breaking bad

I love that Tina Turner tee. 

I started watching Breaking Bad a few days ago. Each time I'd previously tried to watch the show something just didn't work for me; the pants flying up in the air, in episode one, that was the moment, believe it or not I could never get past that moment. A few days ago I decided, fuck it, I'm going to give this show a shot and It's awesome and I'm glad I'm late -I started watching right on time-

Being diagnosed with this illness I feel like the plug gets pulled involuntarily in my mind, on the looks of my friends faces when they find out, in dreams, sometimes not at all until I'm watching Walter White deal with what I'm dealing with. I often wonder, why am I not doing this the Walter White way? I'm not cut out for selling drugs and shit, though with mounting medical bills, the option is tempting but why not just say fuck it?! I thought that would be the easiest thing to do, let go of responsibility and live it up, right?

I don't know but here's what I know and feel.  I'm starting to think that illness is the blue pill, which ever one wakes you up out of the Matrix. It shakes me, as much as I want to hold onto the BC life, I can't, I don't fit in anymore. My mom wants me to go back to normalcy, she wants it out of love, she wants me to not abandon what was once normal. But I don't want that. I don't want to get back in the rat race, I don't want to be concerned with money, I don't want to think about bills and I sure the hell don't want to "go back to normal."

I'm sure that, going back to normal works for some but the thought of it makes me shiver because I'm not normal. None of this is normal and I'm tired of pretending that it is. And before you get your ugly cry on don't feel sorry for me, like Walter there's a calm freedom to it all.

I can see the binary code, I'm not losing it, I promise. When something like this happens, some cliche shit comes along with it, like the realization that the things you squeeze in are the things most of your time should be consumed with. Running to late to a child's play because you needed to fax that one thing. Missing a friends celebration because the boss blah blah blah not being honest with your family because well, that's how it's always been. I'm working on myself that's what I'm working on, I haven't done that in a long time, its been about others, work, money, what would happen after I was done working (what a fucking joke) life was always on pause for the special moment, that moment when all the stars aligned, and money was right and I had time and no problems. I'm currently having that moment with cancer. I hope unlike myself and Mr. white you realize there is no perfect moment.

Alert: the hospital isn't allowing it's healthcare professionals to use the internets!

BC fruit haul/Veggie juice haul.

Today during treatment one of my most amusing fellow chemo soldiers strolled in. I don't know his name yet, I always miss it when they ask him to confirm his drugs. Name, no name, this man is a hoot. I first meet him during my first treatment run. He looks to be in his early sixties, medium height, slim build, looks like a pleasant old man but you know the saying, looks could be so fucking wrong and with this illness, looks are flat out fucking with you!

As I chatted with my treatment date I couldn't help but ease drop on this mans conversation. This is all happening through a curtain, they section us off for privacy or they don't want us to be friendly, so we won't see what happens with the drugs over time, there goes my paranoia again.

 Hello! What brings you here?  The nurse is obviously being hilariously glib (ugh)

What brings me here?! I was perfectly fucking healthy my whole life, go to a fucking doctors visit and boom, I have cancer, this is bullshit!

Wait, what?! That's exactly what happened to me, give or take a few doctors visits. I immediately wanted to hear everything this man had to say and that day, he said much. He complained about the treatment stinging -shit happens- when the doc offered Oxycontin (medical crack) as a peace offering he accepted but was pissed, when told he'd have to get the medication in the pharmacy himself: are you serious?! I got cancer and now I gotta get this pill myself?! 

When he strolled in today, I thought, here we go but today's ride was less about him and more about what his actions made me uncover. Through the curtain I could hear captain cool pants making fun of the nurses.

They act nice but they don't know who I am, they're fake. Can someone get me something to eat?! I can't eat. 

When you're in treatment you just have to utter the words can't and they've got a specialist coming. You can't gain weight, "specialist". You're not sure you want to continue down this path "specialist", can't shit, shit too much, some "specialist" will come over. BC, I thought doctors were specialist. I assumed doctors had a wealth of knowledge that the rest of us couldn't accumulate unless we went through extensive training. Surely, when a doctor, nutritionist, social worker, nurse and all other specialist opt for a field they should know the things I can google, find on webMD and some, right?

I'm hearing you're having difficulty eating.

Yeah! this shit is horrible! I can't eat anything! I don't have a woman to come over to cook for me (he's old sexism is part of old right?) I try my best but I'm hungry.

What does your diet consists of?

I drink ensure when I can. I'm living on ensure. 

Where's the protein?

Women! I can't cook do you people listen?!

I'm trying to get an idea of your daily intake. Have you tried ice cream with some milk? Eggs in the morning? You need protein, some kind of meat.

I had a steak and potato out the microwave the other day. 

Well that's not necessarily what I mean. You need things that are going to put what you're losing back, in.

Back on my side of the curtain, I'm having a conniption. Ice Cream? Cows Milk? Ensure? Her list got longer and wronger and all I could do was listen.  I remember my conversion with the nutritionist when I was losing weight. Ice cream, proteins (meat mainly), eggs, her recommendation was straight WWII food chart, surprised she didn't mention rations. When  I proceeded to tell her I have changed my diet, I'm no longer taking in any animal protein at the moment she looked at me like something from the fraggle rock-freaky looking shits-. Then, she proceeded or try, to tell me, to ease up. I needed meat protein where else would I find protein? I needed milk and butter! I'm trying and succeeding on gaining the weight my way while sticking to things that benefit me, putting back in all the shit "treatment" is taking out. My doctors take on my weight lost; wouldn't hurt you to have a cheeseburger every now and then. 

This is what I'm getting from specialist? Google search the c word, any major "association" or dietary page, will tell you to ease up on all things white (for once right) why? highly processed, no nutritional value. It's advised you bulk up on the greens, natural juices, these things have shown to help people fight this better whilst repairing their bodies. Why doesn't my nutritionist know this?! Why doesn't my doctor know this? I asked my doctor about diet twice; the first time, I really wanted to hear his advice; I'd tell you what I'd tell anyone in my family, don't eat junk, exercise and you're all good. Really? fucking really? The second time; I asked the question again, after doing my own research and he gave me the same response.

I'm not saying I know the answers or can even tell you what I'm doing is doing much for me (it's doing everything) but common sense would dictate; if what I was doing before resulted in treatments, maybe I need to change somethings and not do what everyone else is doing, no? I mean I've been chosen, I would have to work harder, do more, no? If I claim to be a specialist, shouldn't I know some basic shit about my specialty? Not a cure (where's the profit in that?) but shit, a specialist should at least be able to tell me what's toxic for my body in it's current state.

Not if your employers (sponsors) banned you from the internet in the hopes that you wouldn't dig any deeper during work hours to learn of the knowledge that's been amassed overtime in your specialty. Then you'd have to spend your days and nights in the old hospital library, that can't afford new books. With your shift being so long, you probably had no time to study and too tired after those shifts to study in your, home study or access the internet, fucking wifi! This is what it is! It has to be because the other option is just too sad...

Pills and potions... and diets, fucking diets!

BC:  Cold Cure. Nothing more. Sometimes less. 

We all know what happens when you hear that first seasonal sniff in the office;

"Have a hot tottie, that'll take care of it right away."

"pshhh hot tottie my ass! You need to take NyQuil with a hint of horses piss."

 Horses piss?!

"You're both wrong. Your Chakra's aren't aligned, meditate for half hour and have a green juice, it will clear you right up!"

"There's no proven cure for the common cold but I'm going to write you a bunch of prescriptions for drugs, with side effects that are worse than the common cold but I'm talking fast, hoping this white coat is distracting, do you have insurance?"

When I tell someone I'm ill, first, they envision themselves at my funeral (I'm working on whether or not I'm projecting) and then comes the homework. What's the homework? 

The homework is what your friends give you instead of stuffed bears and chocolates. Because who needs stuffed bears and chocolates?! I need a cure and for some reason my friends are, correctly aware that the doctors can't fix it (why didn't anyone tell me?!) so they think now's the time to help me, help myself! I don't want to do the homework but I do, when it seems the doctor doesn't know what the fuck he's gotta do (he doesn't) or you get the slight feeling he's guessing(he is) at which point you want to say fuck it and run into the arms of the holistic leader, until you realize; he's got a God complex, a problem with authority and a taste for the finer meditating carpets in life!

Jesus! can't we get real with cancer?! Can't some things be sacred?! Can we not inundate this world with con artist and everyone with a story or magic cure in a bottle? Can I have a piece of chocolate and not feel like I'm activating this thing in my body?! No. 

Well meaning friends, will share books and diets, that will lead to more links, with books and more diets and pills and potions and toxins -this isn't a Nicki Minaj song- and healers, and shamans and waters and PH levels and alkaline and then you end up in a corner, with a leaf a lettuce, tin foil on your head waiting for Morpheus to come take you far, far away from the Matrix. 

Then you breath. Let's do it together. ahhhhhhhhhh 

This weekend, I ate bread, not white bread -new rule, chuck all your white foods, trust me on that one- and boy was I giving myself shit for it. I gave myself shit for a vegan cookie!!! VEGAN and COOKIE, I weep but these are the times. Today, while I was weighing the nutritional value of my carrot juice versus my mushroom soup, a wise friend stopped by to give some support and kind words.  This friend has unfortunately been in my shoes and she said to me, the wisest words I ever did hear; fuck it, you gotta take all that with a grain of salt, yo! Are you still breathing? -I'm not lying about that white food shit look it up.-  This experience is scary, matter fact they should just name this disease fear, so the doctor can just say; "You've got fear. I don't know how long your gonna have it. I don't know how to fix it but I'm pretty sure it's going to kill you." 

Every one's got a pill, a potion and some advice but navigating this is about knowing what is right for me. I keep waiting for someone to say this one thing works, this will fix it, this will make you better, this will make it go away. The deeper down that rabbit hole I go, the more I'm learning; hot tottie might work for some and NyQuil and horse shit might work for others but me, I get two colds every year, I sleep it off, do a lot of fluids and in two days tops I'm back to tip top shape. EveryBODY is different yo! 

side effects and such...

This is, response to chemo side effects, face.

First Chemo appointment:

Doc: "Would you like a prescription for pain killers?"
Me: "Is it suppose to hurt?"
Doc: "eh it's different for everyone. See how the first session goes."

According to the dreaded paperwork, the side effects of chemotherapy happen to about 30-40 percent of the people being administered the drug and boy oh boy did/do I pray to be part of that small populace. But does that mean the chemo isn't working?!

Sitting in that room listening to my doctor offer me pain meds without prompt, made me wish this man was, a crooked, pain selling hack and not try not to think of this pain that might happen.

The first session, nothing. Session number two, I can't taste salt; sounds minor but not when you cook with sea salt, and is the type to always add extra salt which is the last thing I need. Do you see how this son of a bitch invades your life, just so disrespectful!

Session number three, two days ago; hair gone, and now I can feel my bones.

My doctor mentioned something about that. "what?!" I'm pretty sure my Betty Davis Eyes were bulging out of my head like some bugs bunny cartoon.

"I might feel my bones?! Like when my ankles were swollen post surgery?"
"No. This will feel nothing like that, it will feel like it's inside the bone."

How the fuck does he know? Do they survey people to ask how chemo feels? Many  people have this reaction to the drug? Why am I doing this?! I want to go back, I want to run away, I want to go to that commune in Mexico that cures cancer without chemo! You know, the one a friend of a friend of a friend told you, some celebrity (Magic Johnson) got cured by but won't share the information? Yeah that guy, but I can't afford that guy, fuck, I'm going to die because I'm poor!!! If this guy is for real, why are people still dying? Are there that many poor people?

Let's take a break from my brain shall we. Three sessions in, it's nothing like the feeling of my ankle being swollen, post surgery. Shit like this makes it hard to be friends with my doctor.

I had to take a Percocet to go to bed tonight and as soon as it wore off I woke up,  four in the morning. This is not bad at all guys given the situation but shit a girl needed to vent a little bit. Who wants to ever fucking know what it's like to feel your bones?!  Lets just say it doesn't tickle.

I am not my hair...until I ain't got none....

I've heard people say that when you're having the hardest time, a smile can make you feel better. Just the act of smiling can change your mood. 

Yesterday I found it in myself to start this blog and I kid you not, as I was writing my first blog post, I was rubbing my head, something I do when I write, when I'm nervous. 

BC (before cancer, don't make me remind you again, I hate the C word now) I was inspired by Lupita Nyong'o to do the big chop for the first time in my life. There's something liberating about making the decision to chop your hair off, no matter who you are. But as I wrote yesterday I noticed the coils of soft, cotton like hair falling away. 

I didn't panic, I was prepared or so I thought, I had read the paperwork, remember? My first instinct was to grab a comb to make sure this wasn't psychosomatic. As I ran the comb through my hair, huge chunks just came away in my hand. I didn't cry, I put the comb away, tied my hair up and continued about my day. 

When they tell you you're hair is going to fall out, I'm sure you're all thinking it's just the hair up top but NO it's all of it. I mean, I don't want to get too personal but when I went to pee and a clump of black hair was in the toilet (I've been roughing it down there) I was horrified! That was scarier than the hair on my head. My fucking pubes?!! Chemo is attacking my fucking pubes?! what did my pubes ever do to anyone?! 

I made up my mind that I would get my hair cut today. I would get a date and go get er'done! I knew I needed company, the thing about being me at this moment  is I don't know when I'm going to cry. I can be perfectly fine and the blue sky brings on the water works! 

When I couldn't find a date -people do have jobs and shit- I told myself I'll take my mom, my number one soldier. As we walked around looking for barbershops, I felt the tears; hot, salty at the brink. Why was I so emotional? I skipped barbershop after barbershop, too many people, too many inquisitive looking men, too many hot men. I didn't want the prying eyes or the questions.

My mom noticed but she pressed on. We found a place, an upstairs shop totally empty and we walked in. 

"You guys cut hair?" I was stopping my voice from trembling as the bottle blond Mexican woman looked up from her cellphone; 

"yes we do mama. what would you like?" 

"Take it all off."

I took the hat off and she asked if I wanted it as short as my mom, I said, "shorter." 

"why you cut so short?"

"I'm going through chemo, it's falling off, I rather just take it off than you know..."

"oh my god...I'm so sorry. You're doing the right thing, you're going to be OK, everything is going to be fine."

I wish my doctor would utter those words. I sat in the chair not really looking at anything in particular. 

"That disease is getting everybody. It happened to my aunt. She found out in November, died in march. It was too late. but you're doing what you have to do everything will be fine."

"My first husband too...you know how men are about doctors but don't worry mama, you gonna be just fine. Just do what they tell you to do."

My mom sat behind us, shaking her head, yes the whole time. When the barber finished, before she shaped it up, my mom looked at me; "you look good mama. you lucky you have a nice head."

I smiled to keep from crying. I never looked in the mirror, I've never been about hair not #teamnatural or #teamcreamycrack -I judge lacefronts a little bit- but to each her own. But here I was in this chair holding myself up because I couldn't believe this was happening, listening to my sweet mother in her Haitian accent tell me how "beautiful" I look -Did I mention how much I love her.-  It's not the cutting of my hair but the why. The big chop is liberating because it's your decision, it's you saying I don't care about beauty standards I'm so confident I'm gonna look at "myself" in the face. But this felt different, this was a preemptive strike on my part, something was coming for that hair whether I wanted to or not. 

I'm smiling in the picture to change my mood to find the power in my preemptive strike to not cry. And listen, in hindsight, writing this, there are some really fucked up things chemo could be doing but so far my body is shutting that shit down, so if I gotta lose a few hair follicles in the meantime, so be it! -writing is so therapeutic- So I smile to lift my spirits and lets all get together and pray for my eyebrows, I don't know how you fix having no eyebrow! 

Oh shit! I've been chosen.

BC: me before cancer but I thought an IV so fitting. 

In the movies when a doctor gives a character a prognosis, he's usually very clear;

"You have cancer."

Character breaks down crying and the doctor goes through an understandable list of what's to come.
At the end of the lists, of what's to come we all know, ultimately, the character is going to die, pass away, whatever term makes the general public feel at ease with the reality of mortality.

In one scene the character is crying, in the next their in a chemo room, bald, skinny, and wasting away and in the next it's a head stone and their family members. -fuck the show/movie I'm describing is morbid- In a funnier or more uplifting show, the scary chemo person the character becomes, gains weight,buys a wig and goes back to "normal". They wear the pink ribbon, they run marathons and they proceed to triumphantly celebrate "kicking cancers ass."

I have that ill fated disease. It did not go anything like what's mentioned above. It was more like;

Doc: "it's malignant"
Me: "what does that mean?"
Doc: "its spread"
Me: ....
Doc: "do you understand?"
Me: ....

The three marks are not silence, it's me whaling, its not my life flashing before my eyes -that shit didn't happen for me- instead it's me thinking WHAT THE ENTIRE FUCK?!

I'm thirty three, I'm recuperating from a shitty break up, extensive surgery but in this moment, all that means nothing!
I'm thirty three, I never wanted children but now it ain't even an option.
I'm thirty three and the fucking walls are closing in on me.

Doc: "You have to get Chemo therapy and then we'll monitor you."
Me: "what does that mean?"
Doc: (Now looking at me with sad eyes)
Me: if you were in my shoes would you be scared?
Doc: "you're a smart girl (really?) I'm not going to lie, yes...
Me: ....

This is how it went. the funny thing about it all is, the aforementioned movie scenario played in my head, I saw myself wasting away after chemo, I imagined my family running marathons in my memory, I died in that room, in that moment, it all ended for me.

or so I thought...

Doc # 2, the dreaded oncologist: (more bad news) -why go into detail. Once you get the news you have cancer, it's all bad news.

Me: "Will my hair fall out?"
Doc # 2: yes
Doc # 2: We'll give you all the paperwork on the side effects.

Don't read the fucking paperwork! I hope you never find yourself in my situation because you have to read the paperwork. The paperwork feels scarier than my fucking diagnosis.
My fingernails can fall off?! How the fuck does that even happen, seriously?! Numbness, loss of appetite, the shits, the non shits, fuck, can I just live with this cancer? Can me and this son of bitch just become friends and share this body? I don't want to walk around hairless with no finger nails looking like a black version of that fucking character from the movie Powder!

I email my doctor at 2am;

I don't think I want to do Chemo. I've been reading the paperwork. I understand my prognosis (Total fucking lie) but I'm having second thoughts. This is all happening to fast (why am I talking to this man like he's a bf) I haven't had the time to take it all in. Thank you. 

what the fuck am I thanking this asshole for? Of course I don't sleep all night waiting for his response. We're officially in a relationship

10am Docs response:

I need to call you. What's your number?

Welcome to my new world. I've decided to write about this experience. Why? Because a few short weeks into this journey, I've learned there are stigma's about this disease. No, you can't catch it by contact, you fuck. A few weeks into this process, funny things have happened, no, cancer does not take away your sense of humor. A few weeks into this, I've learned so much yet still know so little. I'm still me but not really, I've got balls, I got sass and I have a arsenal of strength that is fucking magical and I ain't got the shits, I still got my fingernails and I'm not bald headed! (technically)