Gia Knows Best 7 June 2008
After a rare, wild night on the New York town, I’m home this hot one nursing a hangover. The nausea that pizza and Coke kick back for a few hours at a time isn’t something I miss very much. Don’t get me wrong, I had a fabulous time of it, especially making moves to the Latin grooves at Son Cubano. The recovery, though, has given me a glimpse into some interesting emotions that only such a day can deliver.
I’ve had Angelina Jolie’s Gia on my list for a longtime; the Netflix gods knew I needed to see it today. Making progress with my own cancer memoir-to-be and what I want to say is not easy for me. Gia knew much when she wrote this:
“Life and death, energy and peace. If I stop today it was still worth it. Even the terrible mistakes that I made and would have unmade if I could. The pains that have burned me and scarred my soul, it was worth it, for having been allowed to walk where I’ve walked, which was to hell on earth, heaven on earth, back again, into, under, far in between, through it, in it, and above.”
I crawled back into bed at the end of the movie, grateful for where my story stops for now. I might feel like crap today but,
“This is life, not heaven. You don’t have to be perfect…” – Francesco
The Courage to Connect 4 June 2008
I’m not sure where to begin. As I consider the flashback, Mike’s words echo in my ear, “Can you just get me from point A to point B? Is that so hard?” This year’s Oscar noms were not his cup of tea.
I’ll start at the beginning, a very good place to start. In October, 2004, I participated in “Courage Night” at the Betsey Johnson store in Seattle. I was in my eighth month of treatment for breast cancer, receiving radiation at the time. For my part of the program, I read an excerpt from Geralyn Lucas’ book Why I Wore Lipstick to My Mastectomy ; And promised to pen one of my own.
I moved to New York in May of 2006. Shortly thereafter, I passed Betsey Johnson walking alone on the Upper Eastside. I said nothing to her. Later, I wondered where my courage was when I missed that moment.
On April 12th, 2008, I went to meet friends at the Murakami exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum of Art. Given my preference for train-free Saturdays, subway construction schedules and the size of the schlep, this was a big deal for me. I sported my favorite vintage coat for the occasion – black with big buttons – and wore a smile to match. Once en route, I got caught on the #2, circumnavigating the right stop. I could not seem to sort myself out.
Well into the second hour, lost and laughing about it, a woman across from me asked where I was going, or trying to go. Then she, Leslie, her man, Kamau, and his son escorted me straight to the museum. It just so happened they were headed there too. We exchanged stories, cards and compliments as we walked; I recall she mentioned my big buttons. Leslie and Kamau went inside to find their friends while I sat outside, awaiting mine.
I found them and we took in some art but the place was too packed. Exhausted, my friends and I planned our escape from the mad-house museum. As we debated what to do, there were Leslie and Kamau. He called a local restaurant to secure real estate for “Miss Pixie” and her pals. A little later, he texted me to make sure we found the place. I knew by the end of the night that these two were keepers.
We’ve emailed in the time since and have tried to reunite. All busy bees, it’s not been easy. But last week, something told me to ask Leslie and Kamau if they wanted to see Stevie Wonder in Atlantic City. Within a few hours, they replied that they were up for the adventure. The three of us arranged to meet this past Monday night for the Stevie pre-planning and some post-work fun. While we initially decided on a bar, Leslie asked, instead, if we could make it coffee. Kamau suggested Pret A Manger on 42nd to add to my Bryant Park idea.
Despite a few spills, we reconnected over coffee. Leslie and Kamau are the kind of couple I want to be around: incredibly artistic, they are open and excited about life and their dreams, both individual and collective. He’s a photographer, event producer and soon-to-be-big-time-blogger. She creatively consults, sews and just launched her own spring collection! What a crafty cookie, eh? And they like me. They really like me!
When the Pret A Manger crew burned something, we headed outside. We noticed a crowd forming as we crossed to Bryant Park. It was a gala of some sort. While Kamau stopped to snap shots, Leslie and I scanned the crowd. And there, emerging from a sea of pretty people, was Betsey Johnson herself. I told Kamau and Leslie how I’d seen her before but been too afraid to say something. At that moment, Kamau pushed my back gently in her direction. The rest they say, is herstory:
I told Betsey I was a survivor, too, and had done Courage Night at her store. She asked me how many years it had been for me. As I said, “4,” she said “10,” and flashed me the tattoo blazed across her left chest. “I hardly think about it anymore, honey,” she shared. “Me either,” I replied, “me either.” I asked Betsey for her autograph and we went our separate ways.
All a-twitter, Kamau, Leslie and I resumed our evening. We hatched our Atlantic City plan and came up with big ideas – for business and pleasure – in the green New York grass. Kamau shot more celebs and we peed at the Cellar inside the adjacent hotel. Twice.
It was a night of connection and courage, nudge needed and all. I’m grateful for the divine timing of my do-over with Betsey Johnson. But more than anything, I’m glad Leslie and Kamau were happy to help me that night in Brooklyn and become my friends. Something tells me we’ve only just begun…
Randy Pausch Lecture: Really Achieving Your Childhood Dreams 6 May 2008
While I’m way too hopeful to accept the idea of “dealt cards,” especially when it comes to “terminal” cancer diagnoses, I do believe that Randy Pausch of Carnegie Mellon gave a great “Last Lecture.” It’s a long one, but worth every minute:
And, as you can see, Randy’s still at it! Here’s to childhood dreams, breaking through brick walls (cancer being one of the biggest!) & life lived well along the way!
Six Short Words 8 April 2008
While too woo-woo (?) for official inspection, I spied these winning words on a resume today:
“Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I’ve heard it in the chilliest land
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.” – Emily Dickinson
I’m a big fan of hope & calling a crumb a crumb so couldn’t resist its charms. In an ironic twist, I’m posting a poem rather than heading off to workshop my own stuff tonight. I feel called, instead, to mind my memoir again.
On this, the eve of my 4-year-cancer-diagnosis-day anniversary, I feel closer to knowing what I want to say. Here are six words I sent to SMITH to start me on my way:
Eggstatic! 21 March 2008
I’ve been angry at Easter. A reminder of my Good Friday breast cancer diagnosis, I’ve dreaded it since 2004. My sister hosted a hunt that Sunday. In a strange, suspended space, I helped her kids find all their eggs, and pretended my world was not broken. I didn’t know what else to do.
Excited about Easter this year, it took me a while to catch on. I couldn’t figure out why I had such Spring in my step. I mentioned its Early Bird arrival to Pixepa. Wasting no time, he combed the internet for an answer, as is his wise way:
“According to the BOOK OF COMMON PRAYER which lists the schedule for Easter covering the years 1786 through 2013, only once has/will Easter fall on a date earlier than this year: March 22, 1818. I only saw one or two other times that it fell/falls on March 23 as it does this Sunday. I think it was April 1, appropriately, 1956, that it snowed in Iowa on Easter when we all went to church in the pickup.”
Nowhere near April 9th, I’m feeling free to celebrate this Sunday. I love the reason and I love the season. I’m grateful each moment for my own resurrection and life. So much so that I think, maybe, just maybe, Easter and I are a-ok.
Here’s to daffodils, white shoes & God’s gift of a fresh start!
All Clear for Green Beer 17 March 2008
I’m pleased to report that today’s mammogram experience turned out even better than expected. Late last night, I realized that I need not go it alone. So I called my dear friend, Eric, & asked him to accompany me to my appointment. Without skipping a beat, Eric answered, “I’m your man.” And boy, is he! Eric has an uncanny way of making the cancer center (& life) all the more beautiful just by being there. I’m so incredibly blessed to know & love such an Earth Angel as my Mr. Smith.
The fabulous word from radiology was a clean bill of health so I’m cleared for another year here. When I sent a quick email announcing my good luck, here’s what Pixiepa penned in reply:
“It makes my brown Scots eyes smile and tear (slightly) with great joy. Luck has a way of coming to girls who seek wisdom. God is good.”
He’s one smart cookie, that Pa o’ mine. Happy St. Patty’s Day!
Cancertown Time 16 March 2008
All in all, I’m a pretty hands (& mind) off cancer survivor. I spend very little time worrying about its return, although I do what I have to in terms of testing. Most of this goes unmentioned as I simply see it as part of my path. Tomorrow, though, I’ll have my mammogram & this, I most definitely dread.
These come less often for me now & I haven’t had one since September or so. See, I really can’t recall when I went last which I’d say is a little atypical. The procedure itself is nothing (compared to some I’ve endured) but I sure do hate the way I feel in the waiting room. In the changing room. In the gown. Amongst the mostly-older menopausal women who wonder, I imagine, what I’m doing there at my age. I feel for the ones who’ll get the bad news instead of the good. I want to be there to tell them they can do it if they have to. But I hope they won’t have to. Please, let them not have to. Yet I know some of them will.
So that’s my tomorrow morning. I’ll go into it as worry-free as possible, flip though my magazines & emerge onto 34th Street, all the more ready to wake up the world.
Love, light & be good to your girls,
The Urban Pixie
Living Aloud 23 February 2008
After reading to my writing group last week, I got the message I most needed to hear: human hearts yearn for more than just sweet sounds. This one woke us all up so have a little listen & I hope you dig it too.
Farewell
I came to break up with my doctor, two years to the day since we met. My friends got houses, married, pregnant. I got cancer. Kicking its ass took nine months from my life. And convinced me to live it. Surgeons scooped lymph nodes like seeds from under my arm, taking my cancer away. I show the doctor the swollen hand souvenir they left behind. She suggests physical therapy, says, “Sometimes these signs shake us up, remind us to keep dreams alive.” I announce I’m moving to New York, to ride passion, write real and banter with beautiful boys. To bask in bustle, soar in stale subway air and evolve ever more. To find. The life. I want. I say I’m going in May, spring forward, hope not to fall back. She hands me a new oncologist’s name. “See him in six months,” she says, “Make sure you see him in six months.” Flat fingers circle my breasts, one slightly smaller than the other now. I breathe shallow, insides screaming “no lumps, no lumps, don’t find any fucking lumps.” She doesn’t. And I get dressed, one more hurdle cleared for take-off. I hug the doctor and wonder what it’ll be like to not know her. The doctor tells me to send a post-card then heads away. I call after her. “You want me to use your real name or an alias in my book?” Dr. Ellis turns, grins again, and says, “Oh, use my real name.”
World Cancer Day Debut 4 February 2008
- Chris Berg
- Rochelle Small Clifford
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Thomas Clifford
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Jennifer Gerstenberger
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Brian Scott Mednick
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Dan Seda
