Author: ashleyrcoplin

Are you there God? It’s me, Ashley.

· Leave a comment ·

Growing up one of my favorite childhood books was by Judy Blume, Are you there God? It’s me Margaret. It chronicles a young girl’s journey into getting her first period with some memorable lines. I must, I must, I must increase my bust. Admit, there’s a chance you even chanted it yourself. It was my best friend Beth and I’s guide into womanhood during 5th or 6th grade.

Years later, when I was first diagnosed with breast cancer, I was told that part of the treatment would put me in early menopause. This treatment was because my original cancer was hormone positive (it basically fed off of estrogen). I accepted it no questions asked. I had a 2 and 8 year old at the time and was in a hurry to get back to normal.

Normal, never came but was replaced by it’s second cousin, twice removed. I refer affectionately to as Now. I didn’t really know what questions to ask. I knew it meant hot flashes and no more period (I don’t miss her). I count myself blessed as I had already had my children. Those that get diagnosed at an earlier age are not that fortunate.

What I didn’t know came with menopause (or poor Margaret all grown up) was that it meant weight gain, fatigue, insomnia, bouts of sadness (for no reason), and lack of drive. Hormones control so much and when they are taken away quickly, your body doesn’t know how to react.

What I wished I had asked was how to manage menopause and her lovely symptoms- what to eat, exercise, and how to deal with the uncomfortable things. Now, as I trudge on in this journey (sometimes I skip, walk, run but some days it feels like trudging), I am trying to figure out what to eat, exercise, and how to take care of myself.

I found some things online about what to eat- vegetables, (legume variety and of the broccoli family) more protein, and less carbs (but more fiber). Boy, do I love carbs. I am attempting to exercise at least three times a week. Yoga, has brought me a peace and helps with my stress. By the way, if you have cancer or fear for re-occurrence (hell who wouldn’t?), cortisol is not good (from stress) so find something that helps you relax. Yoga, has been great for me.

Honestly, even with exercising, the weight is as stubborn as my 2nd born. I know it’s due in part to my diet which I will work on. The scale, she mocks me, every time I step on and says, “not today, no chance.” I know I’ve got to give myself grace as my body is fighting.

Are you there God? It’s me Ashley. My bust tried to kill me, and I am just asking for help navigating menopause and cancer. I am also asking you to help others who are experiencing similar issues. I must, I must, I must win this fight.

The Re-evolution of Cotton Panties

· Leave a comment ·

I was in college when DVDs were still a thing, and we watched lots of Sex and the City in the sorority house. I watched so much so that I named guys I dated liked Carrie. There was the “bartender” and the other one I called by his first name which was ironically Mr. Big’s name- John. And then there was my roommate who dated a “Big Al”. Yea! Alabama!

We were comfortable being uncomfortable in our stylish underwear, aka, thongs paired with our matching velour tracksuits which unfortunately has made a comeback. I prided myself in my selections from Victoria’s Secret.

Fast forward to 40 and now the panties I laughed at (and probably said, I’d never) have made a comeback in my life, ole’ faithful herself- cotton panties.

Cotton panties are a confidence of their own. Here me out. You survived the thong, low wasted jeans and aforementioned track suit (some of you with “juicy” on your bottom). Cotton panties declare that you’ve birthed babies, grieved some losses and have made your way up your career ladder. You lived through the twin towers collapse, Y2K and was raised on Biggie, Tupac, and Snoop. As I type this damn auto correct is sadly not recognizing Y2K and Tupac in its bold, red underline.

When my Amazon bought cotton panties arrived in all her glory, I pulled them out, admiring their patterns and held them out. I thought these look “too” big but alas they fit perfectly. The 20 something girl I once was has disappeared with the old MTV. I am not sad. I do not long for the thongs of yesterday. I am perfectly content in my cotton panties (a friend), jogging pants, and oversize sweat shirt. I got my man and I got my kids.

Cotton panties and my 40’s have brought a level of calm and confidence that I didn’t have in my 20’s. If I could go back and tell myself in the early 2000’s it would all work out, I wouldn’t have believed it. I would have slipped on a God awful pair of thongs and put on my pink velour suit, headed to class worried about some nicknamed guy that I wasn’t going to marry.

Alas, cotton panties have made re-evolution. Sayonara thongs. Hello loving myself in all her cotton glory!

Food Fair Feet, a lobster tank, and Parr’s

· Leave a comment ·

I love when people post things online, such as, “you know you are from… because”. So, I’ve decided to dedicate this blog post to my hometown of Demopolis and to discuss how you know you are from there.

Starting with the title. As a kid, I walked around our grocery store with no socks or shoes, in other words, my bare feet. The bottoms of my feet would become black from the floor and thus became the term “Food Fair feet.” While walking around the store with my feet out in front of God and everyone, we’d stop by the bakery isle and I’d look at the live lobsters in the tank. Who in Demopolis was buying lobster from Food Fair? Please come forward and introduce your bougie self. I also remember dreading buying feminine products and the guy working as the cashier (the only open line) went to school with you. How to play it cool?

It wouldn’t be a Friday or Saturday night in high school without stopping by Parr’s on Highway 80 to see who was there hanging out. It was a rite of passage once you starting riding around listening to parental advisory CD’s and burned CD’s which were a level above parental advisory. Tell me, now, what seemingly innocent high school girl didn’t have inappropriate music in her car and the girl in question (okay, maybe me) could sing or (clearing my throat) rap every word.

Let’s talk football now, Friday night lights. Since I was a kid, I remember going to the games. My sister is older and cheered so we went to every game (home and away). The old Memorial stadium was legendary. I remember hanging underneath the bleachers with friends with my parents seemingly having no concerns or way to track to me. The victory line was a big deal as the players planned to run through the decorated paper banner with some saying decided by the cheerleaders. The announcer would come on, “Fans, it’s time for the victory line” and every small kid in every corner of Memorial stadium would run to get in line. The tunnel was also a cool feature that led from the middle school (which was once the high school) to the field. I can still do the dance line routine to “Eye of the Tiger” although I never was on the dance line. As I got into high school, I was more into watching the guys on the sideline than the game itself (guilty). After the games meant cleaning up the Vanity Fair parking lot if you were in Key Club and then on Saturday morning, the stadium. We miss you Coach Sprinkle! 2003 was going to be our year. We were close to the championship, so close.

On to food in Demopolis- I sure do miss Robert’s. In my mind, they had the best hamburger steak, chicken fingers, french fries and Texas toast. Red Barn was reserved for special occasions- first dates and prom dinners. I miss Red Barn’s old salad bar. I didn’t know what a Mexican restaurant was until I was in 7th grade. The original La Fiesta was a place for group outings as teenagers. Oh, the bowls and bowls of cheese dip devoured at that place. Mr. G’s when it was located down by the river was special with it’s arcade games and CD jukebox. I remember vividly playing Ben Folds Five with my change. “She’s a brick and I’m drowning slowly.”

My neighborhood- where life truly was lived for my formative years. I rode my bike and roller bladed around the block more times that I can count. I rode my bike downtown, to the river and back. I jumped on neighbors’ trampolines and confronted a bully sometimes. I swooned over the boy next door and I stayed up giggling with my neighbor as we looked at her plastic stars, listening to the Wallflowers,”But me and Cinderella, we can put it together. We can drive it home with one headlight.” I played football at the old school next door and learned to play softball in the same lot. My dog and I scoured the neighborhood and had adventures. The neighbors had lived in our neighborhood much longer than I had been alive. They were the original Demopolites, from Mr. Pritchard, Mr. Cobb, Mr. Bobby Coker, and Mr. Hard, the TV repair man. They had been the foundation of our very town and now they” watched as an awkward girl skated by in her Care Bear skates, a new generation bloomed. I would have loved to know their thoughts. “There’s that Rogers’ girl.” “Who?” the other would answer. “You know the school teacher Mr. Rogers?” “His daughter.” “Oh.” “She’s pretty determined to skate around this block 100 times isn’t she?” “Those strawberries on her knees can answer that.”

I am thankful for my “Wonder Years” to be in Demopolis. I refer to my middle school time as the “wonder years” because like Kevin Arnold it was full of awkward moments, racing thoughts, and general confusion in who I was or was becoming. The old Marengo Theatre with its red seats was the place we hung out in those years. Sweaty palms and nervous glances were an instrumental part of that experience. The parties held in our parents’ garages were also a part of growing up. Did every town have that? The parents hung out inside and we danced as the CD player played. Boy Girl parties, Dave Matthews and Crash, and hormones mixed with Sunflower, Sun-ripened Raspberry, or Tommy Hilfiger (for some 14 year old guy, lol).

Lastly, the term I think most would associate with Demopolis as a place to grow up- safe. Demopolis was for the most part in my memory safe. Parents of friends had as much authority to discipline you as your own parents. I remember fearing for my life as I had to tell Mr. Barley I broke his window playing wall ball against the front of his home. His tone was so kind and never raised his voice. I felt something awful in the pit of my stomach when I approached him. We learned to take responsibility and own our mistakes.

There are so many memories about Demopolis that I could write a book (and maybe I will). The Westside baseball field also comes to mind as we walked around and around the fields to run into the boy on a bike who lived across the street in the Mauvilla Trailer Park. He was older and looked like Benny the Jet Rodrigues from the Sandlot. Oh and the confidence we had when named to the Dixie Youth All-Star team. We could sling some softballs and played with all our heart.

Demopolis is a special place and is truly the City of the People. I thank God I was raised in ol’ Marengo county. What’s your favorite memories of growing up in your home town?

It is all possible

· Leave a comment ·

Remember when you were in your 20s and everything seemed possible? I think that’s what self care should be.

I am trying to practice more. I started with a weekend getaway with my dear friends Russell and Matthew at Pensacola Beach.

Dinner, shopping, brunch, and an evening watching a movie – a perfect weekend. There was no rush and even a McDonald’s Diet Coke (if you know, you know). Most importantly, there was uninterrupted friend time.

I started to remember I could be fun and sans alcohol. These days, hot flashes are the worst mixed with even 2 glasses of wine.

Now, I am ready to come home to my husband and kiddos, fully energized and missing them.

We get lost in the shuffle of everyday life and lose a piece of ourselves slowly. I’m determined to get her back. 

  I am writing this to remind myself it’s okay to do these things when you can. Life should be lived in moments. I’m going to soak all of this in.

Now I’m ending my weekend my favorite meal breakfast. I’m sitting by myself thinking of all that’s to come, and I’m genuinely excited. It’s all possible. Living life to the fullest and loving yourself. It is- go now friend, book the trip, buy the shoes, and eat the damn blueberry pancakes.

Good bye Polly Cat

· Leave a comment ·

I can hear the sound of the little bells that adorned her collar when she first came home with us. She hid in our laundry basket. She started as what appeared to be a normal-sized kitten, but within a week, her feet grew. She loved when we would make the bed, and she’d be under the sheets. She loved to sneak up on you and loved chirping at the birds in our big window in our first home. You could see the river in the distance.

She was our Maine Coon and would soon be a fixture in our lives for over 14 years.

When my husband went to law school and would study, she remained by his side, a constant study partner and companion. When we brought our oldest home, she stood on her hind legs and peered into the portable cradle at the newborn. She loved chewing on ribbon and our fake Christmas tree. She loved the challenge of a laser light.

She had a routine. Every morning, she’d be up by 6, singing the song of her people, indicating that it was time to eat. Her meow sounded more like a “hello?!”

She tolerated both boys during their toddler years and mustered up as much patience as she could. Near the end, she hissed more but never struck out. She’d grown arthritic. I knew that we were living on borrowed time.

Her favorite spot by her favorite person, my husband, is where she took her last breath. She did not ring in the new year with us; she left with a few hours to go before the new year began.

This morning was eerily silent. The routine was now broken and replaced with a new normal in which we will have to adjust.

Animals are a blessing from God, and boy, were we blessed to have her- Polly, the Maine Coon Princess Warrior. Arrived as a birthday gift from my mother-in-law to both my husband (and me) and left this earth on New Year’s Eve 2025.

We will miss you! Enjoy naps on clouds and a renewed sense of energy. Keep St. Peter on time when it’s time eat. Look after us and wait for us.

We love you.

A Combat Boot Audrey Hepburn Princess

· Leave a comment ·

All the 2000s vibes this evening scrolling through memory lane looking at old Delia’s catalog photos and listening to Lithium on XM. 9

Am I too old to wear a long skirt with combat boots? Probably.

I wanted to dress like Audrey Hepburn and Diane Keaton. I wanted to dress like the models in Delia’s and Seventeen magazines.

I loved my Calvin Kleins. I loved my spaghetti strap shirts.

I loved my bell bottoms and my shirt from David’s Gallery.

I wanted to be different. My own person. I wanted my own style.

Now I’m 40 and still love clothes, but my style has changed to match job, but deep inside there is a Combat Boot Audrey Hepburn princess dying to make a comeback.

Am I too old?

Probably.

Cancer Things

· Leave a comment ·

Episode 2: Scan Anxiety

In two days, I’ll have my 5th PET scan since initially being diagnosed in 2021. The scan itself is relatively easy (albeit I hate not being able to eat). The tricky part of this game is purely mental. For me, it starts right about now (2 to 3 days prior). A kind of dread sets in. Remember, the cartoons, where the dark cloud would appear over the main character’s head? That’s me. However, I try my best not to let my anxiety interfere with my daily life.

I tell myself that this scan is a scheduled nap. As a mom, I can always appreciate some alone time and a quick snooze. I try to color my thoughts away on the way to Birmingham (yes, I am 40 with a coloring book, but it is a good distraction). I also like listening to Dateline, as Lester Holt tells the story of a murder. Surprise, surprise! It’s a family member. I comment to myself to humor myself, “What? I knew it was her or him!”

The reward after my scheduled nap is FOOD! I am much like my father. When our feet hit the floor, it’s time to eat, and for me, that also includes a Diet Coke (prefer out of the fridge in a can).

Then, there’s the wait for the oncologist to come in. The band Europe usually plays in my head- It’s the final countdown! I try to talk to my husband, who is by my side, but it’s hard. Mentally, I’m playing a tennis match in my head. What was the name of that commentator at the US Open? Mary Carillo? She’s commenting on my match. “Ashley has no symptoms, lost no weight, and is still active,” Mary tells John McEnroe. John adds, “That’s right, Mary. She shows no visible signs. We will have to wait and see what the oncologist says. You know, Mary, I’d smash a few more racquets if I had cancer.” Mary to John, “Indeed, John, indeed.” I try to silence Mary and John, but they are pretty persistent in their commentary, and no one wants to piss off John McEnroe.

After he comes in and explains the scan, I find a way to take it all in and prepare for questions that my family may ask.

On the way home, I’m mentally exhausted and try to nap. I try to process what I’ve been told. During the 2-hour ride, I try to prepare to be a mom again when we pick up the kids. Some days, I have to take a day for myself to feel normal again, but I try my best to get up and go to work like normal. My husband can sense on those rides there and back that it’s hard for me to be normal, act normal. I know it’s hard on him as well. There’s not much control we have over the situation, which, as humans, is what we naturally desire: control. In reality, there is only perceived control. It’s not to say all scans have been bad. It’s a different game when you are playing in the 9th inning.

The cycle repeats in the coming months as we prepare for another scan.

So, as the clock chimes like in Vecna’s house, I will wait for another scan. I’ll busy myself with writing, playing in forts built by master builder Anderson Coplin, and watching movies with William Michael. I will try to be as normal as possible.

Scan anxiety is real, but it will not defeat me. What Mary and John may have forgotten is that I, too, played tennis back in the day. I wasn’t too shabby. I will take what comes at me and hit it back. I will score the next point.

So obviously AI and so much younger than me, ha!

Cancer Things

· Leave a comment ·

Episode 1: Medication Side Effects

Warning: This blog is not suitable for all audiences. Viewer discretion advised. This is my effort to understand my feelings and emotions as they relate to Stage 4 Cancer. I love Stranger Things.

With all treatments with all chronic diseases comes the dreaded side effects. If the disease was not enough, now you have side effects to deal with it too. Like those God awful side effects read and are portrayed in commercials, cancer medications are similar. This medication may cause drowsiness, weight gain, picking your nose in public, uncontrollable urge to slap someone, etc.

Okay, so it doesn’t cause nose picking or the urge to slap someone. But, the medication does cause one side effect that is not fun. It leads to irregularity- which means I can’t go or I have to Go. And not I can wait until I get my grocery pick up but now which means going into the store which was what I was trying to avoid. The lady in front of me, I am sure who is very kind, is taking her time headed to the same location. Bless her sweet soul, she doesn’t know but I’m dying, slowly and praying no one runs into me and ask how our Christmas was. Gosh, I love my small town but in these moments, I need to save the Hallmark moment for another time.

Whew, I make it by the grace of the Lord above. Part of the problem is that I need to calcium because I’m in menopause but can’t have too much because then I can’t go. Then, I am borderline diabetic which means I can’t eat a lot of carbs and you know what I love that doesn’t have a lot of carbs- cheese. I love cheese.

Therefore, I’ve got to do better but everything I love is bread, pasta and cheese. No no’s. Breaking habits is hard. Weight loss in early menopause even harder. I’m not complaining just explaining my reality.

So, what does one do, but get up and keep trying. Exercise, make new recipes that call for whatever the hell almond flour is. Choose to fight another day against the Mind Flayer, aka Cancer. Stay tuned to learn more about Cancer Things. Hopefully, I will defeat it once and for all, be an Eleven or sorts.

I’m living my own version of the Upside Down but I’m going to keep fighting. I’m going to turn on the 80’s and fight.

It doesn’t hurt me (yeah, yeah, yo)
Do you wanna feel how it feels? (Yeah, yeah, yo)
Do you wanna know, know that it doesn’t hurt me? (Yeah, yeah, yo)
Do you wanna hear about the deal that I’m making? (Yeah, yeah, yo)

What 2025 has taught me

· Leave a comment ·

I have always been a person who looks within on how to make changes and grow as a person. Yes, I love a good self help book, blog, devotional, etc. Mid year when I learned that my cancer had come back and I was diagnosed with Stage 4 Breast Cancer, I began to have more doubts than the first diagnosis and my thoughts took a darker turn. I had trouble praying as I was so disappointed. Thank God for my pastor as he told me when I couldn’t pray, he’d pray for me.

I also reached a point where I had to admit that I couldn’t do it all. I had to accept that I couldn’t do it all. That was hard as my personality wants to do it all.

This was the tough part of the year. As I reach the end of the year, I have realized some things as it relates to people and how God uses them. I read somewhere that strong women show up when you need it most and that’s true in my case. This year women in my life have shown up and carried me from simply sending a text, going to lunch to chat, or just letting me be my most vulnerable self. I will forever be grateful for you all. These women work with me at the hospital, they are my dear friend around the corner, fellow warriors, friends from a past job, and of course my two favorite women in this entire world- my mom and sister.

As I type, a lump forms in my throat and my eyes mist as I am so grateful and cannot begin to thank these women enough. I can only hope that I can show up for them as they have for me.

So, what I’ve truly learned this year boils down to two things 1. People will show up when you need them and 2. You’ve got to take care of yourself- love yourself.

So, now to enjoy the remainder of the year, wait on Santa (spoiler Mrs. Claus does it all), and sing all these old Christmas songs I’m listening to- City sidewalks, busy sidewalks; dressed in holiday style in my sweat pants while drinking diet coke (don’t tell me it’s bad for me).

End of the Rope- Look it’s on fire!

· Leave a comment ·

I’ve swapped shopping and eating for actually taking care of myself. I reached this epiphany a few weeks ago, when I finally reached the end of my proverbial rope; in fact, my rope had no more ends from my burnout. Look, it’s on fire, my rope! I had masked my pain and fatigue until I couldn’t anymore. And then I broke. I looked back at my habits- hanging in my closet and the weight that appeared on the scale. I didn’t like what I saw. I had hidden my anxieties in my wardrobe and ate away my feelings.

How had I gotten this far? Did it start when I learned of my Stage 4 diagnosis, or was it piling on from the first diagnosis? I am honestly not sure. I do know that I’ve always been a people pleaser. It’s as though I came into the world, looked at the doctor who brought me into the world, and said, “What can I do for you?”

I do pride myself on being a giver, but lately it’s come at a considerable expense- my mental health. And when you are fighting cancer, they advise not to add any extra stress. Ha! Do they know me? So, knowledge is power, and with power comes great responsibility. What does one do now to change years’ worth of pushing feelings down, a year’s worth of extra weight and clothes?

Instagram tells you to buy a $70 book that’s supposed to be “life-changing.” They also show you images of people who made this change- overnight! I’m guessing the people they hired already looked good and probably don’t have a chronic disease.

So, instead of spending more money, I’ve decided to do all I know to do. Take a step at a time. Don’t look for the entire staircase. It’s kind of like when I had chemo and radiation. One treatment at a time. This time, the therapy is taking care of me, asking for help, exercising, and stopping spending so much damn money. It’s also finding my voice- speaking my mind when necessary. Loving me. Givers struggle with these things. Guilt comes with loving ourselves. I don’t know why we feel guilty, but we do.

I’m listening to my body more and the voices inside my head. I’m asking myself if these are realistic expectations. I’m trying to take my life back over. It’s difficult when your life depends on medication and treatments.

So, I will try, try, and try again. I’ll make good choices, and I’ll make bad choices. I’m only human, of course, but this time, I’ll give myself something that I’ve needed for a long time- grace. Give yourself grace. You deserve it.

I think I’m going to ask the oncologist to prescribe massages. I think insurance should cover. The massage therapist said I was tense. If he only knew!