Posted: February 28th, 2013 | Author: Chérie | Filed under: Uncategorized | Comments Off
Relationships are kind of like sharing milk ‘n cookies together. In a healthy relationship we exchange good, yummy fresh cookies (our loving attention, time, energy, emotions). In an unhealthy relationship – we exchange stale, often downright mold-laden cookies (negativity, anger, sorrow, physical and/or emotional pain) — “negative cookies.”
But generally, when it comes to dealing with emotionally unbalanced people — they just want cookies, any kind of cookies, period. Even if they’re disgusting cookies (your anger, hurtful words, your negative attention, even physical abuse) — they’re still cookies to them, attention. So, they’ll continue in attempting to get you to interact with them — even if it’s all negative. They are often starved for attention/affection, but are missing how/why to go about getting attention/affection via a positive way. So, they seek out negative cookies.
When these ‘negative cookies’ attempt to rile us up, we need to ask ourselves … “Do I really want to be summoning up negative energy from my heart, mind, body, soul and my precious time … just to feed this person negative cookies?”
This “milk ‘n cookies” analogy holds especially true while in the depths of dealing with cancer — or any life threatening illness. This is a time to be ever vigilant about surrounding yourself with positive, supportive people.
If you’re finding yourself being put in the position of having to deal with other people’s “stuff” — their ‘negative cookies’? Recognize it for what it is, THEIR stuff. THEIR negative cookies. Let THEM eat their own cookies. If they can’t sort out their own cookies? Then move on. You’ve got enough “stuff” — cancer cookies — on your plate of life to deal with.
Right now you have one single solitary goal to stay focused upon … becoming a SURVIVOR! Refuse to allow anyone else’s “negative cookies” to detour you from your goal — standing up one day and proudly stating, “I am a survivor.”
Posted: November 16th, 2012 | Author: Chérie | Filed under: Uncategorized | Comments Off
After two years of appointments and procedures dealing with my breast cancer, as of 1:30 this afternoon on Friday, November 16th, 2012, I will have attended my very last one. Being the “Belle Of The Breast Cancer Ball” will have come to an end.
Today’s appointment will be a quick and breezy one. Just a final look at the third attempt of a human being trying to replicate what G*d had created for me — delicate pink hued areolas. They’ll never look that way again. They are what they are, and they’re just going to stay that way … man-made looking.
What I find the most interesting about this last appointment is my state of mind about going to it. About it being the very last one. About how my attitude towards it actually sums up how I feel about my entire journey through breast cancer, and, about my new life. It’s all profoundly jumbled up, in an inane way.
Looking back at the past two years I realize I was dragged into having to look at everything and everyone pertaining to my mortality, my life. With the glaring light of harsh truths.
I did my best to maintain my inner core of mental toughness while going through it all. Loves were lost. Positive support was freely given. Backs were turned. Foundations were shook — some withstood and strengthened, some crumbled. Loves were deepened. My old identity was lost, a new one is emerging. Very few tears from sorrow were shed — but many from utter silliness freely flowed. Gifts were discovered. More questions unfolded.
My new inner core of mental toughness now looks out at the world with a deepened sense of smartassery. Whether I’m having to be pragmatic, sentimental, silly, philosophical, loving, succinct, grateful, truthful or tender … here is where having gone through breast cancer has left me coming from …
Posted: October 22nd, 2012 | Author: Chérie | Filed under: Uncategorized | Comments Off
Being a breast cancer survivor is messy. There’s no way around it. You don’t get to walk away from cancer all neat and clean. Stand back, look at your journey and declare, “I’m all done now. Slap a blow on that bitch!”
Today I’m just five days shy of my two year survivor anniversary mark, the day I purposely had a team of medical experts rid my body of two diseased breasts. Yup, as of October 28, 2012 it will have been two years.
I should be well on my way to moving on with my life by now, right? I should be able to deal with the constant sense of pressure from the well meaning entire month of October being about breast cancer awareness by now, right? I should be strong enough not to feel so raw, that I end up feeling mowed over by other people’s words and actions by now, right?
But I don’t, and, I’m not done. As of this very morning, I’ll be shoving a Xanax down my gullet while I eat my bowl of Cheerios with Almond Milk. I’ll slap some makeup onto my face, smile, pop another Xanax and then have my dad drive me to the plastic surgeon’s office — for a third try at tattooing areolas onto my fake boobs.
Even though the double thick layer of scar tissue will be numbed up with numerous shots of Lidocaine — it really only makes the tattoo needles bearable on the scar tissue. I ain’t gonna lie, it’s painful as all get out. Hell, I’ll probably pop another Xanax right before going in for the tattoos too. I’m going to get as legally high as I possibly can. Screw “The Breakfast of Champions.” This is my “Survivor Brunch.”
Two years out and I was still making attempts towards getting my post-breast cancer life back to “old normal.” But, I’ve come to realize, there is no “old normal” anymore. My life is never going to be the same again, ever. And, people around me need to realize that fact.
I guess I had too high of an expectation upon myself — that I was so strong, I would bounce right back to my “old normal” after most of my breast reconstruction was done. But, this past weekend I had a rude awakening. I’m not that strong. I haven’t bounced right back. I’m physically, mentally, spiritually and emotionally drained.
No longer am I that scrappy football player that will run after and tackle their own teammate, who was running in for a touchdown, in the wrong direction. That right now I only have enough inner strength to just stand there, allow tears to flow from my heart, and let them run in the wrong direction.
As a survivor, I’ve owned that I’m still tired, very tired. I’m tired enough that I just don’t have it in me to be the bigger person and chase somebody down to try and fix something. I’m tired enough to only want to deal with what is a necessity to my overall life right now. I’m so tired, I am weak in spirit and tenacity. And you know what? That’s okay.
If I truly matter, someone will love me enough to pick up the slack and help me stumble along this messy path of becoming a survivor. Until I’ve arrived at the point of being a stronger “new normal.”
Owning that as a survivor, that you’re not a shiny foiled wrapped box ready to have a “get over it” bow slapped onto you yet, well, it’s humbling. Worse yet, it feels downright selfish — that you’re not up to fighting for something you cherish. And, downright frightening that because of that, you could lose something you deeply cherish. Love.
We survivors might look, for the most part, like we’re back up to snuff — so everyone can get back to our lives of being “old normal” again. But, we’re not. We’re a tattered box, haphazardly wrapped — working towards a “new normal.”
I say, “Own that! Slap a bow on that bitch!”