Kristine E. Brickey

Cancer.  Yup, cancer, because apparently the Universe felt that in addition to surviving my son's suicide, followed ten years later by my brother's and two other important men in my life, that I needed a new challenge. Honestly, I'm over it already. This year was supposed to be for blasting out my new memoir, Mustang Memoir: It's Not Just About the Horses along with my positive reinforcement equine business. It was perfect. 2026, the Year of the Horse.  Instead, it went kind of like this:      January- new personal bests in multiple Cross Fit lifts, release of my new book      February- sick as a dog on the last night of the Lansing Women's Expo, end up in the ER      March- two hospital stays, goblet cell carcinoma diagnosis, normal life comes screeching to a halt      April- TWELVE HOUR SURGERY that left me with a scar from sternum to the good stuff and the removal of multiple body parts, followed by an emergency, ...

*Intro: The past four days, I have facilitated a Winter Writing Retreat in Northern Michigan at a location that holds a special magic with magical women. Writing. Sharing. Laughing. Crying. Together, we've shared both familiar adventures and new. The snow was deep, almost as deep as the writing we shared. As each woman opened veins with their pen, we were brought together as only writers can be in such a short time together. I love each and every woman who was at this retreat, and as they shared, my rage built against the people in their lives who caused them pain, who made them doubt their worth, and who did their worst to make them small.  On a cold afternoon following a sharing session, I stomped my way down an ice covered path to write in the full-sized teepee. Fire blazing inside. Comfortable seats. Wind blowing against the canvas. Smoke escaped upwards as my rage built inside of me against the specific monsters who have hurt these women, and the monsters currently hiding in p...

Another unexpected hospital stay. Another discharge without answers.  About a year and a half ago, I spent five days as a patient in Memphis Baptist Hospital during what was supposed to be a relaxing visit with my girls. Five days. IV antibiotics. Multiple theories as to what caused the trouble: appendicitis, rare diseases, perforation, cancer-all ruled out. Follow up with my home specialists showed all was well. Decades of training and experience and their best guess was some sort of bacterial infection in my gut.  After Sunday evening's bout of what I thought was stomach flu left me with some symptoms too similar to my Memphis troubles, I went in for a check. Admitted overnight, again doctors were flummoxed. "Are you sure there's no family history of...fill in the blank with a myriad of grasping straw ideas? You're active. Healthy. No falls." My bloodwork and information complicated the puzzle that my pain and symptoms were creating. I was discharged yesterday, ...