My dream of getting this proof-of-concept short GREENLIT did (over $5k). ❤️ But, we technically are still 1170 short of hitting our 10K goal. So please donate! This campaigning will end sooner and you won’t have to hear this same messaging again for a while like a broken record.

Today, the thing I’m waiting for is a pretty big one: my video appointment that should determine the next phase of my cancer treatment.

My deep-down hope is that radiation did such an incredible job on the remaining 10% of Tumi that my doctor says, “You know what? Never mind about chemo.”

Tumi & Me the proof of concept short is a quarterfinalist for The Script Fund, which would provide us a $1000 grant. Fingers crossed. But again, you know me, I have never been one to sit idly and hope things happen for me. So, I am proud to announce that the crowdfunding campaign FINALLY has a launch date. It is coming out tomorrow on September 4th after much back and forth. 

It’s hard to fully put into words what it feels like to reach this moment. There is so much relief, pride, gratitude, and emotion wrapped up in those three little letters: DONE.

Sitting in the waiting room about to finish Week 5 of 6 of radiation. One more week to go. 💙

And honestly? I’m in great spirits.

Besides the hair loss and occasionally finding myself crawling into bed a little earlier, things have been pretty smooth. I’ve been spending most of my time working out to maintain my muscle mass, hanging out with people I love, writing, creating, and continuing to push Get Reelisms forward.

This week also included a little desert adventure.

Four weeks of brain cancer radiation are officially complete. From navigating hair loss and finding the right wig to creating Tumi & Me, growing Get Reelisms, and working toward getting my driver’s license back, I’m learning to focus on what I can control—and keep moving forward.

When I first arrived, I was completely lost because Tallie Wigs had just expanded into a bigger location right next door. I called the number and the owner herself, Tallie, picked up. She came and found me, brought me over to the right place, and immediately made me feel at home.

Overall, I’m still feeling surprisingly good. The headaches have started to make more regular appearances, but my energy has remained high, and for that I’m incredibly grateful.

The hardest part of this week hasn’t been the treatments themselves. It’s been watching my hair slowly thin.

Last night, after watching a movie with a friend and having what was otherwise a good day, I was getting ready for bed when I noticed a lot more hair than usual in the sink. I looked up at myself in the mirror and, for the first time, it really registered: radiation is making me lose my hair.

I cried.

More than anything, I've been struggling with the feeling of being stuck—of standing still. I hate feeling stagnant. Every day, I'm taking steps that should move the needle, but it's exhausting when those steps don't seem to produce anything tangible. I imagine it's similar to what actors experience after auditioning over and over without landing a role.

If you've been following along, you know that because I'm a woman doing radiation who will eventually go through chemotherapy, I had the lovely opportunity to freeze my eggs before chemo renders them unusable.

The weird thing about brain cancer recovery is that you can feel completely fine… and still feel completely stuck.

Coming into this whole process, I thought the physical medical aspect would be the most stressful part. Ironically, it’s actually been dealing with the insurance and healthcare system that has caused me the most stress. Not everyone is as lucky as I am to have friends willing to drop everything and help.

The waiting game is excruciating.

For the last several weeks, I’ve felt like I was a contestant on some bizarre game show, waiting for strangers to decide my fate. Is it Grade 2 or Grade 3? A simple number, but one that carries enormous implications.

The staples are out. I can wash my hair again.

It’s funny how the simplest joys can feel like the biggest victories.

The wild part? Even though it felt like a month had passed, this surgery was only two weeks ago. Two weeks. And yet, what an emotional whirlwind these past 14 days have been—not just for me, but for the incredible community around me.