think you’re moving in one direction before you’re hurled into the next. If I could tell myself 5 months ago one thing, it’s this: Don’t bother trying to think of what’s coming next. Just focus on surviving the next 15 minutes.

Things are stable treatment-wise. I’m exhausted 24/7 but I’ve managed to stay out of the hospital or ER for 4 weeks now, which is a new record! I love a good fun fact, and maybe you will too. One thing I never would have known about (hormone-positive) breast cancer until now: my body can no longer be trusted with hormones, ever. So—surprise!—I am in menopause for the rest of my life. It’s been about four months, and the complete loss of f*cks to give about petty nonsense has been honestly kind of liberating. That part isn’t a trope! It’s real! Now, I’d love to tell you hot flashes make you feel like a powerful phoenix bursting into flames and being reborn from the ashes, but you’re more like a sweaty, disoriented pigeon smashing headfirst into a street sign and promptly passing out. I laughed too hard at a silly joke and suddenly my soul needed to exit my body just to cool down?? Any and all tips on surviving The Inferno are welcome, because I fear there are not enough ice pops in the world.

I had the opportunity to appear on Susan G. Komen’s podcast in February! Lemme tell you, I have a lot to say about all this bullsh*t and it was equal parts cathartic and intimidating sharing my story. I’ve mentioned noticing a gap between how cancer is talked about and how it’s lived through, especially for the younger population. When talking about menopause and also cancer treatment, I’ve heard people say they didn’t recognize themselves in the heart of treatment all throughout my life, which always made sense, but now I truly understand it. Being violently jump-scared by your own reflection every single time is a pretty wild mental trip. Like, let me get this straight: I’m gonna lose my tits and I have to look like chubby she-Voldemort leading up to it? Come on. When I open my front-facing camera, I look like a thumb with facial features. Those bags under my eyes are designer, okay? I earned those! I also have to use an eyebrow pencil now. I will have you know that losing my hair is one thing—that’ll all grow back, it wasn’t that great to begin with, and I have a killer wig. But my eyelashes and brows? CALL THE HAGUE. This is a crime and yet somehow I’m the one paying for it in the CVS makeup aisle, standing there looking like a bewildered idiot. Someone once told me “men would have gone to war for a woman with eyes like that in the past.” Where’s my damned army?? Oh…it’s in my hand and I have no idea how to use it. (It’s the Elf brow gel pencil, my beautiful makeup-wearers. Send help!) 

And as if the funhouse-mirror circus wasn’t enough, my body decided to add a metabolic plot twist. I’m now doing GLP1 injections (Ozempic, but specifically Zepbound) with the approval of my oncologist. This is something that can happen: the rapid weight gain I’ve experienced is actually from an insulin resistance and metabolic crash caused by the extremely sudden hormonal screech-to-a-halt into menopause. I was just hoping the rise was being caused by a tough adjustment period but, alas. Even though I know it’s no fault of my own, it is very much so destroying what little is left of my self-esteem. Gaining 4-6 pounds a week for no reason is absolutely f*cking insane no matter how you slice it (after losing it all on my own) and I admit that this time, I really need a GLP1 to keep me at a healthy baseline. It will not affect treatment and actually, Ozempic is being used more and more for situations just like this with phenomenal, sustainable results. I don’t care how long it takes. I’ve lost a metric f*ckton of weight on my own before and I don’t ever want to look like a celebrity who took it too far. I just want to feel and look like me for longer than 15 seconds total for God’s sake! Why that road has had to be so heinously difficult too, I’ll never understand why. When I think about it all, how the weight gain was the most insulting and worst thing that could have happened mentally, I’m stuck between being so tired of it I dissociate and wanting to fistfight the wind for just blowing too hard. 

Some good news!: I’ve been quiet on the disc degeneration front because I wanted to have a game plan ready before I touched on it again. We found out about this, the cause of my years-long disabling pain, during the PT scan to check for metastatic cancer spread. I have 4 protrusions (C2, T1, L4, L5) and this fun disorder called Piriformis syndrome as a result, where there is a deep knot in my glute muscle compressing my sciatic nerve. There is damage and pain all over my right side but especially concentrated down my right leg. But the good news is this: I got my first round of injections to space the vertebrae out and relieve the knot in my muscle on 3/3. Because there are a few spots that could be causing the bulk of the pain, we are taking the shots one location at a time. The first one they tried didn’t really work, but they told me they didn’t expect it to–it will take time and effort to nail it down completely, but we are so so close to getting this figured out for good.

It’s all a lot. I know. For as bitter as I can be about this, I have to recognize that I’m actually pretty lucky. I had a late stage, aggressive cancer and I wouldn’t have seen 35 if I didn’t find it exactly when I did. A lot of people don’t even still. Chemo has killed basically all the cancer off already. All the issues I’ve encountered in treatment have been met with unbelievable care and understanding from my team, and also with a resolution—and if not a definite answer, then pretty close to one. It would have been years of more crippling pain if I didn’t have to get a PT scan. Dr. Flanigan, Lauren, Jodi & the whole Davenport crew are effectively saving my life and giving me the best shot at normalcy afterwards I could possibly have. I can’t bake them enough cookies every week to express the gratitude I feel. 

Yeah. I want to rip something to shreds and in the next breath I am kissing the ground one of my many living guardian angels walks on. I’m exhausted, too! But here’s to warmer weather and time moving in the right direction. It ain’t much but it’s good enough for now. Thank you for everything as always, folks…who’s tired of hearing that? (I don’t care, I’m going to keep saying it.)

All my love,

Caroline

2/9/26

Hi everyone! It’s freezing in New England! Shocker. Who the hell needs that stupid groundhog anyway?

We’re 3 Taxol cycles in out of 12. Nine left. Lemme tell you, the rumors about it being easier to tolerate than AC are true. I feel more human now and the side effects are far more manageable than they were. That is a serious win. I hope to visit New Jersey next week--I haven't been home since this whole thing started. I am long overdue. One constant thought loop I can’t get out of is how I miss my dad and my pets and friends and family. How I worry for them, how I’m missing opportunities to see the next generation of our family grow up. Sigh, let's hope the weather behaves this time.

I can’t imagine what reading these must be like, lol. The Superman narrator says: “It’s verbose! It’s emotionally charged! No! It’s…just Caroline with another update.” Sounds about right.

Anyway, amidst the chaos, there are some interesting things starting to take shape. To preface, these two things are true about me:
    1. I’m a golden retriever until circumstances require a pit bull.
    2. I can write.
These updates have become one of my biggest coping tools. Writing the thoughts out eases the constant ricochet in my brain in a way physically talking doesn’t. My dad always says, “You just keep thinking, Butch” (of Sundance Kid fame), and while that’s historically been my problem, lately I’ve been putting the anger, sadness, thinking, and writing to good use. I’ve found myself intensely worried about how many young women are in my exact position and don’t know it yet. We aren’t taught how to do self-checks until 40. There is a growing, horrifying argument against doing self-checks at all—when 85% of people under 45 find their own cancer as it is! Mammograms are often still denied when self-reported because we’re “too young” or because…we’re women. That dismissal creates a dangerous feedback loop: providers stop listening and patients stop trusting themselves. It’s a really serious, life-ending problem.

I wrote a piece about navigating breast cancer as a younger patient and the gap between how it’s discussed and how it’s actually lived. I sent it to a few nonprofits just to see what would happen. The Susan G. Komen Foundation asked to publish it alongside an interview I did with them on 1/29. A local organization that has been a lifeline for me—resources, friendship, structure, relentless positivity (WE CAN & its ladies, I love you all so very much!!!)—also invited me to give a short talk at our monthly meetup this week: “Breast Cancer vs. Self Love: FIGHT! 5 Points on Self Love When Life Is a Literal Dumpster Fire.” I'm doing things that are impactful. Cathartic. Meaningful. Feels like I’m getting somewhere, anywhere, finally.

Here is my feature on Susan G. Komen's site: https://www.komen.org/blog/carolines-story-breast-cancer-at-30/

I’m realizing that advocacy might be where I land. Not everyone wants to tell their story and no survivor owes anyone anything. And not all of them, but the glittery facade of some loud, saccharinely inspiring CANCER WARRIOR social media annoy me somewhat because they create this subliminal pressure to overshare, because that’s what everyone does these days, right? That’s never what it should be about. The truth is there’s no light bright enough at the end of this tunnel to make up for this flavor of hell. I will never not be bitter and butthurt about this whole ordeal. But for me, maybe the reaching light takes the form of turning around, grabbing another woman, and helping her reach hers—just like so many survivors and people in general alike are doing for me, readily and without hesitation. I’ll never get back what I lose out on now but maybe we all have something to gain from this.

One last thing: Every care package, card, food delivery…I am the luckiest person in the world just based on the astounding generosity that has been hurled at me for 4 months straight. I want and need for nothing, truly, and I am blessed beyond reason to be able to say that. There are a few places that have had a major hand in helping me out lately. Instead of sending me anything more, I’ve included some links at the bottom if you would like to donate to these amazing places doing amazing things for amazing people. Again…”thank you” to both you and these groups just doesn’t begin to cut it.

Right. So, manifest it with me now: Pay me to travel around, talk about my rogue t*ts, and save lives! (Read: dearest of Gods. This situation. This whole planet. Something’s gotta give for all of us.) It feels like the damned end times lately…the horrors persist and so do we, I guess. But one thing is for sure! I am so beyond grateful for this small army we’ve amassed. Come on. Let’s just get to the light already.

Thank you again for everything. Love you all, folks!!!

Proud new owner of an eyebrow pencil (UGH),
Caroline

1/26/26

Hello 2026 and happy belated new year! I hope you and yours are safe and warm wherever you are braving out this ridiculous snow and ICE.

We are still barreling straight through the Great Boob Coup of 2025. I finished the first part of chemo, the AC (four infusions, every two weeks) on January 5, and recently met with my absolutely badass oncologist (who somehow also happens to be a human sugar cube). Long story short: I am responding insanely well to treatment. No one can feel any of the tumors anymore. If there was ever any doubt about whether this was working, there isn’t now. We are burning right through it. Next up is Taxol, starting tomorrow, which is once a week for 12 weeks. I hear it’s generally easier to manage than the previous four big bad ones, and I am 100% choosing to believe that wholeheartedly and blindly, lol! If only Cape Cod Hospital had a frequent flier program.

The mental side has become the hardest part by a long shot in recent weeks. I spent 5 days in the hospital last week (I’m okay!), which resulted in a week-long delay to start Taxol. 12 more weeks of my life are about to get consumed by hospital visits and feeling like absolute sh*t. Between the steroids and menopause, I’ve gained nearly 20 pounds after losing almost 100 over the past few years. I finally stopped my lifelong nervous habit of picking my fingernails--a 2025 resolution that stuck--only to have chemo make them hurt horribly and flake off anyway. Most of my friends and family are several states away. And I’m still about eight months out from returning to anything resembling a sort-of-normal-sometimes life. When you’ve been sick, in pain, and run down for as long as I have, even before the cancer, your brain starts to whisper that maybe this is just how it is now. That maybe it won’t get better, no matter how much you try. That maybe it’s not even worth trying. Between my heart, my brain and my boobs (and my categorically AWFUL taste in men) I do sometimes wonder what fun, creative way my body or circumstances might whip up to try to kill me next. I had roughly 30 seconds this past summer where I felt good about myself before the universe said, “Yeah, f*ck you. Again.” I feel so stupid for thinking my biggest challenges were behind me.

This is my reality. Yes, I am beating this and it truly does seem like everything will work out medically. But I am so, so utterly disheartened by the wider picture this paints sometimes that it's hard to not get swallowed up by it. Figuring out how to navigate the wasteland this is leaving behind in my body (which was already wrecked!), my identity, my physical sense of self, and how I feel about life in general is going to be a very real and very daunting challenge for the rest of my days. I don’t even know where I’d start...but I suppose that’s a bridge I’ll have to cross when I get there.

Here’s to easier times ahead for us all. Look at the world…good God. We could all use a hug these days. Sending you and yours just that, and then another one, just to be sure ;)

All my love,

Caroline

12/27/25

Hi everyone! I’m wishing you all a belated, joyful and healthy holiday season! Let’s finish 2025 strong.

Welcome back to Sh*tty T*tty City, where we’re still steamrolling this thing. I had my second chemo on Monday the 8th and the third on the 22nd. The last few weeks have been predictably rough, but not as bad as you’d think. When people think of chemo, you imagine feeling terribly sick 24/7 with no reprieve. I am lucky to say it’s not like that for me so far. I know pain, anyway. It doesn’t scare me. I am driving, exercising, and actually doing things. Yes, I am tired. It can all be sudden and intense, but it has all been manageable. Thank [whatever higher power you believe in] and the incredible staff at the Davenport-Mugar Cancer Center for that.

On top of that, I have some very exciting news! In the days leading up to my second infusion, I could have sworn the main tumor was shrinking. It wasn’t hurting as much, the swelling went down enough for me to wear a soft bra, the discoloration started to fade. I had a checkup with one of the NPs before my second infusion and I told her as much. Get this: The visible, palpable area of my breast where the tumor surfaced went from 3.2cm to just over 1cm. She could not locate or feel my lymph nodes. After one treatment. That doesn’t mean I have to do any less treatment to take this out; I still have to complete the entire regiment in order to ensure this will not come back. But now the game plan is to have zero cancer left in my body before the double mastectomy, which would be called a “complete response” to the chemo. Merry Christmas to meeee!

I was shocked. I still am, really. How could it possibly work that fast? Here’s the answer—chemotherapy is wired to specifically target the fastest-growing cells in your body. That’s why so many people lose their hair. The drugs see cancer cells dividing out of control or fast-growing hair follicles and they say, “mmm, lunch.” It doesn’t know the difference between the two. So in this case, the more aggressive the cells, the faster they die. The ddAC-T protocol is sometimes described as the Battle Axe treatment for my type of cancer (ER+ PR+ HER2neu-) at an advanced stage because it works like one. Again, that is how much the technology has improved even in the last 15 years. When I go in on January 5th for my last AC infusion (the 4 biweekly cycles), I will be talking to my oncologist about the next steps. I imagine imaging is in order soon. After that, if all goes according to plan, I start the 12 weekly cycles of Taxol right after.

Treatment is going beautifully and I am so, so grateful. I’ve mentioned my thoughts on fairness and how it may not truly exist, and I really do think that fairness and unfairness are arbitrary concepts we have evolved with and developed to cope with the incomprehensible events, all the highs and lows, of life. While I have full assurance right now that I will survive, I couldn’t make it home for Christmas and see my pets, family and friends. I haven’t been there since this started. I wasn’t up to the trip and I 100% would have gotten even more sick because my immune system is that compromised. I also wanted to, needed to and did break up with my boyfriend days before Christmas after missing some signs I really, really should have seen before. It was the right thing to do and I have zero regrets, but…it’s still a whole damn mess. I do try my best to roll with the punches, keep a stiff upper lip at all times, and go with the flow, but guys. Look me in the eye and tell me this whole year hasn’t been one from the deepest pit. I know I had very real problems and life issues to worry about before I got diagnosed. I had things that made me doubt my strength and scared me before I met my now-ex. So no, none of this is fair. No, I didn’t deserve any of this. And I think it’s okay that I finally acknowledge that as we exit thisstupid. damned. year.

As 2026 begins, this is the promise I’m making to myself: I will never forget how strong I am. I will never allow anyone—or any situation—to take my power away from me again. I know who I am and I know what I want to do. I will accept help without feeling like a burden when it is offered. I’m going to take chances and not be reigned by fear and the comfort of remaining hidden and unseen. What else do I have to even be afraid of at this point? This life is mine. It’s a little messed up but I am, too. It’ll never be easy or perfect and that is okay. It took me 30 years, but I now intend to live for myself on my terms, and no one will ever catch me apologizing for that again.

Okay, then. Let’s all kick some ass and send each other good vibes, because being there for each other is a big part of what helps us grow as ourselves, too. Again, hope you had the most peaceful of holiday seasons. Happy 2026 to all, and to all, a good night! Talk to you all then!

All my love, as always,

Caroline

11/28/25

Hello, out there! Hope you and yours had a Thanksgiving full of amazing food and all the things to be grateful for! 

Time for another installment of Adventures with Murderous T*ts. To everyone who is just joining in now, welcome and thanks for coming along for the ride. There’s a summary at the bottom as usual.

Well, we’ve officially reached the part where we get to murder them back. I had my first AC infusion on Monday morning (11/24). The weeks leading up to treatment felt like standing in the path of an F5 tornado watching every awful what-if and unfair certainty barrel toward me. And now that I’m actually in it, I finally know what that storm feels like. I’ve also met a few others who’ve been pulled into it too, and the consensus is weirdly the same: there’s a certain relief in finally being here, even though the whole situation is still pretty nightmarish. Lol.

The infusion rooms at Cape Cod Hospital are brand new and have heated recliners, snacks, drinks, big TVs and even a view of Hyannis harbor (hey, it’s Cape Cod. We have to keep things on-brand here). For as uncomfortable an experience as it was, it could have been way worse. I’m so glad I was able to have one of my favorite people with me too. But before the chemo, I got a port installed in my chest to help administer the medicines easier. That was last Wednesday 11/19. I’ve named it PORTicia Addams. Why, you ask? Because it’s going to kill cancer with a potent concoction and it was installed on a Wednesday. It’s healed up pretty nicely already—I’m beginning to forget it’s even there now. I choose to take that as a good omen…

…just like the wig consultation I had on 11/20. The idea was to create a wig that looks a lot like what I have naturally—but when I walked in, a mannequin was sitting on a shelf wearing MY HAIR. I thought about going with something different just for the fun of it, but this looks and feels like me, and that just feels comforting and what I really need as I get through this. 

When I picked up my wig today (11/28), I made the decision to fully buzz my hair. There’s a lot of elements at play that are completely out of my control, but buzzing it now feels like it gave me just a little bit back. I am not happy about it but it was going to rip me to shreds watching it all fall out in a few more days' time. I’ve been told it actually hurts more and more as it comes out because of your follicles shutting off, so now I don’t have to go through that. In a way, it's okay that the hair loss was pretty immediate because the hormonal disruption was causing some sparseness over this summer into now. A saying vaguely comes to mind…something about ripping a bandaid off, I think.

We’re 4 or 5 days in right now, and one of my biggest concerns is this: I am so freaking tired and aching all over. How can anyone keep all these medications straight when they all sound like Harry Potter spells or names of obscure Pokémon? Adriamycin. Dexamethasone. Cytoxan. Who comes up with these names? Lupron. Am I a werewolf now? Seriously, if I chant my medications list near a lit candle, I’m afraid I’ll accidentally open a portal to an alternate dimension. Fun fact: Did you know the allergy pill Claritin helps with chemo-related bone pain? Me neither. Alternate dimensions indeed. 

Anyway, it’s winter in New England and it will be until June, but that just means it’s time to get cozy. I’ve said it a lot but of course, thank you for being here with me through this. Even if it’s not physically, it is definitely felt emotionally. While none of this was on my bingo card for 2025, I definitely knew what to be grateful for this year yesterday. Stay tuned for more, and remember to share juuuust a little bit of your turkey leftovers with your dogs for me 😉 

Love you more!! 

Caroline 🩷

11/15/25

Hi everyone,

This is a long one, summary at the bottom. Okay, right into it. I have no genetic defects in any cancer-causing genes. That does make me feel a lot better.

I did the PT scan on 11/11 and I’m not metastatic! I am hovering right around stage 3. The tumor in my right breast is taking up basically all of its tissues and the lymph nodes are really starting to gain prominence, so I will be getting a port sometime next week to begin chemo, probably Thanksgiving week. Here is a link to my exact treatment regiment: http://breastcancer.org/drugs/ACT-chemo

The chemo process will probably take around 5-6 months. Once the tumors are shrunken down, I’m doing the double mastectomy, followed by radiation right after to get rid of what’s in my lymph nodes, if that is possible. We do not want to remove them if we do not have to…I’d like to avoid possibly losing use of my right arm, thanks. When I am in remission, the chance of recurrence in 5 years should hover around 6%. It’s not zero. But it’s pretty close. 

A lot of you are aware that I have had aches and pains and weird organ malfunctions all my life, but I’ve been suffering from severe, worsening nerve pain and weakness/tremors on my right side for about 7 years now. I was told it was psychosomatic, that I was having panic attacks, that I should get more exercise and the pains in my legs and shoulders would go away. When it didn’t, it was treated as you would fibromyalgia or MS-like nerve pains. This PT scan happened to pick up degeneration all over my spine, particularly lumbar spine, and nerve damage as a result. There is a bone island and possibly a tiny crack in my femur. It is absolutely inexcusable that all the “top-rated,” “world-class” (yeah, right) doctors and specialists I’ve seen over the years just…didn’t see it on the scans, or were too eager to say “there’s nothing I can do about this,” or bring up my mental health issues and how I used to be very overweight for a long time. But at least now I know there really is something there.

Imagine finding that out—you detect spine degeneration, which is something people in their 60s get, during a scan for breast cancer, which is also something people in their 60s get. And then being told there might not be not a whole lot you can do about it in active treatment. And then learning one of the most common side effects from your 3 chemo drugs is nerve damage.

I mean, what the f*ck?

Up until this point, I’ve tended towards putting a positive spin on things in email blast form. That’s partly because I do believe in these positives and see them as they happen, but I also think the situation firmly implies that I am doing horribly emotionally. I am someone who has gone so far out of my way to better myself and showing kindness and respect to everyone, and I feel myself turning hateful, angry, and bitter. I feel violated and robbed. I’m losing what has kept me anchored to that philosophy, and that’s a terrifying feeling, considering treatment hasn’t even started yet. I know it’s going to take a long time to adjust to this “new normal” and life beyond it, especially when achieving some sort of normalcy has been a tooth-and-nail fight all through my life. I’m so tired, guys. But here we go.

I am sending you all the same amount of love and peace you’ve sent me, if that’s even possible at this point. Emails and texts work way better. I will always, always do my absolute best to respond!

Caroline

10/26/25

   Hi everyone! I hope wherever this finds you is as beautiful as the Cape this time of year.

   I just want to start by saying I am floored beyond measured reason by the amount of love & support I’ve gotten from so, so many people. I’ve been sitting here like an idiot trying to think of a way to actually articulate what it means to me that grasps the enormity of it all, but I just don’t think it’s possible. I am so lucky to have such an amazing village of people who care so much. I hope a simple “thank you” and “love you more!” can cover it for now. 

   A lot of you got my first email with the diagnosis. Let me amend it. While there are no aggressive growth proteins, this is still considered a very aggressive, fast-growing case. A slew of appointments and follow-up tests revealed a total of 4 or 5 tumors. The one in my right breast is the size of a peach, not a golf ball, and there are up to 4 lymph nodes involved, not 1. The concern about more distant spread is higher now, but based on the images taken so far, fingers, toes & eyes are crossed that it hasn’t gone any further than where we see it right now (PET scan to make sure on Tuesday!). We did see that my left breast was “maybe thinking about it” in the same place the tumor is on my right side. This all means my options for reconstruction are very limited…so I’m just going flat. Sign me up for a lifetime of comfortable jumping jacks, I guess  

   I haven’t started treatment yet, but I have started the IVF/egg freezing process in the hopes of maybe still having my own kids one day. If my hormones weren’t thrown off before, they are now, lol! Even if I don’t end up using my eggs, it’s good to know the option will still be there. When I’m done with this whole egg retrieval ordeal, whether it works or not, I’m going to probably start with chemo before surgery to hopefully shrink things down and possibly eradicate the cancer in the lymph nodes so they don’t have to be removed.

   The Eagles asked it best: Are you with me so far?

   I’ll wrap it up with a general thought I’ve been chewing on: We, myself included, have all said to people in these situations, “this shouldn’t be happening to you. You don’t deserve this.” Maybe there is some sort of truth to that. But by using that same logic, if a heap of really great things come your way, should that not happen for you because someone else “deserves” it more? See what I mean? It doesn’t matter what the situation is. Nothing is ever about whether it should or shouldn’t have gone down a certain way. Whatever happens is what happens…and that is the one universal constant that connects every single person through this blissfully awful thing called life (well, other than death and taxes). 

   As always, feel free to reach out to me. I may not respond right away but I promise I’ll do my best! Sending you and yours enough love to imbue a small country.

   Now we’re all breast friends forever,

   Caroline