Saturday, October 30, 2010

This blog entry is about boobs.

Title got you to read this, huh? Well, its not false advertising. I was reading a magazine today, and there was a feature that caught my eye- a series of essays by writers who are also breast cancer survivors. One essay in particular spoke to me. She had been 32 when she had cancer- my age- had always been, say, on the buxom side, didn’t like it, and after she lost hers to cancer even preferred her new, reconstructed bosom. She had her children afterwards. She didn’t regret not having her breasts anymore until one day 15 years later when all of a sudden she remembered everything that was wonderful about them and just cried.

It broke my heart. I suppose there are levels on which I related- same age, I actually had to have a lump in my breast checked out this August- my second- well, it turned out to be the same lump both times, just a different doctor this time. Awesome. Better safe than sorry, I guess. Able to relate to being proud of one’s chest (her the reconstructed chest, me the original)- heck yeah I am. What struck me more was her regret at not appreciating what she had when she had it. We’re all guilty of that, of course. As Joni Mitchell sang in “Big Yellow Taxi,” Don’t it always seem to go that we don’t know what we got til its gone? This is the woman that brought us “Both Sides Now.” All hail Joni.

In March 2007, I was mugged by a gang of teenagers. That was followed by the first lump in my breast, my home being broken into and the piece de resistance, a huge car wreck 2 weeks before my birthday that totaled my car on body damage alone and left me pretty battered too. I now call 2007 my landslide year. Two weeks later, on my birthday, July 24th, arm still in a sling, we toasted that I had made it to 29 at all. We made light of it, but seriously, three bullets had just whizzed by my ear. I was so grateful to be alive at that point, and swore never to forget how short life is- tried to make up with a few family members I don’t get along with, tried to get back in the dating pool- it worked temporarily. Thing is, when the euphoria wore off, I still had to do the work to heal from everything that happened, which I still wasn’t interested in doing. Hell, I didn’t bother to start doing the work until last fall. I have some issues with depression, and in the throes of it, I’m not particularly grateful for anything, not even being alive. It’s an ugly place to be, scary to be in, scarier to get out of, and scariest to try and heal what put you there so you can try to avoid falling in again, as I've been doing this last year. But I also wonder what life could have had for me had I been open to it sooner. Oops.

Which leads me back to our friend- when she got a pang, she would remind herself that she was alive, that’s what counted, and remind herself of what she didn’t miss about them. I think we’ve all done that too. When we’re dumped, our friends remind us of all the reasons we won’t miss the person who cast us aside. Ditto any possession we lose. Lost a ring? I didn’t like it anyway- and so forth. I read the regret in our friend’s writing that she would never feel anything there when making love, had never breastfed, and how weird it was that they were just oddly perfect. It made me think- the only thing harder than appreciating something you have is appreciating something you had. Its scarier, more painful. But we have to do it. As Lee Ann Womack sang, “Loving might be a mistake but its worth making.” A Republican, but still…

In Buddhism we acknowledge that both lightness and dark, both joy and sorrow are part of life, and to be thankful for the lights and try to learn from the darks. As I find my daily chanting changing to be less “please help me be/ please give me” and more “thank you for,” our friend reminded me of the repercussions of not appreciating what you have til its gone and of how thankful I am that I am not in that mindset anymore. As painful as it is to acknowledge how valuable someone or something that I do not have is, I do it. And if there’s a third time at the Disney Cancer Center (apparently a breast man- funny, yes, but think about it- those Disney princesses are stacked!) and the third time isn’t a charm (knock on wood), my girls will be well-loved and appreciated every moment that they are still a part of my body. As for those whom I love, I aim for them to feel fully appreciated by me every second that they are part of my life. And like our friend who appreciates what she lost from afar, I will appreciate the value of what I lost, from afar.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Get Your Ass Moving and the Soul Will Follow

Man, was my life different last week.

I was feeling pretty meh- trying to adjust to my new body and how different I look, sulking because I couldn't have someone I wanted. Yeah, I'll admit it- I was being kind of bratty. I saw some recent pics and was like, oh no, I was prettier when I was fat. As for the other thing, well, I probably would have shut me down too. Then there was not one, but four suicides of gay teens bullied for their sexuality. I was sad about it but still pretty bratty about the other stuff. My infinitely patient friend Jeffrey told me we were going shopping for clothes that fit, and that that would help my ennui. Someone probably needed to slap some sense into me.

Thursday night I went to see my dear friends in Dear Harvey at Lee Strasberg- I did the first reading so I know the show but was still profoundly touched and so proud of my friends who brought it to life. After the show, I hung out with my friend Vance, who was incredibly upset about the events of that week, and felt so helpless to do anything about it. Vance, I said, we can't undo what's been done but we can sure as shootin' try and prevent it from continuing. I promised him that I would find a way for us to not be helpless. I woke up Friday to a fifth suicide. THAT slapped sense into me. This is a huge problem, I thought. My brain started whirring, as it does, and while chanting I had an idea. The Landslide team could do an It Gets Better video. I immediately started texting- my partner, Kevin, friends with cameras and technical talents- all the while chanting Nam Myoho Renge Kyo, mind you. I started getting responses right away, and that was great but I still felt like there was something I was missing. Then I thought of my sister, Cate--

My youngest sister, Cate, came out this year. She was 19. She told me that the reason she came out was because she wanted to be truthful about who she was, and that she didn't want to miss any more opportunities because she didn't have the balls to tell people who she is and what she wants. I have never been so proud of her. How admirable- how mature. I've got 12 years on her and I struggle with that one. And I thought, that's it. Someone needs to tell these kids that whatever they may hear from their peers or even their families, that there are so many people out there who recognize and admire their courage and that we would be proud to know them. And I was off to the races.

I wrote a loose script, emailed everyone on my contacts list that I thought would amenable to help, and the next day facebooked more people. Kevin and I met the next day with Chris, our exec producer, who, poor guy, learned about ALL of this when he walked into the Coffee Bean. Fortunately, he was on board, they both loved my I'm Proud of You idea, and we all started making calls. All of my hang-ups about asking for help went out the window. I have felt so energized, so happy, and could care less about all the crap I was sulking about before Friday. My friends have come through like gangbusters, volunteering help and making calls. As always, a few disappointments, rejections, but really, any guy who has a problem with gays was not going to make it far with me anyway (he was new so not hurt, but a little stung).

This has lit this crazy fire in me- I am sidestepping insecurities and shyness (yes, I have some) to speak to whomever will listen to me and give me help putting this together. I spent half an hour talking to an famous actress today about the project. I was at the gym, no makeup, ponytail, not smelling my best. Didn't matter- she agreed to participate and make some calls. Best of all, I told Cate about everything last night, and she told me the greatest thing- that she was proud of me. I teared up right in the middle of the 405 freeway. She and her girlfriend are participating in the It Gets Better video!

I have been so gratified by the outpouring of help and support from everywhere- from high school girlfriends in Kansas to my friends and acquaintances here in LA. I was teased and bullied mercilessly as a kid and another reason I thought this was a valid idea was that I know how much it would have meant to me to have a grown-up, let alone several, tell me they were proud of me, who I was and what I could do. I wonder, in giving these kids something I needed so badly and did not get myself, would this proverbial physician heal herself?