Follow by Email

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Dear Avery

My most recent MRI and Pet Scan results, in October, were split. Since finishing radiation in July, I've lived with a slight fear rooted deep inside that it would come back to my brain. I'm more than thrilled to announce that the MRI of my brain showed that everything is clear! It is a giant relief only slightly clouded by the fact that my PET scan results were not as gratifying. Unfortunately, there are signs of increased activity in the areas that the cancer already resides and additionally, there are three spots on my liver. It wasn't quite the homerun that I was hoping for, but it is also nothing to get in a frenzy about. Spots have appeared and disappeared from my liver before and I'm confident that the change in medicine will bring about a positive change and better results in 3 (now 2, I know... I'm late...) months. In fact, I am already able to sense a difference in my body and I'm feeling more like myself again. I missed myself. I didn't realize how hard my brain surgery, radiation, and other events had hit me physically...and emotionally. I got caught up in big frightening medical words and I tripped. But, I'm here now and I've gotten back up and dusted myself off. Although, it gave me a lot of time of reflection of just how precious life is, for us all.... The delicate balance makes me think a lot about being a mom. I can't even remember what my life was like without Avery in it and if I only had today to tell her as much, this is probably what I would say...  

Dear Avery, 

I'm stuck. I'm stuck between wanting time to slow down and wanting it to speed up. I want to live in the present and not wish away precious moments of your childhood. But... I am also terrified that I won't get enough days with you as you grow up. That is what I am most afraid of, my sweet girl. It's an unfortunate gift that cancer has given me, to consciously live in the moment and never take a day with you for granted. You have the most beautiful way of loving life and having it love you right back. I hope you always have that zeal about you, with your blonde curls shaking furiously back and forth as you confidently assert your opinions. And when those opinions are not of the majority, your attitude takes charge. Your attitude translates into a strong will and I have no doubt that it will help you leap effortlessly over any obstacles you face in your life. Be sure to use your strength to help other people, when you can, and to hold unwavering to what you believe in. That being said, your strongest belief must always be in yourself. You can do, achieve, or be anything that you want in life as long as you always believe in yourself. 

Your big inquisitive blue eyes and soft still-baby skin are only a sliver of what make you beautiful. You have to match that beauty with a loving and giving heart. You must always say please and thank you, there are no circumstances where using your manners or showing gratitude will be out of style. Always be patient and kind, with a heart for helping others. If someone falls down, be there to help them up; and, be assured that if you fall down, I am going to be there to help you up.

Life is certainly not easy and there will be heartache. I wish that you won't ever have to know what that feels like, but it will rear it's ugly head throughout the seasons of life. Just always remember that we don't count our challenges or struggles, instead, we focus on our blessings. It took me 28 years to understand exactly what that meant, but then I met you and now I know. I know how to find the positive in every day and I know the sun shines brighter on my side of life because you're here. I know. You are special and I was meant to live this life with you. I wouldn't change anything about the way things have unfolded because the love I have for you is so much bigger than cancer and so much bigger than a lost love.

I know how lucky I am to have been chosen as your mom. I know that you are like me, in a lot of ways, and I am humbled to be worthy of being that example for you. Though, I am most excited to watch you become exactly who you are meant to be. I know that life isn't promised and each day is precious. I promise to live in the present moment with you, to envelope all the giggles and catch all the tears. And, every time that I kiss you goodnight, I will continue to thank God for you and I will pray for the mommys and daddys that don't get to do the same thing.

I love you today, tomorrow, and always.Oh, and 65,000 kisses worth, my Avery J. ;)


Tuesday, August 26, 2014


Before I became a teacher, I worked as a nanny, it was 2007 and Isabella was 5 and just beginning kindergarten and her little sister, Gianna, had just turned 1. It was a job that none of us anticipated it would evolve from happy work environment into happy family. But, that is exactly what ended up happening! I worked for them for 4 years and Bella is now 13 and boy crazy, and Gigi, 8, and dance crazy. They were in my wedding, they have supported me through my diagnosis, and they are cousins to Avery. I love them like they are my own and I always will. Bella is older and had a better understanding of my situations and life happenings, in all aspects. She is wise beyond her years and supportive of me in the sweetest and most sincere ways. Here is her perspective on my diagnosis....

    Hi, I'm Isabella. I've known Ashley since I was about 5 years of age. She was always there for me when it came to brushing my hair to taking me to all of my commitments. She is a wonderful person and I love her so much. She is such a positive person to be around. She is definitely like my second mother. A year ago I found out the worst news of my life. I was at work with my mom when she told me Ashley had a 50% chance of having breast cancer. I was sad, angry, and terrified. I knew she couldn't have cancer, until a couple days later it became real. They officially diagnosed her with stage four breast cancer. I was in shock, knowing that a person you love is sick can be very painful. I cried a lot over thinking about the things that could happen, But today it's a blessing to see her happy and healthy. Kicking cancers butt! I'm so proud of her for fighting through all this even when things were at its worst. All of her progress is amazing and I can't wait to see what the future has in store for her! 

                  Love you, B!!! 

Monday, August 25, 2014


I think the first time that I let cancer scare me was immediately following my brain surgery. Up until then, I felt like I was the one in charge and I wasn't going to let it overtake me physically or mentally. But then, it did overtake me physically. When I woke up in the ICU, following my surgery, I realized that I had lost mobility of my right arm. The tumor had been located on the left frontal lobe of my brain, directly on the area that controls sensation and movement for the right side of my body. The surgeon very skillfully removed the tumor but he said that it was stubborn and sticky. The good news is that by removing the tumor, I would not have any repeat episodes. The not so good news was that, as a result of the stickiness, I didn't have use of my right arm and although he felt confident that I would regain use; but, he could not guarantee that it would come back one hundred percent. I had nicknamed it my "caveman arm," because my knuckles could have been dragging on the floor and I wouldn't have known it. On the first day after surgery, I almost shut my arm in the bathroom door and when getting back into bed, I sat on it. It was limp and lifeless and my hand was clenched into a fist that I could not pry open without help from my left hand. I was frustrated and terrified and the only thought continuously running through my mind was that I have to be able to put Avery's hair in a pony tail. That sounds funny, doesn't it? It seems like a somewhat menial afterthought but as a single mom to a little girl, its actually a part of our daily routine and I was not going to surrender my independence so easily. I began working my hand diligently and it was quickly discovered that the strength was there but the dexterity needed a lot of tweaking. So, every chance I got, I would pry my fingers open and fold them shut until they relearned the motion on their own. I was only in the hospital for three days but by the time I was discharged, I could raise my arm, make a fist, and straighten my fingers without any assistance. It still took some time after that to really get back to normal and it was more than once that I swiped things off of the counter top. My brain was relearning to communicate with my hand that you actually have to let go of the glass after you set it down. Who knew?? I'm not a very patient patient, but I feel very fortunate that my mobility completely returned; it only ended up taking about a week and a half, but it felt like an eternity. It's something that I didn't even realize I took for granted but I will tell you that I was more proud of that first ponytail that I put in Avery's hair post-surgery, than I have been of anything else. Ever. Except finally being able to type a text message message with both hands again, might have been a close second...

If I had just had to recover from only brain surgery, I probably would have boasted that it was a walk in the park in comparison to my triple doozy of a surgery that I had last fall. Unfortunately, I didn't have time to revel in the glory of my recuperation because my follow up radiation began shortly after I was discharged. It was decided that I would undergo full brain and neck radiation to get any cancer that was left behind from the surgery. I would go daily, during the week, for ten days, with each session lasting about fifteen minutes. They warned that the side effects wouldn't kick in until after I had completed all ten rounds. I went into my radiation experience very naive. I had always been under the impression that radiation was somewhat of a subtle treatment but boyyyyyy was I ever wrong! Since I was having brain radiation, I had to wear a mask so they could mark the areas that needed to be specifically targeted with each visit. The mask is somewhat reminiscent of what one might done as they prepare to face their opponent in a fencing match. Although my opponent had the upper hand in this match because I was truly unprepared for what was to come. The actual radiation appointments were fairly unassuming. I would pop into a room with a setup similar to an xray table/machine. I would lay down and they would put my mask on, which, if you are the least bit claustrophobic, would kill you. They attach the mask to the table, so you are essentially trapped, and the mask fit so snugly, that it required effort to even blink my eyes. Luckily, I'm the type of person that can mentally remove myself from these types of situations so I would close my eyes and listen to the machine moving above my head, getting itself into position. Everything would get quiet before the cobalt blue lasers would shine through my eyelids and I would develop a metallic taste in my mouth. Then, just as quickly as it began, it was over, and I would blink at the brightness welcoming me back into the room and then, be on my way.

Friends and family modeling my radiation mask. It was given to me as a keepsake, or to run over with my car, whichever...

During the course of my radiation treatments, I experienced a lot of nausea and fatigue; but, it wasn't until after I was finished, that the side effects really began to pummel me (just as my doctor warned me that they would). Each side effect hit with a vengeance and I was knocked on my ass. HARD. I was essentially burned by the radiation and it left my throat raw and sore. It was like strep throat multiplied by ten and I could only eat soft foods; but, even those proved to be too painful to swallow and so I choked down smoothies for about ten days to sustain me. But even when I could start eating textured foods again, it didn't really matter because my taste buds didn't exist anymore. If someone would have conducted a blind taste test on me, it would have only been by an almost-non-existent aftertaste, paired with being a self-proclaimed fat kid at heart, that I may have had a chance at guessing correctly. It zero fun and the easiest seven pounds that I have ever lost. <--Silver lining?

The zip zap and zing of the machine also left me with deep inner ear discomfort, a head/forehead that looked like I was peeling from a sunburn so terrible that I must have been up close and personal with the giant fiery orb itself, more nausea, more fatigue, and a partridge in a pear tree (disguised as scalp sensitivity). Oh, and I lost my hair. Apparently, whenever you get something radiated, you lose the hair on that part of the body. So, brain= head. Not sure, why I couldn't have gotten thigh-cancer instead and thus, not have to shave my legs...but alas, the odds have yet to be in my favor. Disclaimer: Don't travel to Vegas or try to get out of a speeding ticket with this girl.

However, I am happy to say that forty-two days post-radiation, I feel like me again! The symptoms have subsided with each passing day and my newly (and violently) exfoliated skin has never been so soft! Last weekend I had a follow up MRI, a THREE hour long MRI, that will make sure all the lingering ooey gooey cancer cells have been evicted from my brain. I get those results tomorrow and even though the recent setbacks have left me feeling a bit betrayed by my positivity, I still have faith that everything is fine. Avery and I have our "normal," back and it's only going to get better from here. I'm only going to get better from here.

First week after radiation, sporting my new wig and matching smiles with my girl!

Lunching with my lady!

...Stay tuned next time for the introduction of Avery's and my new roommate, Wilma....the wig. It's taken a bit of adjusting as most new relationships do, but we are finally welcoming "mommy's hair," (this wig basically has it's own identity in our home, hence the loving nickname) as a member of the family. I figured it was an easier transition than a puppy, at this point...

I came into the room and found Avery talking to my wig. I couldn't make out what she was saying, but I think they were getting acquainted. 

Thursday, June 19, 2014

Paging Dr. Brain Surgeon

I had my result's appointment today. My recent scan showed progression of the cancer. It had not spread but the activity in the current places was growing busier and so that meant it was time to jump ship because my current medication had stopped working. So, we need to move and a great new option for me is a clinical trial that uses medicinal treatments. It only took me a few moments to determine that this was right for me and the next step would be to meet with a clinical research nurse to get the ball rolling on my enrollemt. I left my appointment today disappointed but glad to have a plan.

Then, I went home and got on with my life. My parents are my strongest supporters that I have and they were with me today. After the appointment, they left and they even took Avery with them for the night, in order to give me a chance to run errands, relax, and unwind from the day's news. 

I was laying on my couch when I suddenly started to experience severe muscle spasms that were leaving my arm numb. Initially, I tried to take an anti-anxiety pill to see if it would relax me. I also chugged a bottle of water hoping it would hydrate me and relax my muscles, and then finally grabbed a snack hoping it would helps blood sugar. But to no avail, the numbness had moved into my right hand now. I lost mobility in my right hand and could not use it. In fact, if I picked up, it would simple fall back into my lap, lifeless. At this point, I was starting to realize that I needed to to be seen by a doctor, so I decided to head to convenient care. When I stood up I realized it was beginning in my foot too, so I called my friend Angie and asked her to come drive me to the hospital. I had trouble walking, but I made it down the stairs where I sat down. I had lost all feeling on my right side at this point and was beginning to panic. I was crying and just kept saying over and over, 'I don't know what is happening to me,' as I had so begun to violently shake. At this point my neighbors had begun to gather and and when the ambulance showed up, I was taken away immediately for fear of a stroke.

At my local hospital, I was given a CAT Scan immediately and steroids to help with numbness and shaking. After being assessed it was decided by my Oncologist, other the phone, that I needed to be transferred to RUSH for more tests. About four hours after I arrived at the ER, I was whisked away in another ambulance to make the trek to Chicago. But luckily, I had regained feeling and the majority of my body motion at this point.

When I arrived at Rush, I was admitted at 1am. At 5am I was taken to for an MRI of my brain which confirmed that there was a tumor and swelling on my left frontal lobe. That area of the brain controls sensation and strength for your body and explains why I had, what they are now referring to, as a seizure.

The size of the tumor is medium/large but it is right under my skull and considered very operable. SO, at 10am.... TODAY... I will be having brain surgery.

I will let that sink in for you, bc I know I needed it to as well at first....

Once the tumor is removed, they will do radiation to the area around it it insure that the removal was successful. From there, I will be transported to the ICU for one night and then a regular room after that, but hopefully won't exceed 3 more days in the hospital.

Going forward, I will be monitored with an MRI in addition to my scans. I actually  knew something was wrong this time. I had felt a shift in myself, in my intuition,
And how I felt physically. But- I hadn't anticipated it to be this. Not at all. But this is considered, catching it early and so that's a good thing!! I'm very at peace with the decision to have surgery and I'm extremely confident in the surgeon who is caring for me.

I'm asking for your prayers and positive thoughts. It is a bump in the road, but I'm still going to be fine. So, please don't worry--- only send your good thoughts, your love, good juju, and lots of prayers!!!


Tuesday, June 17, 2014

It's That Time Again...

Surprised to see me again? Yesterday was a scan day, so I thought that I would take you along with me for that ride this time.

I get PET Scans every 3 months to check the progress, good or bad, of my cancer. It can be a mix of emotions because I have had some really good scans and I have also had some not so good scans. Sometimes, I think that it is going to be a long life to live in the unknown for three months at a time. But then, I turn the thought around and think to myself that I will do whatever I have to do in order to have that long life.

Scans can be unpleasant because there are needles involved, but I'm very used to them now and they don't really bother me. Its just a stepping stone to the results day so  that I can soon be on my merry way for the next 90 days.

When I arrive for my appointment, I am ushered back into a small private room with a sterile hospital-style recliner. They always confirm (more like, rub it in) that I haven't eaten in at least four hours, and then add an additional laundry list of questions. I'm not allowed to wear anything that has metal on or in it, which includes a bra clasp, zipper, bobby pins, or jewelry; otherwise, I have to change. And since I don't like to make this process any more complicated than it already is, I carefully plan an appropriate outfit the night before, just as though I'm preparing for my first day of school. These apparel stipulations can be a bit challenging; but, then again, no girl ever complained about having to wear yoga pants. After the initial interrogation, they start the poking. In the past, my veins have attempted to outsmart phlebotomists, techs, nurses, and the like. They roll, they jump, they hide, and they slide similar to some of Jackie Chan's greatest stunts (The veins, not the vampires). The PET Center at RUSH has three men on their team and I've scanned with each of them several times now and they are super nice and they all have stellar aim with a needle into my roly poly veins, which goes along way with me in regard to patient satisfaction.

There is a syringe attached to the needle which is two-sided and first takes blood to test my blood sugar; it isn't that big and scary looking, in fact, it is rather unassuming considering what it is capable of. Once my blood sugar is determined to be good, a flow of saline is released into the line to flush out the blood so the radioactive sugars can be injected. The saline flush is actually my least favorite part of the process because it leaves a less than desirable metallic taste and smell that corrupts my senses. Before the injection begins, the scanner is required to bring in a steel blockade on rollers, that he has to stand behind to administer the medicine so that he is not subjected to the radioactive affects more than he needs to be. <<insert humming of the Imagine Dragon's "Radioactive" here>> After this point, I'm left alone for 40 minutes with a stash of trashy news magazines and Facebook via my cellular device to pass the time. I'm required to hide under a couple of blankets because my body temperature needs to stay warm, otherwise it messes up the scan. So, I cozy up under the heated blanket that eventually becomes my cape as I morph into a superhero while the injected material processes and courses through my body before eventually making the cancer glow so it can be identified in all the nooks and crannies in which it resides.

When it is time for the actual scan, I leave my little room of solitude and head into the hallways full of chatter, zings, swooshes, beeps, and beds whizzing by with patients as passengers to solve their own body's mysteries. The PET Scan requires me to lay on a table that is about 6 inches wide (that might be a slight exaggeration, but I'm leaving it that way so you get the idea of how uncomfortable it is) and I'm slid in and out of a huge ring that does amazingly high tech things while I use the next 13 minutes to take a snooze. Despite what is becoming vast experience with these scans, I'm still reminded -profusely- that I'm not allowed to move. What. So. Ever. Otherwise, we will have to start over. Of course, this triggers every itch, twitch, sneeze, and spasm humanly possible, so I giggle for the first few seconds before I'm actually ready to begin.

The duration of the scan is less than 15 minutes, so I catnap and then I'm sent on my way with well-wishes exchanged between my scanner and myself for our children and families. This last time, I even scored a pair of New Balance gym shoes for Avery as my parting gift. No, it's not a friendly gesture from RUSH, in fact, they charge me an arm and a leg to buzz through their giant donut every three months. Well, actually, I'm not sure that my arm and leg are actually even worth the bill that I get in the mail... But since the PET team and I are buddies now (and one of their wives works for NB), the sneakers were an added bonus for my baby.

So, now, I just wait. The results will process through a computer and be read by some medical professional to whom I am a faceless chart and eventually it will end up in my doctor's hands and translated to me. From start to finish it will be four days until I know the results. But, really, I already know.

And, so do you.

I'm fine.

Wednesday, June 11, 2014


I've really been slacking in the blogging department lately. My intentions are good, but my follow-through leaves something to be desired at times. I write blogs in my head all the time, whether I'm driving in the car or drifting off to sleep, but lately it seems like I reach my desired destination or cash in my ticket to dreamland before my pen can actually hit the paper or my fingers can meet the keyboard. But, I'm here now, and hoping that my followers haven't given up on me yet so that I have to round you all back up.

I know that cancer can be a devastating disease, and I know that because I have been on both sides of it. Sometimes though, I think that my diagnosis has been harder on the people that I love than it has been on me. I know that my nonchalant outlook can be inspiring but it can also probably be confusing at times. I don't minimize the gravity of the situation, but I choose not to dwell on it either. I know that perspective isn't always the easiest to adopt at first, so I was curious as to how it affected those who are closest to me. I asked some close friends and family to write about my diagnosis from their point of view. (I'm also hoping that it catches on enough to have my guest-bloggers become a small feature in between my own blogs so I don't disappear with life for so long at a time.)

Kaitlin has been one of my best friends since college. We were roommates at NIU for two years and in the same sorority. I've had some of the best nights of my life with Kaitlin, some of which are blog appropriate, and some of which are drenched in a keg of beer and have been locked in the secret vault of college debauchery. Anyway.. we have remained close since our memorable college days, now enjoying being moms together. In fact, we are keeping our fingers crossed for a future marriage for Avery and her son Trace, thus handing down our friendship to a second generation. 

When I asked Kaitlin if she would be willing to write about my diagnosis from her perspective, she seemed incredibly willing and enthusiastic. She said she already knew what she was going to say... 

Ashley and I attended our friend Lindsey's baby shower for her daughter Ella, at the end of January 2013. On our way out of DeKalb, we decided we needed some caffeine and more time to catch up before we left town and went our separate ways. It turned in to ice cream instead, much to the delight of her little mini-me, Avery. Texting had been our main source of catching up for way too long! As we chatted away, she went into more details with me on her health issues and pain that she had been experiencing. She had just undergone more testing with her doctor. She had recently received a call from her doctor’s office and the receptionist asked that she come in to go over the results. Ashley was on her way to her friend, Kaylyn’s already, so she would have to wait to get into the office. The receptionist seemed taken aback; she thought Ashley needed to come in right away. The doctor said it was fine if she waited until Monday. As Ashley told me this, I remember experiencing a sinking feeling. First of all, I had no idea how bad her pain, from which she had been suffering, was. Secondly, it terrified me that the receptionist was so adamant that she come in to talk to her doctor. 

The following day my work BFF and I did our weekend recap. As I relayed that story to her, I cried. I could feel the situation was not good. Ashley told me she would keep me updated on her appointment. Throughout the day, I had many urges to text her. Finally that night, I could not wait. I texted and asked how everything went that day. She responded, “I have cancer. :(”

She was a new mom, and an outstanding and caring person, with an enormous heart. I was physically sick. Yet somehow, I already felt a sense of calmness from her. I have cancer :(. Not freaking out,  not losing it, etc. In our first cancer interaction, she was already foreshadowing how strong she was going to be. Little did we all know just how very strong she would be….
Along the way, we learned it was not only cancer, but Stage IV. As always, she rolled with the punches. Not only is she showing other cancer patients how to fight, but she is showing those in and outside of her circle how to live. Everyday there are bumps that come with daily living, but she reminds me constantly to step back when I think the road is getting rough. In the grand scheme of things, it is never as rough as I might think. She has become a teacher to people all over.

Throughout her fight, I’ve had MANY questions for her, and I have a favorite response to share… I asked if she was so excited when her doctor told her recently that her cancer activity was decreased in some areas and was completely gone in others. She said something along the lines of, that it was great news, but she did not freak out with excitement like some of us may have. It was an expectation to receive this news. It is part of her plan. Very matter of fact and confident. She knows how to put everyone else at ease along her journey, as well. That’s exactly how I feel now. I know she will conquer cancer!

This is me and Kaitlin the day that she and our friend Karen ran a marathon on my behalf. Kaitlin had just had a baby, a few short months, before this day.  I truly do have the greatest friends!

Friday, April 18, 2014


Avery and I recently had dinner with my good friend from college and sorority sister, Karen. She introduced me to a delicious vegetarian place and considering I have eliminated gluten, dairy, beef, pork, caffeine, and artificial sugars from my diet, I figured this place would be right up my alley. I was hoping it would be a relaxed dinner where I wasn't consumed with -adding this- or- eliminating that- from menu items, in order to meet my needs. #dontspitinmyfoodplease. It was even better than I hoped, right down to the vegan strawberry milkshake that I happily ordered in the largest size they had.

I was so excited about my frosty glass of dairy-free deliciousness that I felt it was a preferable moment to share my dietary triumph with the hashtag happy world via Facebook and Instagram. While I am guilty of posting foodie pictures on occasion, I've actually been quite resistant to the hashtag craze... until this blog.

I slid my phone out of my purse but not to be unnoticed by my darling daughter, Avery. She had decided that even though she was a Tri-Sigma Legacy, that she had enough of sorority talk from the old days, as well weddings and baby talk from the new days, and instead preferred to catch the latest episode of Mickey Mouse that could be streamed on my cellular device. Considering I had exhausted all my other options of coloring, princess-playing, and piecing together a portable potato head, I acquiesced her request to "wah-tch Mickey pease," for the last few minutes of my dinner date.

It was during the hand-off that the unspeakable happened, and my iPhone slipped out of her ten tiny fingers before bouncing off the edge of the booth and ending up face down on the concrete floor. Karen scooped it up and handed it over, but not without a horrified look on her face as we both realized the screen was completely shattered.

Shit. Sorry, but... Shit.

I didn't really think it was going to break. For a second, I felt a wave of panic rush over me as I realized that I didn't have insurance for my phone and this wasn't going to be a cheap fix. Then, I thought to myself... "Ok, gurrl needs to get a grip. This is a phone." It did not mean my life was ending. Cancer had already tried that approach and I was now privy to such shenanigans and I wasn't going to fall for that again. I'm not gonna sweat the small stuff. I sweat enough with my hot flashes and until my patent for a personal air conditioned bubble is approved, I'm not giving my body more reason to revolt.

Truth is, I have a pretty good handle on which things are important in life and which things need to be shrugged off. In a two year span of time, I lost my job as a second grade teacher #districtcuts, am going through a divorce #nohusbandnoproblem, and gotten cancer #boobissues. Those have been the absolute worst and hardest times in my life, all at once, and they are very big lessons to learn; but, being positive is how I cope. I have preached it here before and it doesn't take a broken cell phone to illustrate my point but it does make it so much more obvious about what deserves your focus in life.

I'm actually, incredibly happy and instead of being resistant to change, I'm excited of what is going to come next... even $150 later for a cellphone repair. #Longest20minutesofmylife.