Hi. I’m Izzy — and alongside me is my stubborn, squishy-faced French bulldog, Mojo.
This is our little corner of the internet. It’s part diary, part love letter, part survival guide, and part therapy session… for both of us.

If you’ve landed here, I don’t believe it’s an accident.
Maybe you’ve been through something like this yourself.
Maybe you love someone who’s sick and you’re searching for understanding.
Or maybe you just stumbled across this page on a quiet night and felt something tug at you to stay.

However you got here, I want you to know — you’re welcome here.


What You’ll Find Here

This blog is not about “staying positive no matter what.”
It’s about telling the truth, even when the truth is heavy.
It’s about laughing in the middle of the mess, crying in public if you have to, and clinging to the moments that make life feel worth it even when everything else is falling apart.

You’ll find stories about my cancer treatments, about the days I can’t get out of bed, and about the unexpected joys that still sneak in. You’ll meet Mojo, my four-legged sidekick, who occasionally takes over the blog to give you his own sassy updates (and yes, his version of events is often different from mine).

This space is real — sometimes raw, sometimes hopeful, sometimes both at the same time.


Why I Write

I write because I’ve been the person Googling symptoms at 3 a.m., desperate for someone else’s story so I didn’t feel alone.
I write because there’s power in saying, “This is hard,” without rushing to wrap it up with a bow.
I write because sometimes, surviving means saying the things no one else will say out loud.

And I write because every time someone tells me they felt seen after reading my words, it reminds me that connection is one of the few things cancer can’t take from us.


If You Decide to Stay

If you stick around, you’ll probably laugh at least once (Mojo will make sure of that). You might cry. You might learn something about cancer you didn’t know. You might see pieces of yourself in my story — even if your journey looks completely different.

Most importantly, you’ll never have to wonder if you’re alone here. You’re not.


A Little Navigation Tip 🖤

If you’re reading this on your phone or computer, look for the toggle menu bar at the very top of the page. Inside, you’ll find the homepage — and that’s where you can access a collection of resources, links, and posts I’ve gathered for anyone walking through illness, caregiving, or just trying to survive something hard.

The homepage isn’t just a list of posts — it’s a toolbox, a comfort shelf, and a reminder that help exists.


A Small Favor

If something you read here touches you — whether it makes you think, laugh, cry, or feel a little less alone — I hope you’ll:

  • Like the post
  • Subscribe by email so you don’t miss new ones
  • Share it with someone who might need it

Those little clicks may seem small, but they help this space grow. They help my words (and Mojo’s wisecracks) reach the people who need them most.


Thank you for stopping by.
Thank you for reading this far.
And thank you — truly — for letting me share a piece of my world with you.

With love (and a paw print),
Izzy & Mojo 🐾

P.S. from Mojo: Hi, it’s me. The real star of this blog. Just so you know, if you don’t subscribe, Mom says it’s “fine,” but I will pout and possibly steal your snacks if I ever meet you. You’ve been warned. 🐾

One response to “Real Talk on Cancer: Izzy and Mojo’s Survival Guide”

  1. mshibdonssciencelab Avatar

    You’re helping others via this blog. I hope it’s helping you, too! I love you. Hugs, momma

    Like

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I’m Izzy

Welcome to mojo and the mess, This isn’t the blog I ever expected to write — but it’s the one I needed.

I’m Izzy, a twenty-something living (and dying) with terminal cancer, navigating the messy, heartbreaking, unexpectedly beautiful in-between. Here, you’ll find raw reflections, real talk, dog snuggles (shoutout to Mojo), and the unfiltered truth about what it’s like to face the end of your life before it really got going.

This space is for the ones who’ve felt forgotten, the ones who don’t know what to say, and the ones who are still holding on. It’s not always pretty, but it’s always honest.

Thanks for being here. You’re part of the mess now — and I mean that in the best way.

Let’s connect