so it has been nearly one month since the last post. so much has happened.
i've been back in Los Angeles for more than two months now, working for the Los Angeles Daily News. It has been more than one year since I began chemotherapy. More than one year that Guadalupe and i have dated. Little Harley Rose Leonida is more than a year old now.
Elsewhere, changes abound. there's a female candidate for vice president and a black candidate to be president of the united states. Indymac doesn't exist. more folks have been laid off at the L.A. Times. Bolivia is on the verge of a civil war, again. the achievement played their last show in Riverside. Francisco is on tour with the Santa Cruz River Band. Manny Santana passed away. nearly all my Santa Cruz people have moved on... and on and on.
It hasn't been for lack of material that I haven't written. in fact, there's a plenty that I, as a cancer survivor, should be chronicling. The less glamorous stuff -- like switching insurance, paying more than $400 a month for cobra coverage to cover a blood test I have yet to take, and new life. yes. the feelings within.
I have to admit something.
I haven't told my co-workers that I'm a survivor. It hasn't come up. how could it. But when I arrived to Los Angeles, I was anxious to stop always talking about cancer.
Back in Tucson, there were memories everywhere. Co-workers and friends always asked. I was cool with it, but in some ways it had become a very focal part of my identity. it will always be, but I want some space. i know it will come up again. shoot, I showed a co-worker a photo of me bald. and at a union training this weekend, I know folks will ask.
this want of space all started with the final story for the Star, my farewell, cancer experience piece.
Actually, the moment it all changed was captured on video. You can see my face change.
in the name of journalism, i returned to he clinic and discussed my experience. at one point I climbed into the chair that i started chemotherapy in. I start explaining the experience. then I stumble. repeat the same thing about three times. and start crying.
I went home that night exhausted. the story and experience brought up much that i hadn't allowed myself to feel or reflect upon.
not long after that experience, I made a joke about my cancer. something about one nut or whatever. Guadalupe finally told me it was hard for her to keep hearing crack jokes about my cancer.
i never realized it would upset her. then I thought about my mom, what it was like for her to hear my joke about it.
....wow, I really should've been writing all this earlier. it's a lot to process. i've much to catch up on.
anyway, so the point of today's title: a friend, a pretty young lady from Tucson has been diagnosed with cancer. Not quite sure what yet, but I'll call her tomorrow.
we'll talk one survivor to another.
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2 comments:
John McCain has turned into a professional POW. You don't want to become a professional cancer survivor. I had a friend at the Chronicle who got sober, and AA was a big part of it. He wrote about it and he wrote about it ... and then he quit writing about it. He didn't want to become a professional recovering alcoholic. But he picked his spots, which were always personal, one on one. He said that worked for him. Oh also you must get tired of people telling you *how proud they are of you*. At which you may think: proud of me for not being dead? Yeah, I am.
i am taking an online class. its kinda a process class where i have to talk about feelings and stuff like that....i had not written until tonight....4 weeks late. anyway, as i was writing i realized, shit i have a lot to say, a lot to process....then i looked up your blog to catch up on the blogs you had entered since i last checked. i found this one and was able to relate to your feelings of "needing to process". gracias.
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