Scars in the Sunlight

With Shelly Vaughn


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Scars in the Sunlight

I am healthy and strong and ready to add to my story… by sharing it.

In just a few weeks, I’ll be a published author and have a memoir available on Amazon! It’s been a lot of work to get to this point- tons of drafts then working with an editor, cover designer, and publisher/friend. The book is a compilation of my entries from this Holding Space blog, with reflections on them as I look back 6 years since it all happened.

It has been so emotional- being thrown right back into each moment and reliving the hardest ones. But that has also been another step of healing for me. I am hoping that by sharing my story, insights, thoughts, and suggestions I can help other women facing the same diagnosis (or their caregivers). Sharing my story in order to potentially help someone else brings purpose to the pain of it all.

I have two important thoughts about the book that I want to share with you all- since you’re my people!! First, to reiterate the lifelong gratitude for all of you who helped us! There were so many people doing so many things for us. Reading through the entire experience really shows the immense support system that we had. Some mentioned by name. Some mentioned by the love you showed my family. All of you so special!

Secondly, the acknowledgment of the hardest thing- I wish my mom was still here for this. I mention her in the book without elaborating on her own cancer story because she was so private in her experience. Hers is not my story to share, but is still such a huge part of mine. Every word about her, what to include and exclude, was intentional. And it’s the thing I’m most thinking about as the publication date approaches. She is the reason for so much of my story- she shaped me into who I am today- and likely has a connection to most of you. All of those connections- intertwined and once faded- became so obvious to me these past few years. What a gift!

I have been held by God and by you through the hardest time of my life. You all held space for me during my unknown. Now it’s time to shift the focus through another stage of healing by changing the name of my blog to the title of my book: Scars in the Sunlight.

I will still add entries to this group- I don’t think I can stop now. 🙂 I’ll share the details of the official book publishing date and link to Amazon soon so that you all know where to find it- especially if/when you know another person with a similar diagnosis. It’s too common, but we can get through all the hard stuff… together. Stay close.


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“Because You Loved Me”

I went in for my annual MRI scan on Monday and came out with good results and a sweet story!

If you haven’t had an MRI, know that the machine is a tube that you enter and have to stay still for the duration of the test. For my breast MRIs, I have to lay face down and enter the machine feet first, while my face is squished in a cushion and an IV is in my arm above my head. (My “boobs” are pulled down to hang through the table like udders- it’s ridiculous and weird.) It’s not comfortable at all- not that any position would be comfortable if you can’t move for 45-60 minutes.

The machine is also really loud- it clanks and bangs and is hard to describe. In order to take your mind off of things, and in a poor attempt to drown out the loud noises, the techs give you a set of headphones to listen to music during the test. And they always ask what kind of music you’d like to listen to. Every time I go, I request something different. Last time I asked for 80s, which ended up being more of 80s Rock than the Cyndi Lauper or Madonna that I was hoping for.

So this time, I asked for 90s hits. The day before, I had just hung out with some of my best friends from the 90s and the music from the decade always reminds me of the best times we had in middle school. When I decided to ask for 90s hits, I was really hoping for something upbeat and cheesy- maybe some Ace of Base or The Offspring.

As the machine started moving me backwards into the unknown, I heard the tech in my headphones say, ok, we’ll start your music now just be still.

The music turned on right in the middle of Celine Dion’s “Because You Loved Me.” No, this wasn’t the upbeat fun song I was hoping for… it was better. This was the song that my mom and I danced to at my wedding.

Thanks for being with me, mom. I love you.


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I’m A Marathoner!

I know I haven’t posted here for a while, so I wanted to make sure that everyone knows right away that this is a good update!

I ran a marathon last weekend!! I ran and finished the Chicago marathon! I have smaller descriptions of the race in entries I might add later. Today, I’d like to share some thoughts I’ve had since completing it; most of which actually woke me up in the middle of the night last night. I tried to type out my thoughts during my delirious half-asleep state and then make them cohesive today. This is the best I can do…

The night before the marathon, my friend Ryan texted me this quote from a song played years ago when we were teenagers- “It’s already happened, you just need to catch up to it.” The first thing that stands out to me is that this is encouragement coming from someone who knows me, Rob, my brother and sister very well… with a long history with all of us. I always love anything that reminds me of our teenage years because I absolutely love all of my memories from that time. Every time I have gone through physical challenges, there’s something about those endearing memories that remind me how good I’ve had it (which is also why I always listened to Mr. T Experience on the mornings of surgeries).

That message- “It’s already happened… you just have to catch up to it,” really intrigued me! I’ve always been curious about how God exists outside of time. How there’s another realm to all of this that we can’t understand, but we know is not linear. And from that perspective of life, the quote made sense to me and gave me confidence to… well… just catch up to myself at the finish.

As I neared and then crossed that finish line, I was pretty emotional. I couldn’t help but be extremely thankful for this body that got me that far. That kind of gratitude for my body does not come as naturally to me as it used to. I intentionally hold my hands on my chest and say “thank you” out loud after every workout (another thing I learned from a different friend), in an effort to convince myself to be thankful. After the marathon though, it was easily genuine. A feeling I have missed.

Thoughts of that gratitude for the physical body and appreciation for pushing its limits led to thoughts and images of what “potential” means for us. I believe that God creates each of us in a unique, special way, with endless potential. That potential looks so different for everyone. This marathon; my body healing from chemo, radiation, and surgeries; creating 2 other humans… all peaks of potential unique to me. Everyone’s patterns and peaks of potential are unique like a fingerprint.

The metaphor that captures this, which circled my mind in the middle of the night, was a box of crayons. I think we are all created with potential like a standard box of Crayolas. The way that we live, grow, love, heal, and express ourselves is as limitless and unique as all of the potential things that can be created with those crayons. Use all the colors, or just black and white; make one large masterpiece or a thousand small ones, make something that an entire community sees or just your parents; color like most people or create something totally different. Our potential- physical, spiritual, emotional, relational- is really all over the map; but definitely limitless.

* My photo below is the only one that is mine. The others are screenshots of crayon art from online.


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Chimes

One of the best things about having a Spring birthday is that I always feel inspired to run at some point in the day. This year, it was in the morning before the rain came. It was dreary and chilly, but I knew I wouldn’t be out long.

The destination for this run was to my mom’s memorial tree. It’s 2 miles from our house- the perfect
distance to get to anytime.

I’ve been to her tree dozens of times now. I think about her, talk to her, and feel close to her when I’m there. It’s usually very calming and peaceful.

Not sure why today was different, but as soon as I got there I just started crying. Then sobbing. I could barely even form a thought in my mind as I was trying to talk myself out of the emotions… I was just so sad. I kneeled down and put my head on the plaque with her name and let it out. It was embarrassing and gross, but apparently necessary.

Last year, my cousin left a wind chime on the tree and it’s beautiful. But it’s also kind of heavy, which means it would take a lot of wind to move the chime and make noise. In all the times I’ve been there in wind and rain and sun and breezes, I’ve never heard it chime.

You know where this is going…

As my head was down and I was a mess, I felt a very light breeze and heard the wind chime! Probably 10-12 little, high-pitched “ding-ding-dings”… then it stopped. I stopped to listen. Stopped crying. The breeze continued but the chimes didn’t move again.

That, friends, was my mom. A woman who always comforted me when she was on earth, now found a way to comfort me from heaven.

I wiped my tears, stood back up with a sense of genuine “okayness”, and finished my run for the morning.

I love mom so much that the pain of missing her is hard to allow myself to feel. But if I had not allowed myself to feel that painful moment, I would have missed feeling her presence, too.

Thank you for such a wonderful birthday gift, mom!

“don’t look away from the arms of a bad dream.

…don’t look away from the arms of a moment.

Don’t look away from the arms of love.”

– Green Day “The Forgotten”


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It’s Okay to Look Back

I loved Ohio winter this weekend! The rain from Friday night that mixed with the dropping temperature caused everything to ice over. When the sun shone through the trees and on the snow Saturday morning, everything sparkled and looked like glass. It was magical. Rob and I went out to enjoy the unique scenery, he took this photo, and it got me thinking…

We have such a linear view of our experiences in the world. We often talk about “moving forward” after a trauma or life change; sometimes using our distance from the trauma as the metric for how well we are getting over it. I see why we do this- we need to create something somewhat measurable so that we feel like we can show progress.

One of the sayings I like and remember in hard times is “Don’t look back- you’re not going that way.” But this weekend I had a moment to rethink that. There may be occasions that it’s ok (even beautiful) to look back. That is when you see things and appreciate them from a different perspective.

Back to this picture…

Rob took it near the end of our walk on Saturday morning.

Were my fingers numb? yes.

Was my nose frozen? yes.

Was I uncomfortable and looking forward to getting back in the car? you bet.

Then you know what Rob did- he looked back behind us. While I was so focused forward, he took a moment to glance back at the path we were on. When he turned around, he grabbed his camera to take this picture and I could see why. It was gorgeous! If he hadn’t turned around, we still would have finished the walk, we still would have enjoyed the rest of our morning together, and we still would have other beautiful pictures. But because he looked back, we got to experience a moment of extra beauty, too!

At the beginning of my experience with breast cancer, I remember Rob took a picture of a foggy path and to me, it represented the unknown ahead of us. This weekend, I was reminded of the value of also looking back after an experience. Not to relive it, but to reflect on the beauty that was within it.


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Five Years and everything is gonna be alright

Today is an important one to point out- it’s been 5 years since I was diagnosed with breast cancer. In the oncology world, they consider this “cured”!!! (The feelings from today are a lot to process and explain, so I’ll focus on sharing the activities of the day instead.) I took the day off work and spent the morning with a good cup of coffee from a friend and some quiet time doing some writing. Then, I excitedly redeemed the massage gift card that Rob gave me for Christmas. It ended up being an unexpectedly funny experience that I’ll remember for a long time. My plan is to tell my grandchildren about when I’m 75 years old and laughing about funny things that happened along my recovery. I also had a nice lunch with Rob and then an afternoon full of our “ordinary”- taking the girls to and from cheer and dance, stopping at the store, squeezing in dinner. Turns out that this ordinary is pretty sweet when you feel like you have a renewed perspective on life. 💕To mark today’s occasion, I want to share a Green Day song from their Hella Mega tour last summer- “Pollyanna”. Rob and I saw them in August in Pittsburgh and it is so far my most favorite concert ever! (Sorry, Dawson High)“ I think it’s time to pull up the shades. It’s wonderful to be alive……And everything is gonna be alright.”


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Dr. Rehmus

There aren’t enough “thank yous” in the universe for this woman. She’s my oncologist- Dr. Rehmus- the person who saved my life. This post is to acknowledge and celebrate her!

I don’t think I’ll ever forget the day in 2017 when I met her. I had just learned of my diagnosis around lunch time and had an afternoon appointment with my surgeon (someday I’ll see if he’ll let me take a selfie with him, too!) It was the end of day on a Friday and I’m sure she would have been on her way out the door if not for me. Thankfully she said she would take my appointment at the last minute.

As Rob, Trisha and I walked into the room with the round conversation table, I couldn’t stop thinking about how nauseous I was and unsure if eating something would make it better or worse. Dr. Rehmus walked in with her medical student and introduced herself. I vividly remember that the first thing she did was sit next to me and turn her chair so that we were knee-to-knee. I don’t know the exact words she said but the sentiments were acknowledging that this was a hard afternoon and an immediate concern for taking care of myself- starting with getting me crackers and ending with a prescription for Ativan and instructions to pick up a bottle of wine on the way home (don’t judge if you haven’t been in that position before. 😆)

She saw me that day with all of the fear in my eyes that I couldn’t hide. She knew how much to explain and when to stop because it was mental overload. She had been here thousands of times with other patients, yet still managed to make me feel like I was her only (and most important) one. She did this throughout my entire care with the perfect combination of intelligence, reason, compassion, encouragement, and humor that is necessary for this kind of work.

I have always had confidence in her as she provided reassurance in her responses to my gazillion questions. She is the epitome of amazing medical care. Although I obviously wish I didn’t need an oncologist, I’m thankful she’s the one!

Now, after years and years of treating thousands and thousands of patients, she gets to retire! I’m so excited for her. Yes, she diagnosed me with “oncologist withdrawal syndrome” (her made-up term for what I’m going through), but I don’t know how to feel knowing that I might never see her again!!

So I will celebrate her here and introduce her to all of you and pretend like she’s a part of this group. Because I wouldn’t be here to keep writing and sharing thoughts if not for her. Not sure how a woman like that stays so humble, but I want to be like that when I grow up. 😉


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You just never know where your path will lead. Rob’s path is taking him through the 5 boroughs of New York for the NYC marathon!! He’ll be running in November and achieving this goal he set out to do a few years ago. He was planning to do this in 2020 but obviously that was cancelled, so he is now on his way to do this in a few months and I’m so proud of him!!

You all know cancer has affected our lives so much- as well as so many of you. Rob has chosen to race by fundraising for a cancer research center in NYC. If you are able to donate to the cause, click on his link. If you are donating in honor/memory of someone, let him know and he will add it to his shirt on race day. And if you are inclined, please pray for this amazing research company because, my goodness, what a difference it would be if a cure can be discovered. Thanks in advance for everyone’s support for him. He’s a rockstar!

This is how we fight this disease together!

https://charity.gofundme.com/o/en/campaign/team-waxman-2020-tcs-new-york-city-marathon/robertvaughn11


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Two bags of trash

Two bags of trash- seems like no big deal but it was SO emotional. (I wonder how it feels for other people who aren’t so sentimental about every little thing in life.😆).

These bags are the last round of my “cancer stuff” that I’ve held onto. The “essentials” from surgeries and treatment that I haven’t gotten rid of yet. In trying to explain to Rob, I realized that this seemed important enough to include on this page- and so I’ll share…

These two bags are filled with the medical things that helped me through cancer treatments- the expired numbing cream to go on my port each time they accessed it for treatment; the wraps to keep the bags of ice on my hands during chemo treatments to minimize neuropathy; the “drain apron” that was essential to hold the drains post-surgery; the bandages and binders to help hold my body together as it healed. These items were valuable to me along the way, and holding onto them has made me feel prepared for the “what if…”

I’ve always thought that part of the PTSD aspect of my experience was that it was so sudden and unexpected at my age. And I wonder how differently (if at all) it would have felt to go through it when women are “supposed to”- more like in my 50s or 60s. I wonder if it wouldn’t have been so traumatic if it was more expected and I was more prepared.

It makes me think of the wave that knocks you over in the ocean: when you’re facing it and watch it get closer to you, you are ready for the hit no matter how hard it comes. You bend your knees and you either dig your toes into the sand to stand firm; or you time a jump just right so that you can ride it out with a little grace. It doesn’t seem so bad when you are ready and face it head-on.

When you’re not expecting it- that’s when the wave knocks you over completely. That’s when you face plant and get a mouth full of saltwater. And you get all turned around and disoriented for a minute, not knowing what happened or where it came from.

I pray every day that I don’t get hit by another wave. I feel guilt because my mom didn’t recover from her wave. And the recent anniversary of the day Amy went to heaven reminds me that it can be even more unexpected than my own hit.

Subconsciously, but not too far down to retrieve the thoughts when I need them, I know I’ve hung onto this stuff just in case. Today, in a moment of freedom and excitement and worry and guilt and fear and peace… I let them go. ❤️


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January 20th

January 20th- it never comes without all of the emotions.

4 years ago today was my initial diagnosis.

1 more year until the big #5- when recurrence risk is low enough that I can use the word “cure”. ❤️

The details of that day have not faded; and the impact is a mess of thoughts and feelings.

It seems like a lifetime ago and just yesterday at the same time.

I’ve hated my body and been amazed by it.

I’ve felt closer to God and then not sure He’s even there.

I’ve mentally planned my funeral, and never been more alive.

I have been held up by others, and held others with even heavier burdens.

I have joked about cancer, and have been paralyzed by the seriousness of it.

I have embraced my scars, and hid behind clothes and in the dark.

I have felt thankful for being physically cured, and guilty because mom wasn’t.

Weak and strong.
Alien and human.
Depressed and joy-filled.
Frustrated and grateful.
Broken and healed.
Weary and hopeful.
And hopeful.
And hopeful.
And hopeful.

The only constants: “change and time” … and HOPE.
Artist credit: Katie Belden ❤️