The Nails Cancer Tried to Take

The Nails Cancer Tried to Take

🌼 Date: Thursday, June 4, 2026

⚡ Energy: Tender fingertips and stubborn sparkle

❤️‍🩹 Status: Nail appointment survived, barely

😡 Outlook: Cancer can take a lot, but it does not get to steal all my shine

Today I had to get my nails done.

And when I say had to, I mean it.

This was not a luxury.

This was not a pampering appointment.

This was not me being dramatic because I like pretty nails.

Okay, maybe there was a tiny bit of that too.

But mostly, I had to go because it had been four weeks since the last time I had them done, and I am usually an every-two-weeks kind of girl.

Four weeks is basically a hostage situation for my hands.

But lately, the pain in my fingers has been keeping me away.

And let me explain why this is not just a regular “my nails are sore” situation.

At my very first chemo treatment, the nurse explained that because of the particular chemo cocktail I was receiving to kick my type of breast cancer’s ass, there was a good chance I could lose my fingernails and possibly even my toenails about three to four months after my last infusion.

Excuse me?

Lose my nails?

As if losing both boobs and my hair was not already enough drama for one body.

Apparently chemo looked around and said, What else can we mess with? Oh, yes. Fingernails. Let’s threaten those too.

Before my second infusion, my fingernails and nail beds started aching.

That was my first clue that my nails were not going to quietly sit this one out.

So I had my acrylic nails taken off.

My natural nails were shortened all the way down to the tips of my fingers, and I tried dip powder for the first time.

Since chemo, my nails look like they are only attached to the back half of the nail bed.

Which is just as lovely as it sounds.

And the pain?

O.M.G.

Have you ever smashed your finger with a hammer?

Or closed it in a door?

Or caught it in a drawer?

You know that throbbing feeling, like your heartbeat is trying to shoot out of the tip of your finger like a cannon?

And then you grab your finger and apply as much pressure as you possibly can because somehow squeezing it is the only thing that makes your brain feel like maybe you are helping?

That.

That is what my nails and nail beds feel like.

All the time.

Now add neuropathy to that.

Because apparently my nerves wanted to join the nail drama and turn it into a full production.

So yes, it is super fun being me right now.

Very glamorous.

Very elegant.

Very Cancerland, but make it manicure.

Luckily, I have the best nail lady in the entire world.

I mean that.

She is so gentle with my nails.

She takes her time with my hands.

She understands that this is not just a beauty appointment right now.

This is delicate work.

This is “please do not make the throbbing finger cannon worse” work.

This is “Tina would like to keep her nails attached to her body if at all possible” work.

And she treats them with so much care.

The dip powder has been a lifesaver because it does not put extra pressure on my nails, but it helps keep my thin, fragile nails from splitting and breaking.

And right now, that matters.

A lot.

My last chemo treatment was in February, so that three-to-four-month window the nurse warned me about would be May or June.

And here we are.

Right in the danger zone.

Cue dramatic music.

I am praying I do not lose any of my nails.

And I know that probably sounds strange to some people.

Because I was okay with losing my boobs.

I was okay with losing my hair.

Well, “okay” may be a strong word.

Let’s say I accepted those things because I understood they were part of the battle plan.

But the thought of losing my nails?

That hits different.

My nails have always been one of the ways I express myself.

Anyone who knows me knows that every two weeks, they could expect to see something new and exciting on my fingers.

Different colors.

Different designs.

Something sparkly.

Something bold.

Something coordinated.

Something very Tina.

I loved matching my nails to my outfits.

And my shoes.

Especially my shoes.

That was the total Tina package.

Hair done.

Outfit planned.

Shoes chosen first, obviously.

Nails coordinated.

Sparkle activated.

Ready to take on the day.

And now?

Now hardly any of my clothes fit because I have lost so much weight that most of them hang off me like a potato sack.

I do not get out much unless it is for doctor appointments or Mexican food.

Most of my shoe collection is just sitting there, waiting patiently for the world to remember that Tina owns over 200 pairs and they deserve to be seen.

And now my infamous nails are not really my infamous nails anymore.

They are shorter.

Fragile.

Tender.

Painful.

Carefully protected.

One more piece of Tina that cancer tried to take away.

And that is the part that makes me sad.

It is not vanity.

Not really.

It is identity.

It is the little things that made me feel like me.

People think cancer takes the obvious things.

Hair.

Breasts.

Energy.

Weight.

Strength.

And it does.

It takes those things loudly.

But it also takes tiny things you never thought you would have to grieve.

The way your clothes fit.

The way your shoes feel.

The way your hands look.

The way you get ready.

The little routines that made you feel polished, put together, confident, sparkly, alive.

Cancer chips away at those pieces too.

One by one.

And then one day you realize you miss your nails, and it feels ridiculous and heartbreaking at the same time.

Because it is not just nails.

It is Tina.

It is a version of me I knew how to recognize.

It is the woman who walked into a room with coordinated nails and shoes and a little attitude.

It is the woman who used her hands all day, taught, trained, wrote, pointed, gestured, organized, corrected, created, and probably talked with her hands more than she realized.

It is the woman whose nails were always part of the outfit, part of the personality, part of the sparkle.

And I miss her.

I miss that part of me.

I miss feeling like I could put myself together and go out into the world as the full Tina package.

Now, everything feels temporary.

Healing skin.

Growing hair.

Compression sleeve.

Tender nails.

Clothes that do not fit.

Shoes that do not get worn.

A body that looks and feels different every week.

It is hard to feel like yourself when so many of the pieces keep changing.

But today, I went anyway.

Even though my fingers hurt.

Even though I was nervous.

Even though I knew it might be uncomfortable.

I went.

Because keeping my nails protected matters.

And maybe keeping a little bit of my sparkle matters too.

The appointment was not exactly relaxing.

This was not a spa day with cucumber water and peaceful music.

This was more like a careful rescue mission for fragile little chemo nails.

But I made it through.

My nails are still attached.

They are protected.

They look better.

And I feel a little more like myself.

Not all the way.

Not yet.

But a little.

And sometimes a little is enough to count as a win.

Cancer may have changed my body.

It may have taken my hair.

It may have taken my breasts.

It may have taken my stamina, my strength, my routine, my clothes fitting right, and my ability to wear some of my favorite shoes out into the world right now.

But it does not get to take every piece of me without a fight.

So today, I fought back in a nail chair.

With tender fingers.

With dip powder.

With the gentlest nail lady in the world.

With a whole lot of hope that these nails stay where they belong.

And with the reminder that sometimes survival looks like medical appointments, protein math, compression sleeves, and naps.

But sometimes?

Sometimes survival looks like keeping your sparkle intact one fragile fingernail at a time.

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One Badass Day at a Time