Measured, Modified, and Missing a Little Dog
🌼 Date: Tuesday, January 13, 2026
⚡ Energy: Steady, thoughtful, and a little emotionally bruised.
💗 Status: Progress happening — even when it doesn’t feel like it.
😑 Outlook: Long road. Still walking.
Today was physical therapy day.
They measured my range of motion, and honestly? I was surprised. Even with ripped stitches, a gaping hole, and me babying my right side more than I’d like to admit, my mobility has still improved.
That felt like a small win.
Then she measured my left arm — the one where they took the lymph nodes — and the swelling has gone down an entire inch in some places. Which is wild, because I didn’t even realize it was swollen, let alone noticeably bigger than the right arm.
Apparently, my body has been doing things without consulting me again.
Now I have homework. New stretches. Modified versions for the right side until the infamous hole decides to finish filling itself in. I don’t think my physical therapist loved hearing that her stretches were directly involved in my stitches ripping out… but here we are. We adapt. We keep moving.
Her goal is to get me nice and limber on both sides before radiation starts the second week of April.
Ah yes. Radiation. The next chapter.
Between now and then, I’m also hoping the hole fully closes so I can resume saline fills in my expander bags. Ironically, right before radiation starts, one expander will actually need to be deflated so it doesn’t interfere with the radiation beam.
I talked to the plastics nurse yesterday and requested that when that time comes, they deflate both sides — because I am absolutely not walking around for weeks with only one boob. Hard pass.
How long they stay deflated depends on healing, burns, and skin recovery. And once radiation is done, the radiated side has to heal for at least six months before reconstruction surgery is even on the table.
It’s a long road.
Like… really long.
Lord, give me patience and strength for the long haul. 🙏
And then, because life doesn’t like to stay on one topic for too long, Casey dropped a gentle bomb this afternoon.
He thinks Gidget is pouting without Momo.
And honestly? I think he’s right.
Today she was my literal shadow. Everywhere I went, there she was. Like she didn’t trust that if she let me out of her sight, I was going to come back.
When I let her outside, she sat in the sunshine and refused to come in. Just sat there. Waiting. Until I finally bribed her with a treat.
It felt like she was waiting for Momo to come home.
So now we’re talking about maybe getting her a companion — not a puppy-puppy, but another female Yorkie around her age. Gidge is eight. Casey doesn’t want to raise another eight-week-old chaos gremlin (fair), doesn’t want to drive across the state, and really wants Gidge to have a meet-and-greet before any commitment.
No rush. No impulse decisions. Just the right fit.
So… if anyone out there knows of a 7–8-year-old female Yorkie who needs a forever home, please send them my way. I’ve added pictures of Gidge to this post — partly because she’s cute, and partly because maybe the universe will do its thing.
Today was about progress you don’t always feel, grief that still lingers, and making space for what comes next — slowly, thoughtfully, and with love.
💗 Tina –
One Badass Day at a Time
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