What came first, the chicken or the egg?
Did I first find a band of brothers that could be there for me, through life’s ups and downs, and use them to help, should shit get rough? Or, somewhere in the back of my mind, did I know that through all the denial, something was about to come up that I was going need back up for?
I have found so much respite, joy, strength, laughter, camaraderie, hope, humble…wait, is humbleness a word? (I think, “been humbled by” is more appropriate but it didn’t fit grammatically.) And I feel like what I have to say right now will betray everything I have found. I will betray what has become my family, mi familia, and they don’t even know how important they are to me.
I’m all over the place, a grammatical idiot, probably fucking up my spelling to the highest (even though I am a middle school spelling bee winner!)
I want to be irreverent and funny and take it all in stride. I want to have the strength that these women who have had horrible illness, sick babies, miscarriages, lost of loved ones, painful break-ups have. I want them to still want me as part of their band. But I know what I am doing… or not doing…is so wrong..and I don’t want to lose them. I am making every excuse, cutting every corner, and not hitting it head on.
I am so sorry if I have pretended to be someone I am not.
(Christ on crutches, I sound like an insane crazy person.)
I have developed relationships here and on The Twitter that I am so vested in. I’m afraid to tell you. Will you still want me, after you have survived, you have fought, you have won, you have lost and I finally tell you my secret?
I have a lump. A sizable lump. My left breast has hurt for about a month. I have done nothing about it.
Because what if it is something? There is NO ONE here for me.
My Chelle Belle. She would be devastated. She reminds me constantly that she doesn’t know what she would do without me. When the ache first started, we joked, “what the hell would I do if all the sudden you came to me and thought you had The Dead ? You can’t have The Dead? What would I do without you?”
So I can’t tell her. And my Bean, my beautiful Baby Bean…what would she do without me? There is NO ONE for her besides me.
Her dad? The 40-year old Roller Derby sensation, who has been on the verge of eviction for the last 5 years? The one who only makes time for her if it’s one of his championship roller derby bouts? And she can find her own transportation to it? At 17?
Or maybe my mom, who is living on my couch right now. Acts like an addict even when she isn’t using. Until this morning, I thought had been in jail for the past three days for driving with no license, in a car with bad tags. Any minute now, she’s going to find the next great thing in American health care. Which means that every morning, I hand out bus fare to my mom and my kid. And at around 3PM, everyone calls me to ask what’s for dinner. Well, at least Chelle is only calling because she knows I’ve forgotten to defrost something. She’s home and will happily do that for me.
Because, when the kid is 17 and the mom is crazy and the partner is a musician, you only worry about that ache in your boobie the third time you toss and turn. Which only happens at about 2am, when the dishes are done and the dog is walked and the clothes are pressed and the homework is done and YOUR homework is done, and work clothes are clean and school clothes are clean and your kids who AREN’T your kids are tended to and you’ve gotten a little strength from your blogs….
And you still feel like you failed because there are dishes in the sink and you didn’t exercise, no matter how much you bitch about your weight, and that paper could’ve been better and, have you seen the ant brigade making a home right next to the fridge? and the lawn needs to be done and the job is trying to kill you and the floor needs to be vacuumed and the beautiful jungle you loved when you got the house REALLY needs to be pruned before it eats one of the poor babies walking to the bus stop on your corner and there are only 3 paychecks before Thanksgiving and it’s at your house this year and…
There is a lump on my left breasticle. And my boobies hurt. And whatever that means, I just don’t have time for it.
But I’m gonna call my doc – the same doc who has NEVER met an ailment that a vegan yoga lifestyle wouldn’t fix, thank you Government HMO – I’m gonna call him tomorrow. And I’m gonna try to make time for an appointment to go see him before I’m due in Kansas City for 6 days. But I’m scared. And I’m sorry to all of the women who are probably cursing me out under the credo of early detection. Because I just know its bad. And I don’t know how to tell anyone. And I am surrounded by people who can’t care and listen because my job is to care and listen.
And I’m scared, terribly scared.
And I just need someone to be there.
And I am so sorry for asking.
Update: So after writing this last night I was a mess and clearly had to tell ChelleBell what was going on. And then i frantically found Aunt Becky on the Twitter and asked her PLEASE DON’T POST THAT. And because she rocks my socks off, AND has probably picked up on the fact that I have roving bouts of the Bat Shit Insane, she agreed to put the squash on it. But now I know how important all of that was to get out, and I feel like a total punk after the stories you all have shared here and my apologies for not trusting you. And I’m feeling so much lighter today.
And just called my doctor.
And I totally am having cupcakes for lunch.