trauma-fueled side sampler

a-la-carte mini essays from my brain with some fashion thrown in because i make the rules here.

Feb 01, 2025

I have a very expensive, very stylish crib from Crate & Barrel in a box in my garage still. It’s been collecting dust just over 2 years now. Ironically, about a month after my kid died, a Customer Service Rep from the crate* called and said the crib was being recalled and asked if I wanted to exchange it.

“Okay, this actually works out for me - are you planning on fixing it? Or just discontinuing?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Like, whatever the problem is with this crib, are you planning on fixing it and re-producing? Because I’m working with some more time now and I’d wait for the corrected one.”

“No, probably not.”

“Do you know the problem? Because then maybe I can fix it.”

“Ma’am, I don’t. But we have several other similar styles…”

“My baby died.”

God, I love dropping that one on people.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks, yeah, I just don’t really know what to do because I love this crib and I wanted this one specifically because it matches my Pinterest board for the nursery and all of your other cribs kind of suck - no offense - I can say that, though, I’m a former employee*. Anyway, can I just have some time to think about it?”

*I worked on and off at Crate & Barrel from 2009-2014 first in Dallas then in New York, “the crate” is our slang term for the brand. Ok, maybe just me and my grandfather’s. He was my boss at the Dallas location.

*I always manage to work in “I’m a former employee” whenever I find myself in a conversation with the salespeople at Anthropologie, a place I haven’t worked at in over 9 years.

STEAL MY FAILED IVF TRANSFER LOOK

Turn heads with this luxury-meets-idgaf outfit. After all, what is more chic than a trip to the fertility clinic? First, throw on your eras tour tee - oh, you couldn’t get tickets? Well, I had cancer. Then, add a cozy pair of cashmere sweats. Layer on a duster cardigan with fur trim. Wow, she’s rich! Pull on a chunky pair of COACH lace-up boots and top it off with some geometric framed sunnies. Now you’re ready to take on the emotional challenge of the embryologist losing your test tube baby mid-transfer for about 20 whole seconds, leaving you to lay there and wonder if a nurse is about to step on it.

The upside/downside to grief is the invincibility that comes with it. I feel like I can do anything, say anything I want and nobody is allowed to question it. This privilege came with losing a child and was generously extended by cancer.

While I have absolutely no qualms about communicating exactly what I’m thinking or feeling at all times, other people do. :(

This was very apparent in the first few months after giving birth to a dead baby (sorry, it’s been 2 years and my husband and I still don’t know what label to assign the event) when people would ask how I’m doing but weren’t prepared for the honest answer.

How are you doing?

“I threw my coffee mug on the driveway because I needed to break something”

“I considered veering my car off of an overpass on to 635”

“I haven’t showered in 5 days”

They really, really, really just want you to say you’re good. They don’t actually want to have a conversation because it’s too uncomfortable. My other favorite statement to respond to is “I’m so proud of you.” 100% of the time I have quipped back with: why?

Are you proud of me for enduring something I didn’t have a any kind of say in?

Or are you proud that you get to tell my story?

There are two extremely sexy kinds of gossip (I am also guilty of these):

1. talking about something very embarrassing that happened to someone

2. talking about something very terrible that happened to someone

I think people do genuinely feel bad for me but they also enjoy telling people about what happened to me followed up by something along the lines of “can you even imagine?” I get it, it’s a cool story. Why do you think I started this newsletter?

People capitalize on their stories all the time. Mine just isn’t a feel-good one. lol.

Back to invincibility: for a split-second I considered going back into acting merely because my emotional facility is ginormous right now and I’d hate for it to go to waste. I am so entrepreneurial, even when I’m sad. My line of thinking isn’t “get better” it’s “okay, now you have all of this trauma - how are you going to use it to make money?” Then I remembered that I’m more likely to get struck by lightning twice than get rich from acting.

12 THINGS THAT MIGHT HEAL ME IF I OWNED THEM

I am in the middle of a no-buy program until March 31 and *not* shopping is actual hell when you’re a person who loves stuff and especially loves disassociating by treasure hunting. So I’ve spent hours on Goodwill Finds making lists of all of the things I’m going to buy when I’m free again. Or that you’re going to buy me because you feel bad for me and then it’s ~technically~ a gift. Or that you’re going to buy yourself because I’m giving away all my secrets.

Vintage Tiffany Sterling Silver Pen - I’m a published writer now so obviously I need this as a memento.
Leather Bottega Heels that Lace Up in the Back - I am throwing up that I can’t buy these, they are my size and everything. If the miscarriages and cancer weren’t enough evidence that God hates me, here is exhibit 3.
Vintage Colorful Glass Ice Bin - But how cute would some bubbly on ice look in this? Omg??
Vintage Elgin Watch in Box - Okay, okay. I don’t think I’d actually buy this. I am a sucker for dainty watches these days and there are better ones on the good ‘ole Goodwill Finds but it’s SO CUTE with the OG box. Used the image for the vibes.
David Yurman Drop Earrings - Furious these didn’t surface in time for my brother’s wedding. They’d look so good on me.*
Chloé Shoulder Bag - Yeah. And butter yellow is supposed to be on-trend again this year. I don’t care about trends. But also I do.
Vintage Onyx Teapot Set - Picture this: you walk in my house and see this tea set. That’s it. That’s the selling point.
Silver Tiffany Ring - Sexy chain link fence vibes.
Brass Lamp - I love lamp.
Pink Prada Shoulder Bag - Nylon is the fabric of 2025 and this bag alone might cure my depression.
Prada Eye Glasses - I’m thinking about adding another pair of frames to my rotation because all of the stylish women in my life have multiple pairs and I’m just trying to keep up.
And….the best for last: Vintage Miu Miu Midi Skirt. Omg?? Not my size but I could take it in. Wait, Ally, you sew? Yes, bitch. I have a brother in my guest room and I am known to do the occasional mend. Can’t put me in a box, now, can you?

*These earrings sold within 24 hours of me writing this but I’m leaving them in here as a reminder that life is fleeting, buy the things you want.

RANKING MY 10 CHEMO NURSES

Here’s my hotly-anticipated*, official ranking of the nurses who took care of me during chemotherapy. For the record, I loved all of the nurses at my facility… but I wouldn’t necessarily get a drink with all of them. Out of respect for their privacy, I have changed their names to roles I’d cast them in on Broadway.

*not one person asked for this

SHEN-SHEN - Just about the easiest decision right here. My favorite nurse: Gen Z, TCU Nursing Grad, Shen-Shen. Loved my sense of humor, fiercely protective of me, and took absolutely no shit from the other patients (read: old people). One day a cranky old man, who had the vibe of Kevin on the day he spills his famous chili, tried to pick a fight with me out of the blue and before I even had a chance to react she appeared out of nowhere in between our chairs, blocking his view of me, pretending to adjust my IV, and sternly whispering “ignore him”. Would definitely be the sidekick to my Glinda, no question.
FRANCINE U/S JENNA - Quiet, unproblematic, fellow millennial. REALLY skilled nurse - did a great job mitigating pain. Always laughed at my jokes. Seems basic at first but with time you’ll start spotting her discreet tats. Sings a more-than-serviceable ‘She Used To Be Mine’ whenever she is called up to lead the show.
NATASHA - Stunningly beautiful charge nurse. Pronounced my last name correctly from day one (my legal surname is french). Can’t imagine a single article of clothing that would look bad on this woman. A muse.
RAFIKI - A total baller. Great energy. Can totally picture us doing Jell-O shots for hours on end, can also picture her bench-pressing me because bitch was JACKED. Upbeat but reflective, has a medical condition herself so there was good synergy/camaraderie. They live in you.
MRS. PHELPS - Wore hella cool Gucci glasses. Always did my vitals and asked what perfume I was wearing. Genuinely made me feel like I brightened her day. Once kind of confided in me saying she thought the front desk receptionists were bad at their jobs. She wasn’t wrong.
FRUMA-SARAH - From Brooklyn. Hilarious and talkative, never missed an opportunity to complain about her kids, whose photos were plastered everywhere. Would read the fly rail ops to filth if they fucked up while she was in the harness.
CYNTHIA MURPHY - The first time she was my nurse was a bad day. I waited over 2 hours to go back into infusion and by the time I got there I was hungry, nauseous, and frustrated about my time being wasted. When this nurse heard that I felt like I was going to pass out, she frantically whipped out a needle right in full view and tried to put it in my hand and I think I might’ve screamed. (Obviously I asked where Shen-Shen was, because I know she secretly reminded the other nurses constantly not to let a needle in my sight or I’d pass out, but she was on a paperwork rotation that week - kill me) I voluntarily walked out without receiving treatment that day. But then the second time I had Cynthia she really redeemed herself and brought white, soccer mom energy in the most comforting way.
MATINEE CHRISTINE - Nice brunette, perfectly boring, nothing special. We’re not asking for the sun and moon, just that you show your face twice a week to keep the lights on.
OLIVE OSTROVSKY - Insufferable. She was so sweet and had such a dainty, little speaking voice - huge turnoff for me. On the day I got pissed and walked out, she completely validated my feelings by saying I had “all of the free will in the world” and encouraged me to “advocate for myself” like, shut up???
TAM - Sigh. The only male nurse. God bless him. Just about as useless as a 2 year old on stage. So nice but had zero confidence. Could not get the IV in my arm, laughed nervously the whole time, made a bloody mess. I passed out and woke up, covered in my own vomit, to five other nurses surrounding me and Shen-Shen losing her shit at him. I had obliterated my cashmere turtleneck with barf so they brought me a spare t-shirt to change into which said “Stronger Than Cancer” across the chest in airbrushed letters.

A PICTURE OF MY COFFEE TABLE FOR THE VIBES

Look at all of these beautiful things I’ve collected then arranged and filtered to be optimally pleasing to the eye. Clap for me.

I read another substack this past week about our instinctive need to be hunter-gatherers and it nearly brought me to tears. First, because it explained my shopping addiction in such plain terms. Second, because it validated all of the maternal intuition I developed for children I was pregnant with but will never meet.

I find myself using it every day, just not for them.

It’s been over 2 years and I still can’t believe they let me walk out of the hospital.

I feel like I’ve lived 1000 lives in that time: some good, some bad. Not one of them has been the one I want.

The happiest I’ve ever been in my entire life was the day before they couldn’t find his heartbeat anymore. Everything I’d ever been through up until that point was finally making sense and things were seamlessly falling into place. I was so fucking excited.

I really hope I know that happiness again someday.

Are you also dealing with recurrent pregnancy loss, cancer, doubt, deconstruction, or crippling depression? That sucks! I don’t claim to be on the other side of any of this, but here are a few books that have been wonderful tools on my journey:

I may earn a small commission through purchases tracked through links I share in this newsletter. Don’t scoff. At the very least, shouldn’t I get a cut of Bezos’ money for all of this trauma dumping I’m doing out of the goodness of my ice cold heart? Thanks for supporting me.