The Media Moment
As a full-blown memoir junkie, I had to check out My Next Breath by Jeremy Renner (well… listened to it, because audiobooks count as reading…don’t @ me).
Now, I’m not a Marvel person (too many explosions and not enough feelings), so I wouldn’t call myself a Jeremy Renner superfan. But I loved him in The Hurt Locker, and I was curious. So I hit play.
I was completely hooked. The memoir dives into Jeremy’s daily life, his deep connection with his family, and then goes full detail-mode on his nearly fatal snowplow accident in 2023. It’s one of those things you don’t want to hear about in vivid detail… and yet, you absolutely do. I couldn’t stop listening—it was like a train wreck, but colder.
The man nearly died and came back swinging, with grit, determination, and a bionic-sounding rehab story that left me genuinely inspired. I woke up the next day with a little extra oomph in my step and a renewed desire to live life with intention (and maybe avoid snowplows).
Also, I found out after reading the book that Jeremy and I share a soft spot for foster kids. He founded the RennerVation Foundation to support foster youth in Nevada, which warmed my heart, since I have an annual toy drive for preteen and teen foster kids of the Lowcountry. Thank you, Jeremy, for sharing your story…and if you're reading this (which you obviously are, right?), I’d love to collaborate on our shared mission to uplift foster kids across the country. Let’s make it happen.
The Story
This month, I thought I’d share the funny-yet-traumatic story (which, honestly, describes most of my life) of how my book writing journey really began, just over two years ago in June 2023.
I fully intended this story to go in the book, but once I hit my word count limit (surprise, surprise), I had to make some brutal cuts. So here it is, in all its ridiculous, slightly tragic glory.
Back in May of 2023, when I realized my dream was coming true and I was actually going to write a book, I decided to take it seriously and go big. Though let’s be real…I never go small. I get that from my dad.
So I did what any overly ambitious, slightly dramatic Charleston girl would do: I booked a solo cruise. A four-day Bahamas cruise leaving right from the Charleston harbor, less than a mile from my office. I packed up all my life’s journals, a few sentimental items I was sure would serve as my muse, and boarded the ship ready to write a large portion of my future bestselling memoir while staring at the ocean. What could possibly go wrong?
(And no, for those wondering—it wasn’t the infamous Poop Cruise. Though I did watch the Netflix doc, and it only confirmed I may never cruise again.)
Every inch of me oozed with hope and excitement as I boarded that party ship with 5,000 other people. The difference? Their idea of a good time was wildly different from mine.
The family in front of me had already lathered on runny sunscreen and were fully dressed for the pool, despite being in a parking lot. The two twenty-somethings behind me were clearly several drinks in and celebrating early with a chorus of "WOOO!" every time a male crew member walked by. They reeked of tequila and bad decisions.
But me? I was there to become a writer! I even splurged on a balcony room so I could sit with the waves, typing away like a sea-bound Virginia Woolf. I also got the all-inclusive drink package… but that was just in case. And for celebratory cocktails after long, productive writing sessions. Obviously.
Upon boarding, I took full advantage of an “Embarkment Day” spa special and signed up for a half-price, 90-minute deep tissue massage. I figured it would help me fully relax and get into my creative groove the next morning.
I returned to my room, carefully arranged my journals and set my alarm for what I believed would be the first day of my brand-new writer life.
What actually happened?
I woke up and immediately knew something was wrong. Not “I had too much fried shrimp” wrong. More like, “my insides are rebelling against me” wrong.
Still determined to power through, I put on workout clothes and took a power walk around the upper deck to sweat it out. But the longer I walked, the worse I felt. Eventually I asked a crew member where I could get something for my stomach.
She directed me to the ship’s infirmary. "Just head down to Deck Zero," she said cheerfully, as if Deck Zero didn’t sound like a level straight out of a horror film.
I walked in hoping for some antacids. I left... with one less organ.
Okay, not right away…but close.
The moment I got to the infirmary desk, I started projectile vomiting. Right onto the very handsome nurse who had just approached me. Sorry, sir. You didn’t deserve that.
From there, everything escalated fast. I was taken to what would become known as “Jaclyn’s Room” in the infirmary. They pumped me full of fluids, anti-nausea meds, and eventually Morphine, as my stomach pain went from a 4 to a 10. I had a fever, chills, sky-high blood pressure, and no clue what was happening.
The doctor suspected an infected gallbladder but without an ultrasound machine, they couldn’t be sure. He gave me two options:
Be airlifted from the Bahamas the next day and flown to Miami for emergency surgery. (This would involve a bumpy boat ride and a private plane I’d personally be footing the bill for. No thank you, American healthcare.)
Stay on the ship for three more days in the infirmary, doped up on Morphine and IV fluids, and have the surgery when we got back to Charleston.
As a single-income human with no rich relatives in sight, I chose option two.
And so, for the next 72 hours, I rode out a serious infection in a tiny room on Deck Zero, completely missing the Bahamas. I never even got to sit on the balcony of the room I splurged on. (Shoutout to the sad little porthole window in the infirmary.)
I didn’t write a single word on that trip. I just survived.
When we finally docked in Charleston, I was rolled off the ship on a stretcher and into my very first ambulance ride! MUSC removed my gallbladder that night.
I am forever grateful to the staff of the Carnival Sunshine infirmary, especially the man I hurled on. They took incredible care of me, and I’ve never been so sick—or so alone—in my life.
Needless to say, my book writing journey was delayed a bit. But honestly? I wouldn’t change it. These kinds of ridiculous detours seem to follow me and they make for great stories. (They will be stand-up material soon, I promise.)
The MUSC doctor told me this would have happened no matter where I was. It just so happened I was on a cruise. Because of course I was.
Moral of the story?
Watch out for cruises. You might lose an organ.
But also: you’re stronger than you think. Even on Deck Zero. Even while covered in your own vomit.
And even when your solo writing retreat becomes a medical emergency.
I’ll be a little more careful with solo trips going forward. But one thing’s for sure: I’m never not going to have a story to tell.
The Update
I’ve been working my tail off marketing I’m Sorry I Cremated You—showing up on podcasts, sharing my story, and trying to help people navigate the wild, beautiful mess of caring for aging parents. And yes, I’m still praying someone in the entertainment industry reads it and says, “This needs to be a show.” (Where are you, streaming execs?! Call me!)
I’m also actively building my speaking career and I’ve got some big news to share with you next month, so stay tuned.
The most exciting thing I’ve done recently was take a trip to Colorado, where I finally got to meet my incredible book coach, Amanda, in person! My book simply wouldn’t exist without her guidance, and getting to hug her and thank her face-to-face was such a full-circle moment. If you’re ever in need of a book coach, reach out as I’d be thrilled to share her info.
As I wrap up this month’s newsletter, I want to thank each of you.
Thanks for buying my book, for leaving an Amazon review, for reading this Substack, for visiting my website or simply for sending good vibes my way. I appreciate it more than you know.
Love,
Jaclyn
Only you Jaclyn! Only you! I love hearing your stories of life! Can’t wait for your book to become a show!