Mojo and the Mess

Hi.

It’s me. Mojo.

Mom says we’re “starting treatment again.”

I don’t know exactly what that means, but I do know this:

the calendar has more circles, the bag by the door is back, and my leash has become a medical accessory.

I’ve been to appointments.

Lots of them.

Labs are my favorite because everyone tells me I’m a very good boy, even when I’m not doing anything.

The pharmacy smells weird, but the people there know my name, which feels important.

Appointments mean elevators, long hallways, and chairs that squeak when Mom shifts her weight (I do not like those chairs).

I’m allowed to come along sometimes, which is great because Mom forgets to breathe when she’s nervous, and I am very good at reminding her by sitting directly on her feet.

She’s a little quieter than usual lately.

Not sad — just thinking.

She’s being careful with her hope again.

I don’t think hope is fragile, but I understand why she holds it gently.

Some things are heavy even when they’re good.

This isn’t our first time doing this.

And Mom knows that.

She remembers things her body remembers too, even if she doesn’t say them out loud.

So when she says she’s ready, it’s not a dramatic ready.

It’s a steady one.

From my professional perspective, here is what starting treatment again looks like:

More naps (excellent).

More couch time (ideal).

More snacks eaten in bed (I supervise).

More car rides where we don’t talk but we’re still together (my favorite kind).

Sometimes Mom looks at me like she’s worried I’m worried.

I am not.

I trust her.

I trust the people who help her.

And I trust that if it’s a bad day, I can sit on her chest and fix approximately 40% of it.

When the new year starts and the medicine starts again, I’ll be there.

At the door.

In the car.

Under the chair.

On the couch.

I don’t need her to be brave.

I just need her to come back home so we can lie down.

Love,

Mojo 🐾

💌 Subscriber Note

If you’re reading this while starting a new treatment, sitting in a waiting room, or quietly bracing yourself for what’s next — you’re not doing it wrong. You don’t have to feel ready, hopeful, or strong. You just have to keep showing up in the ways you can.

Thank you for being here, for reading, for sharing, and for letting Mojo & the Mess be a place where things don’t have to be polished to matter.

If this post helped you feel a little less alone, consider subscribing so you don’t miss future posts — including updates, resources, and more Mojo notes from the middle of it all.

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