1 year later

It’s been a year (actually a little more than a year) since Toya

 the remix. I feel like I died and was born again on that day 

because my life has never been the same. Even when I  look 

at pictures of me I think "that was before the surgery."

First of all, I’m so much more appreciative of the brevity of life and the idea that at any second, it can all be over. So I’m all about living in the moment, taking chances, and not dealing with bullshit.  If a person, place or thing doesn’t bring me joy, then why involve myself?  Secondly, my body acceptance level is at an all-time high, I appreciate my body’s ability to repair itself.  During my first week home, I remembering   feeling like   I would never ever recover, never be strong again.   Mentally I am so much stronger, physically,   I’m still workin on it.  Each day gets better.   There are still days in which I feel a sting in my left  breast from scar tissue if I move the wrong way, I still have weakened muscles  in my abdominal wall which cause a hideous bulge to the lower right. If I stand too long, walk to long, it sticks out and hardens. It’s not a hernia, but it resembles one. It will be re-examined   when I go for my follow up next month. In the meantime, I’m celebrating my health by completing a 5k mud race for the American Cancer Society this weekend.

 If I have to complain, which I try not to, I will say that I feel

 somewhat ASEXUAL. Menopause topped with a complete 

of sensation in my noobies ( new boobs)  has my libido 

NONEXISTENT.  When I’m  dressed, I feel sexy. Even when I 

look at my body naked, aesthetically, I like what I see, but it’s 

the FEELING …the feeling of being a sexual being that is 

absent. 

THIS IS WHERE IT GETS TMI: how does one go 

about becoming aroused when they are consumed with the 

thought of vaginal dryness (even though lubricant is 

available) and the fact that what used to turn you on (nipple 

stimulation) is no longer an option? This is my current 

struggle. This is why I’m just not into sex with myself or 

anyone for that matter. At least not right now.  

Ok..So I'm still talking about My surgery!

Every time I deal with something that tests my patience, I think, this is it. This is my final exercise in patience. And it never is. Well  I can honestly say that recovery is truly a journey of patience. As I began to feel better and look better, I wanted to do so much more.  6 weeks after surgery I walked 3 miles for Breast cancer awareness and I felt great!

Me with my toddler right by side. I wore my compression belt and yes my face was pale from anemia

That was one of the many up and down moments. Down times like hating the feel of the compression belt, but loving it after trying to clean the house without. It was my comfort and my anguish. This was the same with the sports bra. My mind wanted to wear a nice underwire bra, but my body (and the doc) said hell no! Then there was the body dysmorphia. With so much going on physically, like that tingly  achy feeling in my foobs, who has time to be concerned with them being perky  and having  a flat tummy? Leggings have also offered a solace that jeans or pants with buttons couldn’t offer. My wardrobe was limited.  I was more self-conscious than ever with nipples foobs, great abs, an 18 inch scar, and pale skin my energy was limited. Every time the visiting nurse came my pulse was extra high, like 108. Apparently normal resting is between 60 and 100. Turns out I was anemic from losing so much blood during the surgery, nothing steak and eggs couldn’t handle.  What was most daunting was awaiting for that moment where I would be 100% (which by the way, still hasn’t happened yet).  Whenever I was about to hop on my pity train, I’d write on a pink slip something I was grateful for and put it in a jar one of my good friends got me.  It kept me focused to think about small things like, finally being able to bend over and pick up something off the floor, or to put a shirt of over my head. My awesome visiting nurse would remind me constantly that this was a journey and it would take more than 6 to 8 weeks for me to truly heal. I was forced to listen to my body, to sleep on demand, to eat on demand (apparently you can sometimes become ravenous as your body uses its energy to heal).

                 But then I returned to work, and I once again I had to adjust. No more sleeping when I ready, resting when I was ready. I was back and there was work to be done…lots. Teachers don’t sit behind a desk! We stand and walk (about 3 to 4 miles a day… I wore a pedometer just to test), we speak a lot and loudly (which requires oxygen).  We get excited, angry, and disheartened, sometimes all in one class period. And because you “look good” people think you are 100% both at home and at work! So it’s back to housework, and mommy work, and errands and and and  and.  AND…I’m still healing. Sometimes I get achy, some nights I return to my couch for a better night’s sleep. Sometimes I have to opt for my chaise lounge over attending social events (which really sucks). Or, and this just happened last week, I can return to boot camp and kick ass only to have awful, extraordinary soreness and pain two days later.  It’s times like these that I can quickly spiral into a funk. Especially knowing I’ll have to go one more surgery right after Christmas. Thankfully, most times I am able to pull myself out of this negative space. I have to remind myself, this is a choice. Always, a choice I had that other women in my family didn’t. With that being said, let the countdown to FIPPLES begin! And another lesson in patience as well.

"Happy" Mother's Day

Mother's Day wasn't always a struggle for me. When I was younger I absolutely loved making gifts in school for my ga-ga (my maternal grandmother). Let's see, it was the plants in a Styrofoam cups, homemade candy (which she couldn't eat because she was diabetic), and plenty of specially written and decorated cards. Mother's Day became harder after she died because it wasn't until I'd lost her that I began to feel like a motherless child. All of the love in the world couldn't stop me from feeling this emptiness when Mother's Day arrived.


When I became a mother, it got easier; I saw my son come home with the cards and plants, and I'd smile. But then I found myself missing Brenda, my real mother. As an adult, I wanted that special relationship I saw all of my friends have with their mothers, so I still felt empty. To cope, everyone knows I deemed myself Brenda's Child, and I became that parental figure to other kids who were missing a mom for whatever reason.


Three weeks before Mother's Day also marks the anniversary of the death of my mother's sister ( she died unexpectedly at 36 from a seizure, which was a reaction from her medication. She had been on dialysis for years due to kidney disease.) Two cent was my homegirl. I use the old school term because growing up in the '80s, she was who you wanted to be: creative, stylish, sexy, and cool. What made her most important to me was that had if not been for her babysitting my son free of charge, I would not have been able to finish college and work full time. It's because of her that my son developed early on a love of reading and learning. That was 2002, and again I learn to cope. She was the 3rd person whose name would be tattooed on me, and I honored her memory by publishing some of her poetry in a chapter dedicated to her at the end of my first book, A Piece of My Mind.

In 2009, my friend Gail died the week of Mother's day from Leukemia. She was a mother of four, and like my mother, my grandmother, and my aunt, she liked working with kids. I used my words once more to honor her in my memoir, The Right Amount of Sunshine.

This is the only way I know how to deal, I keep their memory alive through the work I am still able to do while I'm here on this earth.

I'll light a candle for each of them this Sunday, knowing they are present in spirit always. And although I may shed some tears of remembrance, I will have "Happy" Mother's Day just for them!
:

Ga-Ga ovarian cancer 1991

Brenda Breast cancer 1982

Gwen a.ka. Two Cent 2002

Gail Leukemia 2009