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 Hi, friends.
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 I’m Billie.
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 If you’re coming along on this ride, please fasten your seatbelt and ensure your seat and tray table are in their full upright and locked position and your carry-on bags are securely stowed. It’s gonna be a bumpy ride.
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 We depart firstly for a memory that took place on October 23rd, 2025. After months of ignoring the “check engine” light flashing on my meat suit’s dashboard, I finally agreed to seek the input of a literal body mechanic a.k.a. medical professional. What I’d hoped would be a casual “bop” into the walk-in clinic quickly became my first Emergency Room admission, multiple blood transfusions, my first colonoscopy, and a Stage IV colorectal cancer diagnosis. At 38 years old. I named my cancer Carla.
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 Since then, I’ve had major surgery, a radio-frequency ablation procedure on Carla’s satellite office (liver metastasis), and 12 rounds of FOLFOX chemotherapy. I rang the bell after my last treatment on June 2nd, only to discover on my first post-treatment PET scan in September 2026 that frickin' Carla (cancer) had returned. Rather than biopsy the glowing orb on my scan, the decision was made to heckin’ YEET that thing due to its location. Whodda thunk one could establish bowel resections as an autumnal tradition?
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 Anyway, on October 6th, my shiny new tumor was surgically removed, and I was soon after informed that I’d be returning to chemotherapy “indefinitely,” this time on a FOLFIRI + Avastin regimen, and that will be starting November 10th. Hearing that cancer may be something I manage “indefinitely” at now 39 years old has been a lot to wrap my brain around, but we’re working on processing all that. Ew.
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 Cancer brings more than medical bills. Treatment and recovery come with extra expenses, while everyday living costs keep chugging along like nothing’s happened. I’m still working full-time, but I don’t yet know how this new "indefinite" series of treatment will affect me. If side effects ever force me to take extended time away from work, our financial situation will become precarious very quickly.
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 I’m starting this fundraiser to help with medical bills, the general fees of being alive, caring for Millie the Condo Cow (she’s technically a dog), and, if possible, a little financial cushion for whatever treatment brings. I hope I’ll be able to keep working, but I want to be honest about the uncertainty rather than wait until yet another plot twist presents a crisis. I want to be able to focus on getting through treatment and healing without constantly worrying about keeping a roof over our noggins.
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 Asking for help doesn’t come naturally to me, but I’m learning that letting people show up for you is part of getting through the hard stuff, too. I’d definitely rather be spending my time making weird art, actually finishing my laundry, and being Millie’s Mama and giving her the best life possible. Alas, here we are.
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 And because I want to be transparent about where the support goes: if the plot takes a wonderfully unexpected turn, treatment is manageable, and I’m fortunate enough to reach NED (no evidence of disease), with Carla and her cancerous nonsense firmly in the rearview mirror, I’d donate any funds beyond what we need to colorectal cancer research. I would be absolutely thrilled if that became a problem I got to have.
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 If you’re able to donate, share this fundraiser, or send a little love our way, please count me incredibly grateful. Every bit of support helps take some weight off my shoulders during a time when so much is uncertain. And how I WISH I knew the words to fully articulate how much you even READING this means to me. Words just can’t.
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 Thank you for being here, for caring about me, and for helping make this chapter a little less heavy.
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 Love,
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 Billie
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Billie Battles Carla the Colon Cancer: Part Deux (Lame)

Still $11,800 to go. Help us build momentum.