Crushed It

1 in 8 woman will be diagnosed with breast cancer in their lifetime. And although I strive to be exceptional, being the "ONE" in this case was not what I was going for.

This is my story...

Part 1 - The Test Came Back Positive for Cancer
Part 2 - How I'm Healing from Cancer and Why I've Chosen This Path
Part 3 - Why I Believe Cancer is a Gift
Part 4 - I Made It ... One Month Post-Surgery
Part 5 - I LOVE not wearing a bra! and other surprises since surgery!
Part 6 - 8 Month Update... 6 Month Boobies Checkup
Part 7 - 8 Month Update... The Spot on My Spine
Part 8 - 1 Year Update
Part 9 - Cancer's Return: Brain Cancer Diagnosis

Thanks for your support!

I always tell my clients to ask support when they need it.

So, here I am walking the walk and talking the talk.

Here's HOW to do that and what NOT to do:

#1 Getting CARDS is a love language for me.

You can send me fun snail-mail here anytime! P.O. Box 91538, Long Beach, CA 90809

#2 Do NOT say “I’m Sorry…”

I shared why in this email. ;)

And finally:

#3 Do NOT tell me your stories of someone who died from cancer.

There is no room in my circle for anyone who isn’t speaking life. And I want you in my circle. So don't be that person who doesn't get this is not the time or place to word vomit on me horrible stories related to cancer.

If you want to support me, then think and talk about this as my health journey, not my cancer journey.

3 days after my 33rd wedding anniversary I got home from a walk on the beach and listened to a voicemail from the hospital.

I looked at my husband Mark and said “Results are in. We have an appointment at one o’clock.”

When we got there I couldn’t read the doctor’s expression, she had a mask on. But I already knew what was coming.

She paused. She seemed really uncomfortable. It took forever for her to say the words:

“So… unfortunately… the biopsy did show some breast cancer…”

I didn’t skip a beat. “Ok, that’s what I figured. I was already there.”

It was two weeks earlier that I had found a lump while in the shower. I knew immediately it was cancer.

Now that the biopsy and waiting for results were over, I was ready to get the eviction party planned and RSVP ASAP.

I signed up for 5 months of chemo, found a damn cute wig, and shifted my entire work schedule so I could suffer in peace one week a month after chemo.

I read at least 6 books on how to "survive the most awful chemo".

I spent hours scrolling the internet looking at bald women and reading about their journeys.

I made notes where their mindset was weak and "victim-like" as evidence that my journey would be easier.

I bought all the pink breast cancer stuff I could find.

I was ready to make it the easiest journey possible, with a slice of fun on the side.

Chemo was set to begin on July 7th.

But then my angel appeared (a plot twist… divine intervention). I had a conversation that opened my eyes to a different path.

It’s too much goodness to pack in all at once, and I don't wanna just give you the bullet points, so this is only Part 1 of 3.

Comin’ your way in Part 2:

The type of breast cancer I have (doctors call it fast growing and very aggressive)
My laughable conversation with an oncology doctor, “Dr. Poison”
Most importantly: the healing path I’ve chosen, what I’m doing, and why

For now I wanted you to know:

I’ve named the tumor “JJ” and her official eviction party (aka “surgery”) is tomorrow. YAY!!

I have a phenomenal eviction team (oncology surgeon) and remodeling team (plastic surgeon).

And here’s the thing:

YOU are also on my team. The united energy of people supporting me is something I want through this journey.

I am so grateful to have the strong community that I do!

I know you’re gonna want to respond to this news - so read on for practical ways you can support me in this healing journey.

WANT TO SUPPORT ME? HERE'S HOW...

#1 My love language: CARDS!

If encouragement and spreading light through writing is your thing - I’d love to get a note from you.

Snail-mail me here: P.O. Box 91538, Long Beach, CA 90809

#2 Do NOT say “I’m Sorry…”

I’ll go into this more in Part 3 of my story, but for now - do NOT tell me you’re sorry for me. I am truly treating this as one of the greatest gifts I’ve been given.

You wouldn’t say “I’m sorry” if I told you I got a pony, right?? Well this is way better than a pony… it’s a unicorn. I’ll explain why. Hang with me.

And finally:

#3 Do NOT tell me your stories of someone who died from cancer.

I get it. We all have our stories. In fact, I got my diagnosis on the 33rd anniversary of my mom's terminal cancer announcement. Yup. Crazy, right?

And I’ve been that person who heard someone had cancer and responded “my mom died from cancer…”

I didn’t know better then. And there’s grace for younger Christie.

But I know better now and I’m tellin’ ya:

Don’t be that person. There is no room in my circle for anyone who isn’t speaking life.

If you want to support me, then think and talk about this as my health journey, not my cancer journey.

I’m excited to tell you about the GOOD that has already happened!

SO much good.

So there I was, diagnosed with HER2 positive breast cancer that is only seen in 1 of 5 patients.

Doctors call it a fast growing and very aggressive cancer.

Chemo was set to begin on July 7th.

As a part of shifting my workload and goals to accommodate how sick I was expecting to feel after chemo, I had a strategy call scheduled with my newly hired copywriter, Elise.

I remembered that at our first meeting (before I had any idea that cancer was on the horizon for me) Elise had mentioned she had naturally beaten cervical cancer.

So I told her about my diagnosis and asked her to bring to the call all her winning strategies.

As she shared the details of how she went from “carcinoma in situ” to getting the result “benign” in the span of 6 months - without conventional treatment - my eyes were opened to a different path.

I knew this connection with Elise was divine intervention.

During a beach walk, I asked God, Universe, Spirit, Source, Fairy Godmother and even Kermit the Frog for guidance.

Doors immediately began opening for me:

I watched the Heal documentary on Amazon Prime, and “How Not to Die”.
I listened to Hal Elrod's podcast 211 about his cancer (my birthday is 211 - nice sign)
Hal made a reference to Chris Wark of Chris Beat Cancer (26 year old diagnosed with stage lllc colon cancer - he got surgery and said F-No to chemo and radiation). He radically changed his diet and lifestyle. Wark is now 17 years cancer free (there's my lucky number 17 as another sign).

My husband Mark and I both began reading Chris Beat Cancer. It helped convince us 100% to say no to the proposed conventional treatments.

My mantra immediately became "Christie Crushed Cancer" which clearly required a logo. 🤣

After binge watching his content and ordering all three of his books, I enrolled in his course.

I questioned everything, did extensive research, and took MASSIVE action.

Here’s a 30,000 ft view of what I did:

I learned as much about cancer as possible before researching all the natural healing remedies. I needed scientific knowledge and evidence.
I hired an amazing Functional Medicine Doctor who began our 2 hour session with mindset coaching and even mentioned a shaman. OMG, I found my peeps!
I booked so many 2nd opinions that left me wondering when the insurance company would call to ask if my insurance card was stolen. I've seen so many doctors in person and across the country on Zoom that I have lost count.
I fasted and adopted a plant-based, 95% raw foods diet and dropped 12 pounds.
I doubled my spiritual practices.
I began coffee enemas. I definitely prefer drinking coffee! ☕
I bought an infrared sauna and H2O filtration system.
I "sat in the silence" and waited for signs. I woke up in the middle of the night screaming "F_CK NO" and knew it meant do not do chemo or radiation. Which meant I had to begin an entirely new journey to find a highly skilled surgeon that could remove the mass without shrinking it first. I found her! That was a GIFT because I wasn't "feeling" any of the prior 3 surgeons.

All the effort and expense was worth it.

My confidence grew in understanding the disease, my options, and the path I wanted to take.

Here’s what I learned about conventional treatment:

Treatment protocol is 5 months of chemo to shrink the mass so surgery is easier with less deformity. Doctors like to see that their poison cocktail is working. Then surgery. Then 6 weeks of daily radiation. Then possibly more chemo for a total of one year.

That sucks. But it’s what they DON’T tell you that’s the bigger problem.

What they don't tell the patient is that chemo does not kill cancer stem cells and has been proven to cause secondary cancers (as noted on the American Cancer Society's website).

They also withhold evidence that radiation permanently damages healthy tissue, can cause secondary cancers, and has a negligible impact on recurrence rates. It simply isn't needed!

Want a big fat cherry to top it off?

Most oncology doctors don't know squat about healthy living.

When I asked "Dr. Poison" what I should eat, he said "no sugar, no alcohol, no meat, but if you want wine with a good steak, go ahead and have it."

Notice he didn't say anything about what TO eat despite all the scientific evidence supporting cancer-fighting foods.

And when I asked about exercise, he said, "try to walk 30 minutes 3x a week." That's LAUGHABLE! The CDC guidelines (hmmm, has he heard of those?) say a minimum of 30 minutes 5x a week.

Truth be told, I asked these questions just to poke the snake and see how bad his answers would be.

Yup, that's how I roll.

Doctors use scare tactics to create urgency. Even as a strong woman, I found myself being a "good patient" signing up for chemo.

My encouragement to anyone facing a diagnosis is:

Slow down. Do your research. Trust your gut.

PS - I did not lose 12 pounds since the diagnosis because I'm sick. I feel great and have incredible energy! The extra fat melted off when I switched to a 100% plant-based, 95% raw diet.

The non-conventional path to healing is the one I chose, and I’m all in.

I 100% believe I can heal my body without chemo or radiation and prevent any future cancers.

In the final Part 3 of this life-update I’ll tell you how in the months leading up to my diagnosis I was set up to succeed, and why I believe cancer is a gift.

Hugs,

P.S. Want to support me in this healing journey? Here’s a recap from yesterday of HOW to do that and what NOT to do:

#1 My love language is getting cards in the mail.

You can send me good-vibes only snail-mail here: P.O. Box 91538, Long Beach, CA 90809

#2 Do NOT say “I’m Sorry…”

I’ll go into this more in Part 3 of my story, but for now - do NOT tell me you’re sorry for me. I am truly treating this as one of the greatest gifts I’ve been given.

You wouldn’t say “I’m sorry” if I told you I got a pony, right?? Well this is way better than a pony… it’s a unicorn. I’ll explain why. Hang with me.

And finally:

#3 Do NOT tell me your stories of someone who died from cancer.

I get it. We all have our stories. In fact, I got my diagnosis on the 33rd anniversary of my mom's terminal cancer announcement. Yup. Crazy, right?

And I’ve been that person who heard someone had cancer and responded “my mom died from cancer…”

I didn’t know better then. And there’s grace for younger Christie.

But I know better now and I’m tellin’ ya:

Don’t be that person. There is no room in my circle for anyone who isn’t speaking life.

If you want to support me, then think and talk about this as my health journey, not my cancer journey.

In February I went on a spiritual retreat in Sedona.

One of my take-home actions was to begin spending an hour in nature everyday. Unplugged. No phone. No distractions.

In the first 120 days I missed only 3 days.

2 of those I was in the hospital (remember my fainting episodes around my anniversary?). One day just felt too hard and I didn’t make myself go.

But the other 117 days? I did the work of making space to be. To listen. To think.

I don’t want you to miss this context. Because I know that daily practice set me up to succeed in my response to my cancer diagnosis.

The daily habit of being present, patient, thoughtful, and proactive (not reactive) is a key reason why I didn’t jump right into chemo.

I gave myself time to process.

You read about some of that process in Part 2 from yesterday. (If you missed it, it’s worth reading.) I took massive action and I’m already reaping the benefits.

In addition to what I shared yesterday I want you to know:

I declared and acknowledged that cancer is a divine gift sent to me with a bucket full of lessons.

Admittedly, I wished there was an easier way to learn the lessons, but nevertheless, I am grateful.

3 days after diagnosis I bought the URL cancerisagift.com and started dictating my story.

I did 5-minute "rampages of gratitude" (thanks Jack Canfield) a minimum of 3x a day.

And I feel HAPPIER AND HEALTHIER than ever before!

Authenticity is one of my core values, so hear me:

I did have 3 days of meltdown moments.

No shame in that. I’m just not staying there.

Because I also realize that this is happening for me, not to me.

I’ve taken 100% responsibility for the cancer in my body.

Not blame. Not shame. Responsibility.

If I accept responsibility that some of my actions are the reason why I have cancer - then I am also the one who can embrace a healthier way of living and give cancer the BOOT.

Cancer was the wake up call to do all the things I knew I should be doing.

And so I am treating this as one of the greatest gifts I’ve been given.

Which is why I don’t want anyone saying they feel sorry for me. If you’re really listening to me, you’ll understand that response just doesn’t make sense.

If I told you I just got a pony - you’re not gonna say “I’m sorry.”

And this gift? WAY better than a pony. It’s a freakin’ unicorn.

Cancer is my wild ride - the motivation, the vehicle, the GIFT - to get me to the next-level of abundant, thriving life.

It’s also the classroom where I get equipped, prepared, and focused on my purpose - and I’ve got BIG things still to do!

It’s the wide open door into the next good chapter of my story where I continue to learn how to WIN in the ways that matter most… and I get to share what I learn with you.

So don’t say you’re sorry for me.

Be happy and grateful with me.

And I’ll tell ya’ - one of the greatest ways cancer has been a gift to me?

My deepening love and appreciation for my husband Mark.

P.S. What are my plans post-surgery? I’m taking a week off to rest and relax. Then be on the lookout for a post-surgery update from me… I’ll let you know how I’m feeling. Thanks for caring. 💖

P.P.S. One final note about being supportive - did you see the ways to support me in the previous emails? In case you missed it, I’ll share here again HOW to do that and what NOT to do:

#1 Getting CARDS is a love language for me.

You can send me fun snail-mail here anytime! P.O. Box 91538, Long Beach, CA 90809

#2 Do NOT say “I’m Sorry…”

I shared why in this email. ;)

And finally:

#3 Do NOT tell me your stories of someone who died from cancer.

There is no room in my circle for anyone who isn’t speaking life. And I want you in my circle. So don't be that person who doesn't get this is not the time or place to word vomit on me horrible stories related to cancer.

If you want to support me, then think and talk about this as my health journey, not my cancer journey.

Thanks for reading. Thanks for being part of this awesome, supportive community that I love so much.

I snuck outside my house like a burglar trying to make a getaway without being seen. I clutched 3 salads in my hands, and walked straight towards the public trash cans on the beach.

With each step one thought keeps washing over me:

I don't want Mark to know that I didn't eat what he made…

I pass the individual neighbor's trash cans and approach the public ones, and my foolproof plan quickly forms as I reason it out:

Mark never throws Winnie's poop into the neighbor's trash can even though they are city owned…

Mark will never walk up the three steps to throw anything in the beach trash cans either…

I scale the 3 steps and throw the salads in the public trash can that's on the sand.

I can look back on this now and laugh (and hopefully Mark can, too, because he’s just learning about this for the first time reading this email. Sorry, Mark!!)

And I ask myself:

Really, Christie?? Like he’s going to OPEN the trash can and DIG AROUND looking for a salad?? He’s not gonna see it in the trash!

But reason had temporarily left the building because all I was focused on was:

I didn’t want Mark to know that I didn't eat the salads he made. Because he worked so hard.

These salads? There’s like a million ingredients in there that Mark lovingly hand cut for me.

Kale, spinach, arugula, bell peppers, broccoli, cauliflower, black beans, nuts, hemp seeds, sunflower seeds, avocado, sauerkraut, broccoli sprouts, plus anti-cancer seasonings!

It's. A. Lot.

Truly - the whole recovery, from the surgery and alllll of that was way easier, and way faster than even my visualization. It’s been a total surprise (and I need to up my visualization game!)

But I share this story because:

I don’t want to gloss over the reality of moments where I honestly just want to say f*ck it! and quit.

Because here’s the thing I’m living all over again (same truth, new chapter):

No one gets a shortcut to long term success.

You don’t get a “pass” because you have a certain type of personality.

I am damn determined to keep the Christie Miller fun and healthy positivity in every part of my healing process...

And it’s still hard. Really frickin’ hard!

And that’s okay.

You and I both know that hard does not equal bad.

The hard reality is: I’ve experienced loss (literally and figuratively) in this journey.

And there’s a grieving process I don’t get to skip past.

Even when loss is a GOOD thing (bye-bye billion cancer cells and bad eating habits!!), there are still hard things that come with loss.

Because moving forward always means leaving things behind.

The truth is: I feel healthier and stronger than I’ve ever been and I remember WHY I’m doing what I’m doing, and I KNOW I made the right choice.

… AND I miss some of what I’ve left behind.

My Mark-made salads are GREAT - but what I really want is a burger and fries!!

Wrapped in a pizza with ice cream on top!!

With a side of chips and salsa.

And three hard-shelled tacos.

And popcorn.

Do you ever feel like that??

Like you know what’s best for you but it’s hard to stick with it??

As much as that feeling sucks… I wanna encourage you to hold on to that reality. That place of honesty.

Don’t skip the SUCK!

Because that’s exactly what your clients are feeling.

The struggle is real.

So tap into remembering what they’re fighting through. Let all the suck just sit for a minute.

We are better coaches to our clients when we truly empathize with their pain and challenges.

The truth is the surgery was EASY compared to the sustained diet changes that require an hour of preparing over 64 ounces of fresh juice every single morning.

That’s why so many people will quit when they could WIN if they would just take the long-game hard stuff one step at a time.

So here are some of the reminders I’m keeping front-and-center as I walk out my healing journey:

Just take one step at a time.
Don't quit, learn how to rest.
Honor your life season. That’s wisdom, not weakness.
Perfection is a mythical load of crap.

And?
Learn how to reward yourself and celebrate your progress.

I get accused of riding unicorns over rainbows so when I found this t-shirt the other day when I was out shopping with Mark I was like:

I don’t care that it’s stupidly expensive and looks like a 3-year old should wear it, I’m buying it!

I can grieve some of what I’ve lost AND choose to celebrate the GOOD.

You can, too.

Next week I’ll share:

How new Christie has changed plans old Christie made
3 of the biggest gifts cancer unwrapped for me (#2 really surprised me)
A practice I’ve been doing every morning that helps me resist temptation and celebrate my wins

And I’d love to hear:
.

What’s some of the hard-good you’re embracing right now?
.

Are you also in a season of grieving some of what you’re leaving behind as you move forward into something new?

How are you intentionally celebrating the GOOD?

Shoot me an email Howdy@ChristieMiller.com and let me know.

In this with you,

It’s been 1 month since my breast cancer surgery and you know how last time I told you - “recovering from the surgery was EASY compared to the sustained diet changes”?

Well, that’s 1000% true. But we’ve gotta peel ONE more layer back to get down to the hardest thing I’ve got to do.

The truth is: To sustain these external changes, I’ve got to do the internal work of healing.

There’s no way around it.

I’ve got to embrace the character-building and internal healing in my mind, heart, soul… yep. The whole shebang.

Because you and I both know: you can’t skip personal transformation and sustain a next level of success.

Sure, you may get a quick win. But the house you’ve built will come crashing down around you if you don’t have a solid foundation and strong internal support.

So I am in the hard-good process of becoming New Christie.

Old Christie’s gotta go!!!

Lemme tell you one way this worked out, recently:

I really wanted to have lunch with my mastermind sister. She lives in Orange County, and I was going to be down in Orange County for an appointment.

I checked my calendar and thought: “...if I leave right after my Facebook live… if we meet here… I can see her for over an hour, and if I have a fifteen minute drive time I can get to the doctor in time…”

I squeezed the meeting in my calendar. But it didn’t sit right with me.

A couple of days before we were scheduled to meet I sent her a message saying:

“I’m really sorry. Old Christie booked that meeting, because the old Christie fills up every space for efficiency. New Christie needs to cancel and reschedule.

What do you have on Thursday or Friday? My days are completely free. I’d be there and be present and not be rushed.”

Do you know what she wrote back?

“I love new Christie.”

Isn’t it a relief?? We get to grow into new, better versions of ourselves.

So for me? I choose to carry forward all the life lessons and experiences I’ve gathered - and I get to leave behind what isn’t serving me anymore.

Old Christie? She used to pack every spare minute full.

New Christie is intentionally planning in more space, and more grace.

And I’m not tryin’ to pretend it’ll be easy. Old habits die hard.

Now that I’ve got the green light from my plastic surgeon to go full speed again… it’d be so easy to go back to Old Christie.

But I don’t want to just survive. I’m going for abundance, thriving and fun!

And those get squashed out when everything's about efficiency and productivity, and how much I can squeeze in.

This is true for you, too.

You don’t have to wait for your own cancer wake-up call to accept the invitation to embrace a more space, more grace lifestyle – I’ll share mine with you.

You are free right now and have an open invitation to start (or STOP) doing the things you know you should.

I’ll share some of those things I knew better about sometime. But for now?

I’m giving myself the gift of space. To process. To be. To enjoy.

Speaking of gifts…

Some of the gifts cancer has unwrapped for me have really surprised me. Let’s take it from the top (pun intended):

Surprise Gift #1: I LOVE not wearing a bra! It’s pretty much the greatest thing ever. Seriously – my surgeon told me it's not going to change my outcome of how “the girls” look, so I'm only going to wear a bra when I have to.

P.S. -There's a Harvard study that shows women who wear bras less often have a lower incidence of breast cancer. And – really tight sports bras are so bad for your lymphatic system. So living the bra-free life is just another perk of being a part of the itty bitty titty committee. 😆

Surprise Gift #2: Forgiveness for my mom. I’m not gonna go deep on this one right now (maybe someday), but I don’t want to leave it out because this surprise-gift means the world to me.

My mom went through two of her own cancer journeys, and now I have more grace for her. And I don't know that I'm 100% there. But I have gotten to such a deep level of forgiveness for my mom, that I'm able to better appreciate her cancer.

When I was younger, I used to say I was never really proud of my mom.

She wasn't the Sports Mom.

She wasn't the Shopping Mom.

She wasn't the Fun Mom.

She was like, World's Worst cook. I mean - ugh! Nasty

… But when I saw her battle cancer, when I was in my early 20s, she made me so damn proud.

And now I've really been able to go down this path of forgiveness, where I feel her presence in a good way. And that, to me, is super powerful.

Surprise Gift #3: Ordinary life in technicolor. I remember telling Mark the other day “Today felt like a perfect day.” It was just a normal day. But now I’m seeing the extraordinary in the ordinary.

I remember even early on in the diagnosis being SO HAPPY. And I was like: “What is wrong with you? Why are you so happy about this?”

I think it’s because: The distractions have been stripped away. What really matters is clear, obvious. So deeper levels of joy have been more accessible than ever before.

Those moments have been huge surprises.

And I’ve re-started a practice I used to do all the time: Mirror work.

Have you heard of it?

Now I've gone back to every morning - just as I’m looking in the mirror - intentionally praising myself.

Even if it's just little things like “I know you don't feel good. I love you.”

And then doing mirror work at the end of the day to acknowledge what I'm proud of:

🥳 the wins that I've scored,

🥳 the temptations I avoided,

🥳 the disciplines I kept…

Always ending my day with the last thing I see in the mirror saying, “I love you, Christie.” And just catching my gaze for a moment. That is powerful.

Mirror work is something I taught my clients, because it’s such a wonderful way to boost your confidence.

I remember one of my weight loss clients said that was the only thing that helped her give up her mindless eating of chocolate – because she looked forward to seeing herself in the mirror at the end of each day praising herself.

It’s such a simple, powerful practice and I’m glad to have it as a regular part of my days again.

That’s my update for now… I’d love to hear yours.

👉 What is something that the old you is still trying to do and the new you is like: “Nope… I think I need to make a change. Time to pivot...”? This is like your permission slip to reschedule something, rethink something, cancel something, start something, stop something.

👉 What is a surprise gift you’ve gotten during hard circumstances?

👉 Have you ever done mirror work before? If so, tell me how you do it and what you love about it! If not, lemme know if you’re gonna try it!

Thanks for reading this chapter of my story.

I’m so darn grateful for you!

Hugs,

Anytime you've had cancer, you are on high alert.

You know what I mean? You sneeze and something hurts, and your brain goes to the dark side.

There’s this intentional, mental leadership of responding to triggers with thoughts like: No, you just sneezed.

It’s not allowing yourself to go to the doom and gloom.

For weeks before my 6-month check up I’d been having these quick, shooting pains in my breast.

And I could also feel, right where JJ was, a significant bump.

I’d asked the surgeon about it three or four days post-surgery, when they took the bandages off.

And they said:

“Yeah, that's probably what's considered a surgery knot. You can feel it. But please rest assured, we got JJ out. We didn't leave her in there. She's out.”

Okay. That makes sense.

So I’ve just been diligent about really getting to know my breasts for the first time in my life – just feeling and doing breast checks.

So every time I feel that knot it can trigger the thought “what is this?...”

But I went into my 6-month checkup with a super positive attitude of:

This is just scar tissue. Come on… I just had major surgery… This is scar tissue.

But I didn't have anything to base that on.

I haven't had other surgeries where I could feel knots and stuff. I just didn’t know for sure.

So here we go. Ultrasound time.

It just so happens that on this day there was a tech, and also a tech in training. My doctor was waiting in the wings to come in after the techs did their thing.

So the two techs were talking back and forth… you normally don't hear anything.

You’d just hear that click… click… click… as they're taking pictures.

But their conversation actually gave me great comfort, because the lead-tech was saying:

“When you're doing an ultrasound and you don't see anything, make sure you click to take pictures at 12 o'clock, 3 o'clock, 6 o'clock at 9 o'clock…”

So I'm thinking Oh, that's why they're clicking. Okay.

Then she said words that made baby angels start singing:

“Yeah, you see how scar tissue looks different?...”

I was really getting this peaceful feeling, like:

I understood the assignment. I got the answers right! I’m getting 100%!

Then the doctor came in and I could just tell from the look on her face – it's all

good.

I finally had confirmation.

She probably said “Your breasts are normal.”

But my Christie Miller filter heard: “Your boobies are normal!!!”

And I immediately said “Normal? I spent over $100,000 on my surgery and cancer treatments! These are cute!

Also?

I am still just so enthralled with the fact that I get to go bra-less all the time!

I had to actually buy nipple covers for my recent vacation because I had this fabulous, (slightly sheer) white linen shirt so I needed to get some of those little stick-on nipple thingamabobs.

It's the best thing ever. Like another gift of a purchase.

SO – my boobies got the all clear! WHOO HOOO!!!

And?...

We did find a new, unknown spot on my spine.

Next week I’ll share how I’m processing that news without concern, what I’m gonna do about it, and why I’m more convinced than ever that cancer is one of the best gifts I’ve ever received.

In the meantime shoot an email to howdy@christiemiller.com and tell me about a silver lining or lesson you found in a challenging experience.

Big Hugs!

Let’s talk about the fact that there's an unknown spot on my spine.

I’m not concerned. And I'm not investigating it.

Why?

Because I wouldn't do anything differently.

I know for a fact that what I'm doing is exactly what I'm supposed to be doing.

My all-clear results at my 6-month boobies check-up speaks for itself - but even before that official confirmation I just knew I am healthier and stronger than ever.

I am healing from the inside out and feeling fantastic!

And truthfully - had I known then what I know now - I probably wouldn't have done a PET scan back when I was getting diagnosed last June.

But that was when I was on the full “standard of scare”, copy-and-paste treatment conveyor belt ride.

I was trying to be a “good patient” and go along with their recommendations because they’re the doctors, right? (And a cancer diagnosis is scary AF.)

But that radioactive dye they inject in you? It comes in a sealed container with somebody in a hazmat unit with special gloves.

So yeah… I’m no longer willing to put radioactive stuff in my body. (And then there’s all the radiation in the X-rays and everything.)

And even if they said it was cancer? I'm not doing anything different.

Mark and I have talked about it. Our conversation went something like this:

Me: “Just for fun, let's pretend I have cancer in my bones… Would you want me to do chemo?”

Mark: “There's no guarantee it would work.”

Me: “Well, there is a guarantee I’d look like sh*t and feel like sh*t. But other than that, you’re right, there's no guarantee.”

And this isn’t just some mental exercise for us. Mark and I watched his brother go from 240 lbs to 160 lbs while he was on chemo before he died.

No thank you.

One of my sincere, well-meaning doctors told me: “I really wish you would reconsider chemo. There's so many hacks so you don't have to feel sick…”

But here’s the deal:

It's not the feeling sick part.

It's the invisible damage that's being done. You can't hack your way out of that.

So again: No, thank you.

And the way I look at it is: There are two potential outcomes.

One is it's nothing. And one is it's one of JJ's friends. (JJ is what I nicknamed the mass.)

And if it's one of JJ's friends? I'm not doing anything differently anyway.

So what would be the benefit of knowing that?

Honestly - the only reason why I'm a little bit curious is because it would be a bigger comeback story.

Like: Yeah, I had stage four. And now I have no evidence of disease!

But instead we'll have a story of “There was a new spot… And then it's gone.”

In the meantime, I’m not afraid of the unknown.

I'm so weirdly at peace with this. Really… it's just it's the weirdest thing for somebody that likes to control sh*t.

Yes, every now and then thoughts of fear and doubt pop in my head like:

Wait, does the emperor have no clothes?...

Am I being stupid?...

But then I come back to:

Where has my gut, where has my intuition, ever led me wrong?

Example? My blind date for cocktails lasted 72 hours because I almost instantly knew Mark was the man I was going to marry.

It took me a few minutes to get past the hockey ‘do and gold chain, but hey, I was wearing chef’s pants and had a poodle perm.

33 years later, here we are.

(Fun side note: Mark has lost one nut and almost lost a nipple to cancer so our friends have given us a special nickname: Hound Solo and His One Nip Wonder.)

Bottom line? My gut is always right, when I sit and listen to it. So I just have to do that.

Also? I’ve done massive amounts of research.

I’ve binge read, binge watched, consulted all the doctors, and continue to educate myself while taking massive action.

So I’m not just riding unicorns over rainbows. It’s more like riding the unicorn to and from the library.

And I get it. It's one thing to listen to your gut to go on a blind date.

It's a whole other thing to listen to your gut when people are telling you this is a life or death decision.

And I’ve had a doctor tell me, essentially, that if I didn’t do the chemo and radiation: “We'll see you back here in a year, and we won’t be able to save you.”

But the bottom line is – every time you get in your car, it could be a life or death decision.

So how dare a doctor - who doesn't know when their own life is going to end - try to put an expiration date on mine?

Do you know who you're talking to? I'm Christie f*in Miller.

My best friend Jayne gave me a bracelet years ago after I competed on the TV show Wipe Out. It sits on the little shelf right above my sink in my bathroom, so I see it every single day.

It has an acronym inscribed on it – CMURAMRS.

Which means “Christie Miller you Are a Motherf’in Rock Star”

Damn right. Damn right I am!

So here’s what I want to share with you at this stage of my journey…

Where I’m right smack in the middle of unknowns, where things are not wrapped up neatly with a bow:

You gotta slow down long enough to get in the cocoon.

Embrace the journey. Embrace the struggle.

And a cocoon necessarily means struggle. If we’re honest, we’d probably all prefer to avoid struggle.. but no butterfly has ever skipped the cocoon part.

You go in there. There is a struggle. You are in the dark for a while.

There's this dark, struggling aspect to transformation before you come into the light and spread your new wings.

I've literally been in the cocoon since the diagnosis.

And yes, I just wish I knew when the butterfly was coming out of the cocoon.

But I also want you to know:

There’s more goodness here than I ever imagined. That’s why I say cancer is one of the best gifts I’ve ever received.

I’m just going at such a slower pace.

I take 4 hours just for me. Every morning.

Nothing goes on my calendar before 10 am.

So I show up at work as a different person.

And I swear, joy is just permeating out of my pores. I’m so dang grateful for everything.

I'm fully embracing the journey with a curiosity of:

What is the next greatest thing that's going to happen because of this?

Because I know there's big shifts coming. Big shifts.

And I’m here for it!

So that’s it for now.

Thank YOU for being here. For walking with me.

Can’t wait to see what the next chapter of my healing journey unfolds!

It’s gonna be so good!

Big hugs,