Category Archives: men

please sir, may I have some more 15/365

More…

I wish I had more…?

  • time
  • patience
  • money
  • laughter
  • friends
  • room
  • sleep
  • travel opportunities
  • etc

but I am happy with what I have.

(from here)

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Making me mad 6/365

Today I am supposed to write about what is making me mad.

I used to love this magazine, the back page folding exercise was a favorite right next to Spy Vs Spy. 

Aside from nostalgia about the magazine, nothing much comes to mind. I am sure i get mad, but it is those fleeting surges that are really rather insignificant; like yesterday when I was standing at the top step of my porch when my mini great dane decides to jump on me and I almost fell back – but that isn’t anger it is really fear.

I drove to work this morning thinking about this… “what do I get mad about”.

  • One that has been pointed out to me is that I do not like being teased, especially if there can be any inference about my being stupid.
  • I hate people who make fun of others. I try really hard not to do this myself, not always successfully.

Other things upset me, but they do not quite make me mad.

 

 

(from here)

My favorite accessory 5/365

 

My favorite accessory is probably my extra earring. A small gold hoop on my left ear.

I have talked about it a few times before…. like here, here,  and here.

It seems so strange to talk about this earring on a day (day after, actually) that someone famous died.   And normally I think I would have let the fact that David Bowie died just slide past with a certain wistfulness. But not now.

The news says he died of cancer, that horrible fucking beast of a disease. He had been fighting it for 18 months.  Which fits the same schedule of my own “fight” with this beast.  18 months ago I cut a vacation short because my doctor called with the pathology reports. I don’t know what kind of cancer he had, but that is probably irrelevant. Cancer sucks, it just fucking sucks.  So here I sit, mired with some sense of something that is indescribable – a dash of survivors guilt, gratitude, thankfulness, sorrow – it is a crazy mix. It has its own sound track, his songs that seemed to play at those strange little milestones in one’s life,

One of the more interesting things to come across my social media feeds is a David Bowie reading list. A list of 100 books that he allegedly found to have some influence or importance. I have read 27 from that list, all of those would be on my list of 100 . Some I have no interest in reading, but in careful consideration I think it is more about the cultural milieu in which we found ourselves and I have my equivalence.

It’s a god-awful small affair
To the girl with the mousy hair
But her mummy is yelling “No”
And her daddy has told her to go
But her friend is nowhere to be seen
Now she walks
through her sunken dream
To the seat with the clearest view
And she’s hooked to the silver screen
But the film is a saddening bore
For she’s lived it
ten times or more
She could spit in the eyes of fools
As they ask her to focus on

It’s a god-awful small affair
To the girl with the mousy hair
But her mummy is yelling “No”
And her daddy has told her to go
But her friend is nowhere to be seen
Now she walks
through her sunken dream
To the seat with the clearest view
And she’s hooked to the silver screen
But the film is a saddening bore
For she’s lived it
ten times or more
She could spit in the eyes of fools
As they ask her to focus on

~ David Bowie – Life on Mars?

(from here)

Volunteering at the gala… (day 6)

I have been serving as logistics co-chair for the grand unveiling of a historic home in Tempe, AZ.  Doing so has been a labor of love for me for several different reasons. It was a historic home, and since my family has ties to Arizona back into its territorial days, keep that alive is important to me. The other facet is that it is a water conservation project as well. With my maternal grandfather building and working on many of the dams (in his era) and helping to make sure that Arizona got its fair share by giving testimony to the American Congress as it tried to deal with water rights for the Colorado River, this project seemed like a perfect storm for me.

The day of that gala came, a wonderful party that showcased how beautiful the house was to those who attended. The idea being that it will be rented out to the community for events. The home is an adobe house built in the 30’s, and it looked stunning on a hilltop with lights.

One of our needs for the event was traffic management. Since I believe that one cannot take on a job without being willing to do it, and no one wanted to volunteer for it, I went down and was traffic controller. It was a quiet time, but I had fun!  I was able to get a glass of wine to keep me warm and took a lot of selfies. I tried to photograph the house, but the phone did not really capture how beautiful it looked! 

There were fun shadows and I played with those instead:

I went back tot eh party only to be told that all the water conservation toilets were stopped up. Actually what it was is that the buttons for the flow were stuck and thus no one was able to flush – still, it was gross. Of course, it took 4 people to fix this issue, me to clean it, two men to look like dorks and watch, and my co-chair Debby to photograph it!

 

In the period where I had to live the life of a citizen – a life where, like everybody else, I did tons of laundry and cleaned toilet bowls, changed hundreds of diapers and nursed children – I learned a lot.~ Patti Smith

I did have a wonderful time, the grand majority of the volunteers were awesome and I  am proud of the event and my role in it!

 

Shit I obsess about when I am not drinking… (day 3)

which is ironic because I only drink as an after thought…  as in “oh yeah, we have that bottle of red wine   scotch   rum  hard cider   beer   red wine  that we should open”.

I like drinking but it is not something I think about or have to do… in all honesty, some friends think I am a borderline teetotaler, ready to take a hatchet to en evil barrel of alcohol. It is a nice after thought, and can be awesome when used and abused in certain circumstances.

The medical school drop-out in me tends to get all worked up about talking about alcohol because we were taught to double what most people tell us they drink… alcohol and sex are two things most folks are willing to lie to their physicians about.

Which brings me to the think I have been thinking about…

I mentioned in my last post that I went to see a dermatologist because… “hey, skin cancer is another form of cancer and I have proven excellent at making that nasty beast grow, so get checked girlfriend, you live in Arizona”.

Which was good, because at the end of my appointment my deliciously “young American of Brazilian ancestry but in love with Medellin, Colombia” doctor grabbed my shoulders, looked me straight in the eyes and said “Your skin looks fine to me. Nothing suspicious. See you in a year, unless something changes”.

Phew, right?

So, as he held my gaze to tell me the fabulous news that my body had managed to not get “the cancer” again… I noticed something.

He had a bruise under his left eye… like right under his eye. My hot young doctor had a freakin’ black eye!!!! it was a beautiful yellow bruise with a slight magenta center, like an under eye sunset. The colors were rather beautiful!

like this, only a bruise, not make up, and with man eyes.

And I think I must have tilted my head when I noticed it, which I think he must have noticed because I am pretty sure he smiled at me in that “lets keep that between us” kind of way that only hot Latin men are wont to do!

So, since that moment I have been thinking about it, and considering the plethora of things that may have caused it…

Can I tell you how magical that has been? I can try, but I don’t think I can…

It has been so wonderful to think that he got into a tele-novela style fight over a girl while dancing away wearing too tight shirt and pants while in a trendy dance club, or that he opened a bottle of wine incorrectly as he was trying to pour his beloved a glass of wine, or he had a momentary lapse of muscular coordination while trying to cook a date some dinner and opened the cupboard into his eye due to his nervousness…  really, the stories in my head have kind of been endless.

So the magic?

Not once has the dark tinge invaded my space today!

 

Take a Letter Maria…

This is an open letter to Tim Lawrence from The Adversity Within. I actually did send this to him via email.  I put some things in that email that I felt worthy of sharing here as well.

Dear Tim,
Thank you for your posts. They gave me permission to grieve. I find that almost funny to write to you… I don’t consider myself someone who would be adverse to allowing grief to flow as it needs, but that is exactly where I found myself. This was not my first bout with a trauma that induced grief. It was the first one that left me confused and scared and that I stopped grieving in. I read your last post “Everything Doesn’t Happen For a Reason”, shared through social media. It prompted some interesting discussion about what it meant for us to have people there “for” us or “with” us. It was semantic nitpicking, but it was interesting. The article, that conversation, and the perusal of other things you have written caused me to realize that somewhere along my recovery, in my case from a cancer diagnosis and treatment plan, I had stopped grieving… and what was so beautiful was that I now had permission to return to it with as much grace as I needed.  That moment of realization, was really powerful.
I am a believer that gratitude should be honestly and freely given, so I give you thanks for your part in returning me back to myself (in a metaphorical sense, of course). I know I was me this whole time, but I felt more like the me I like when I stopped being so stubborn about grief.

The weight that was lifted upon the realization that this is what had happened to me; that I had stopped my grieving process right smack at the start was startling, tear invoking, and almost as traumatic as the state of stanched grief I had been experiencing. The caveat between them being that once grief was allowed back in, the feelings ebbed and flowed when grief was allowed versus rigid discomfort from when I was in the constant state of disavowal.

I have a tendency to manage grief with occasional bouts of extending gratitude (which is, ironically, what I was doing when I believe I stopped my grieving process). I am not sure what happened this time, it felt different. I am not sure where it came from; this idea that I had to own feigned stoicism… perhaps from the idea that while I had it bad, it was not as bad as others. Perhaps from listening too closely to family and friends as they repeatedly told me “you are so lucky”. I don’t know, really where this craziness started… but I can smile about it now, I can know that I am still grieving, though more purposefully now.

Most thankfully and with new-found mournfulness,
Blair Necessities (sic)

A RANT – Catching up, with myself

So, for starters — the biopsy was totally just scar tissue.

But that event led to some pretty radical discoveries.

One thing is that I deeply resent is the people that tried to write my cancer story for me.

There were people who tried to decide my treatment option.

There were people who told people false information about my diagnosis, and refused to tell the real one. “It was DES, that is my story and I am sticking to it”, they said. (for the record, it was not caused by DES).

Oh, who am I kidding it was one person!

The fact that this person is also a cancer survivor makes me all the more incredulous. And bitter. And angry.

The one place I don’t feel gentler and kinder is in those who try to take from me.

We don’t live in a world where we have to whisper the word cancer any more, where the sheets and mattresses are tossed because they are “contagious”…

It is my story.

I don’t like people who interrupt my story with thoughtless perversions of their own.

We seem to live in a land of poor listeners…

##

I resent the anti-vaccine movement. My cancer is vaccine preventable. Men and women get cancer from a virus called HPV – we have a vaccine for that. Why on this earth would anyone choose to risk getting cancer????

Read this for a far more articulate version of why: http://www.voicesforvaccines.org/say-something/

I had a preemie, a medically fragile baby… to think how clueless I was when I took him out with me after he was born… it makes my heart hurt. I don’t feel much kindness towards my friends who support vaccines but pretend to be anti-vaxxers because they are afraid of conflict (or in one case because they thought it was ironic and funny) .I don’t feel much kindness to my friends putting seriously and DANGEROUSLY false information out there about the problems with vaccines.

##

and lastly…

I lost god, or God, or G_D or however one wishes to spell it.

I am totally fine with this, I actually feel some relief in some ways.

It, ironically enough, happened on Easter Sunday.

I was reading some blogs, and came across a few that made claims that were completely incompatible with my thoughts on God… and as I pondered that incompatibility I asked myself about the roots of that… and came to the conclusion that I can’t buy what they said. That I think everything is far grander than they think and that they are so limited in what God means… And just like that, I left God where he belongs, in the hearts of people that need that.

I still strongly believe that religion (in any form) has some very important cultural fundamentals and is vital for many people who struggle to make sense of things… but that as I struggle to make sense of things, that ideas on God no longer require fitting in. I am happy. I would encourage people to find God… I just don’t. I don’t need re-birth in a Christian sense, I don’t need to be saved in a Christian sense, I don’t need those things at all to find my path in this world. I can make all of those transitions and shifts without God. I also don’t consider this to be a simple kind of faith.

To be fair, though… most of the things that caused me to go were about Jesus. Not God, that is if you consider them separate (in any form) and while I followed a Christian based spiritual path, I never felt that Christ was my “It” guy. I had believed that I understood God, but that all got called in to question. And I realized that the version of God that I had in my heart was based on the magnificence of things, most of those things being based on reason, some of those things based on how I made sense of the world. But, and here was the kicker, I really did not need God to keep that delight in magnificence. It was there even as I let go. I still deeply love this world. I am not about to become an atheist poster child. I don’t even like the word atheist. But I don’t feel like I fit the mold for agnostic any more either.

I am still navigating this path… but I am ok, I don’t see it as a path of reason, it is just my path.

Maybe, someday, I will change my mind again, though I feel less inclined to care. It just is.

I still believe in vaccines, though!

Day 1 – 40DOW – viewpoints on vaccines

This morning was a struggle. 

I am trying my damnedest to get this to happen:

If you can RSVP for a Phoenix event click here.

Learn more about the film by visiting hpvepidemic.com.

I struggle because I want it to be successful 

The team I am working with has been UNBELIEVABLY supportive… but it is so hard to get buy in from other folks.

I struggle with that.

But it may have been that I had an unscheduled visit to my oncologist today. 

Bleeding.

Something I am not supposed to be doing at this point.

So I went in and saw my doctors nurse practitioner. Who performed a biopsy. 

I have had biopsies before, in that area…  it hurt like a motherf*&%#r. 

Even though she told me that it was my job to assume it was due to scar tissue, she also told me it was her job to rule out recurrence. She reassured me that it looked like granulation (BTW – don’t Google it).

What makes this situation even crazier is that the woman who did my biopsy is also a woman who will be on the panel for the movie screening.

Following up that I am helping to host a conversation about a preventable cancer

and that one of the panelists will have seen my girly-bits, I just got word who a second panelist will be and…. guess what??????

She has seen my girly bits too.

She was there when my son was born, as in the room… standing right between my husband and my mother.


So, I am trying to find the beauty of all of this. So, “this” being a weird place in my life (waiting for biopsy results) the week before I am helping host an event. The event which happens to be about something that most likely got me into the biopsy situation in the first place.

Anyway, the big shift for me has been to try and be kinder, gentler, more gracious… and yet stay my own person.

Hard to do when you are in a lot of pain.

I lay there waiting for the biopsy, pretending to be under a fancy kitchen heat lamp

The biopsy was really painful, it still hurts as I type this some 12 hours later.

I still have so much to be grateful for, But it is kind of nerve wracking to be in my position, again… you know, waiting for results. Not the most fun place to be.

Anyway, after my ridiculously painful “procedure” I yelled out “fuck, that hurts” and immediately apologized and lay on the exam table, in tears, for a while. The nurse practitioner who took the biopsy was so very kind and seemed very distressed by my reaction.

I was pretty shocked by it too. It was, however, really painful. I have had biopsies of my girly bits before, without any numbing agent, and it was nothing like this.

At one point, during the second “grab” for tissue I screamed out “oh fuck that hurts”, and then immediately apologized. I am generally not one to curse much… I was embarrassed.

I lay on that exam table, tears streaming down my face, trying to get back to a normal breathing, staring at the bright light above me wishing there was something like a rainbow pooping unicorn to look at…

The nurse practitioner held my hand, asked me how I was feeling, helped me get some of my ibuprofen and drink it down. She seemed very concerned. All very kind considering that she had just learned she would be speaking at the HPV movie thing and that I was involved.

After my breathing got back to normal and the tears stopped falling down my face, she told me to lay there as long as I needed. She, and the other NP with her, quietly left the room. I lay on that exam table, and the tears came back.

It was a pity party I suppose. I lay there crying and trying to remember to be thankful that this was an experience in which I had had tremendous luck. No chemo. No radiation. a tumor the size of a grain of salt.

I lay there looking at the light above me. Trying to make it something more than just a light, making a distraction from the pain in my internal surgical site and the pain in my heart.

My heart did hurt, I had a vaccine preventable disease.

Let me say that again, I was diagnosed with a vaccine preventable disease.

One that would have prevented everything, a sub-total hysterectomy, worry, agony… and today’s darn biopsy.

It is a vaccine preventable disease.

Granted, I was born before this miracle vaccine was developed. But it is a vaccine preventable disease.

And as I ran through a list of people I do not particularly care for, not one of them and not one of their children were eligible for my wanting them to suffer what I had suffered through, I AM suffering through.

Vaccinate your children. In some cases yourself. Your boys. Your girls. This alternative is not fun. not fun at all. The HPV vaccine is good for kids aged 9 to adults aged 26.

It is a vaccine preventable disease.

.

The fossils of dead superlatives

I am the best at beating cancer.

Though in some respects, there was not much to beat.

In the end, we caught the cancer so early it was only the size of a grain of salt.

Yes, I talked about that before.

There are many strange things that happen when that words gets tossed into your life.

Trying to make sense of it may be the hardest.

In my case, it is managing the whole thing of having CERVICAL FUCKING CANCER.

It is, after all, considered to be a sexually transmitted infection.

And then there is managing that stigma.

I am finding my path as an advocate for the HPV vaccine. And am meeting with many people about how to help spread the word about the vaccine. I will state that I would not wish what happened to me on my worst enemy, and I had it easy.

Anyway, the stigma thing.

SomSome people that I tried talking about this with dismissed my concerns as my being more upset about it than the situation merited. In my fragile state I listened to that too much. Several months out from hearing this.. I am calling bullshit.

As I talk more with others, it is clear that the stigma is there.

After all, it forces us to have a conversation about S-E-X.

Because, that is culturally understood to be the main way that you get it.

At a dinner to talk about HPV recently, a dear friend revealed that she had cervical cancer.  I watched my friend talk about her experience. The others at the table leapt at the chance to blame it on her husband at the time, as he had been older, more experienced.  I was pretty horrified by this in a way because you could tell the others really liked her and  I was pretty horrified by this, one could tell the others at the table liked her. Most likely they did not want to have any unpleasant ideas about her and her choices in behavior. We were meeting to discuss how best to spread information about the importance of the HPV vaccination among a particular religious group. As I heard them accuse the man, the hair on my back flared a bit. I reacted this way because it was judgement…  this happened and lets blame the older ex-husband because that is easy to do (though there is no way of knowing if it was the correct thing to do).

My tendency is to assume that everyone is having sex.

What that translates into can vary;

  • waiting until marriage
  • waiting until in a committed relationship
  • Sex on the first date
  • Sex with strangers
  • Sex with multiples
  • and on, and on, and on…

We have chosen, as a culture, to decide that one (of these) is better than the other.

We still judge men and women who choose to move outside the boundaries of long-term, We tend to judge men and women who choose to move outside the boundaries we set. That is, those of long-term, spiritually certified, monogamous, committed sexual relationships.

And while this may present a cultural ideal, it really is not the case. One just has to look at the research coming out of the Kinsey Institute to be witness to this.

It is unfortunate that the assumed cultural demographic for women with HPV and cervical cancer tends to be among what is often referred to as the loose woman.

Working in the early 80’s in some health promotion programs (breast and cervical prevention models) it was often a topic of discussion that cervical cancer was either transmitted by
a) loose women or
b) the husbands who had sex with loose women who would then give this disease to their ever so chaste wives.

The truth is, is it really any of our business to worry about past choices? Past experiences?

We can all assume that the women who’ve had a diagnosis of cervical cancer have in fact had sex. It follows that in some way they have been exposed to the virus either through her own experiences or those of her partner.

The possibilities range from
a) being raped (which is much more common than is reported, regardless of how you feel about it being deserved or not, and that is a whole different conversation) to
b)choosing to have sex with a partner who is infected.

The only thing for certain is that there has to be at least a third person. This is in regards to the sex lives of a couple for HPV to happen (I don’t mean a three-some per se, though that is not excluded). The couple can be gay or straight.

Divorce rates indicate we participate in a form of serial monogamy. We can follow that with the idea that people who remarry have been exposed… which helps accounts for the idea that 80% of our American populace has the HPV virus.

But there is that stigma, it hides out there as this article recounts and is poked fun at by this Onion piece.

Dear me, I seem to be ranting…

Announcing I had cervical cancer allows people to make assumptions about my sexual behavior. These assumptions create a need in me to discuss my health and sexual history to allow people to form a correct opinion of me.

Hell, even my husband was lamenting that he hoped that he was not the cause for my disease,

In the end, my cancer was something that my body was unable to fight and the cells decided to mutate… in most cases, this is something that bodies able to fight on their own.

A vaccine would have helped.

Oh, and by the way the incidence of oral cancers is on the rise and in men and these are associated with HPV too… how is that for a fun conversation. Lets talk about sex baby!

~sigh~

The funny thing is that I titled this post just because I read this article and liked the phrase enough to want to use it.  I did not intend to write a diatribe about my dislike of judgey people in terms of sexual behavior, but it happened… I suppose it is something I am still processing. one does not hear the word whore cancer and move past it easily.

A

Anyway, I love words, I love concepts… concepts like the consensus of definition, etymology, and epistemology (to name but just a few).

I have had several friends comment on the cautiousness in which I choose my words. However, when I am excited I tend to fall back on strange metaphors, similes, and synonyms that are tied up in my multi-cultural background and present what to some as gibberish. My friends are able to figure it out or at least pretend to.

I do love words, I like to listen to them, make sense of them, argue and chat using them… and I was charmed by this idea that remnants of my ancestors word choices are alive and well in my current vernacular.

Day 2 – 40 DOW – was pretty shitty

IMG_2954-0.JPGNot my cells, but similar cells

Cancer

in-fucking-situ (at least I hope… the word micro-invasion is hanging out there too).

A cause for celebration. Really. They say.

But holy fucking shit, calling an oncologist for an appointment for yourself is something I wouldn’t wish on anyone, Not even someone who could use a strong life lesson or a swift kick in the butt.

You get that call. The one that gives you the pathology report and tells you next steps and it is so heavy and burdened that the air gets thick and it is almost impossible to breathe. Partly, I wonder in retrospect, if is so that you don’t miss a word about what you are being told.

The call to the overly cheerful oncology office to book your appointment.

The calls to those you love. Your husband, your mother. You aunt.

Contemplating how to make the calls to your other loved ones; your father, your cousins, your friends.

Return calls. the news spreads. You get calls from your brother, A message from a professor from when you were back in medical school (who is now a close colleague to your mother).

Priorities mulled.

Pathology reports faxed. scanned. emailed.

Decisions to be made,

Priorities re-mulled.

What do you tell your young children so they can navigate the stress they know you are feeling without giving them scary words that will make things worse.

What do you tell your friends. How do you tell your friends. Do you tell your friends? It is easier to tell strangers.

How do you navigate not knowing what the oncologist will say without Googleing yourself sick.

And again, priorities re-mulled.

Fighting the tendency to blame yourself.

Trying to be strong because you need to be for others, because the last thing you need is to take care of someone else when this is about you (and not them).

Trying not to listen too closely.

Wondering if you will lose friends. Knowing you will (I’ve worked in cancer, it happens too often) and wondering who it will be.

Wondering what do you do. Do you burden friends with the news?

Having to deal with the part of myself that feels socially awkward and introverted.

Remembering to breathe.

Philip K Dick said that cancer was “the process of creation gone wild…”.

Thoughts of prudence and of recklessness.

The mantra of thinking “it could be worse” repeatedly. intermittently. nauseatingly.