all of this is scary and unsettling...

I tend to write my blog posts late at night... when the hot flashes are making me miserable and I have been mentally reviewing my day before sleep.

If someone had told me a year ago that this would be my journey, I don't think I would have believed that I would make it through to the end. Unlike a lot of other women, I do not consider myself a "strong black woman". That's not to say that I think I'm weak or spineless... (though I don't think that weakness is a sin) but that I don't like to shoulder the baggage that I see in the phrase "strong black woman".

I think its a set-up. I think its a way for us to remain the burden carriers (and pack-mules) for the world. I believe that it started as an affirmation that reflected the truth that although we endured many things for many generations, we have managed to survive because we bend but don't break. However, I think that it has become overused, stretched and twisted so much that it no longer affirms us, but shackles us to these unbelievable caricatures of what femininity, black culture and just life in general are supposed to be.

I am sometimes strong. But I'm also very fragile. I can stand my ground, but sometimes I sway. Basically, I'm human - like every other woman on the planet. Ever notice how women of other cultures are described? The terms usually convey a softness and a vulnerability that isn't ascribed to sisters. I know that I am vulnerable and soft. Sometimes I'm thin-skinned and too sensitive. I cry at the drop of dime when I'm stressed out and I hate feeling like a failure.

But when you tell people that, or they see you in those moments... its as though you're becoming something other than what you are. They become confused and disturbed and then try to remind you that...

You're a STRONG BLACK WOMAN... why are you crying? why are you sad? why are you tired? why are you cranky? why do you shout? why are you bitter? why are you angry? seemingly at the world?

Because I am a woman. Period. And sometimes I cry.

Since my diagnosis, I have learned of more than a couple of women who have also been diagnosed with breast cancer or other types of cancer. And for all of them, I weep and I pray. I whisper your names when you come to mind because I want the Lord to know that my heart weeps with yours as you struggle to find your way through this wilderness.

I will tell you like other women told me... you will come through this. And you are more than entitled to weep, to shout, to laugh, to scream, to do whatever your heart tells you to do to keep you going. But what's amazing... is that you didn't have to get cancer to do that.

Don't let anyone bully you into accepting a banner of "super-woman" unless you want to wear it. I shrugged mine off years ago when depression put its foot on my neck. And I've refused to put that cape on again. But that's me. It may not be you.

Today has been a day where the absence of my breast has been deeply felt. My skin is so doggone tender and sore that I find myself unconsciously holding my arm across that area when I lay down. And when I'm walking around the house, I find myself cupping the area with my hand. It sort of eases some of the pain and the heat that is concentrated there. The doctor looked at my peeling skin today and said it was normal. She said that my skin was holding up extremely well actually. That normally by this part of the treatment, many patients find their skin in the entire area bubbling and blistering. Instead of one quarter-sized area like me.

I cannot imagine how painful and scary that is. I am freaked out by my progress right now and I am wondering how much worse it will become before it returns to normal. The nurse gave me some sort of gel to put on my skin and some bandages to cover the blistering area and the area on my chest that is the most tender. When I change the bandages and apply more gel -- it feels great for about 3 minutes and then it is more tolerable for about 1 hour. After that... back to throbbing, hot pain.

sigh...


I just watched a really wack movie... "diary of a tired black man". It is supposed to be the black male version of waiting to exhale. It was some foolishness to me but then, I'm not a tired black man. I watched it because I've been hearing about it for awhile and I want to host a discussion event around it. I mention the movie because the filmmaker asked the question "what is a strong black woman"? And even though I watched in my bedroom alone, I had to restrain myself from talking to my television screen.

THERE IS NO SUCH THING. She's a myth like superman.


This is my "stuff" and it might not be yours but it really makes me cringe to hear someone say those words about me. Maybe I'm taking it too literally. And maybe its just fine. But it bothers me.

If a man or woman says "Nicole, you're a strong woman" or "I couldn't be as strong as you"... they are taking something very powerful from me as they are giving me something they think is more powerful.

My vulnerability.

Being vulnerable, being human... is beautiful. And it is feminine. I don't want the mythology of what a black woman "should be" to take away from who and what I am as a black woman. I'm a young black woman with cancer. And even though the paperwork says that I am cancer-free -- I will be fighting this battle for the rest of my life. That's heavy enough. I don't need the extra weight of being super-woman on top of that.

Look, the truth is... I am tired and scared. And if I could give up on these treatments and be fine, I probably would. I'm scared everyday and most of the night (haha) and if I could do anything to make this different, I would. But I can't. Several really smart doctors told me that those tumors would eventually kill me and make my life miserable if I did not take care of them. I decided that I wasn't quite ready to die and that when it did happen, I definitely didn't want it to be painful and long-lasting so I decided to go through the treatments that would save my life.

And while I've complained, whined and cried every step of the way -- I did what I had to do. Nothing more. Nothing spectacular. Nothing that any of you would not do if faced with the same or similar news.



I'm really sad about the relationship that ended this week. That person meant a great deal to me and its going to be tough getting used to the absence. More vulnerability. (shrug) But what can you do? You can't force someone to cope with something that is too much for them, or that they choose not to deal with. I can't say that I've been the best company or the best friend these past few months... my focus has been on myself. And while I have been told repeatedly by doctors, nurses, friends and family that its okay to focus on me -- it is still difficult to accept that someone you loved couldn't handle that when it came down to the day to day "stuff" of dealing with a friend with cancer. I suspect it will be hard to accept for some time.


For everyone who has gathered some strength (and some giggles I hope) from my postings... believe me when I tell you that your story will do the same for someone else. I don't intend to diminish what I've been through and what I have left to go through. Not at all. This is tough stuff. Its ugly and harsh and my heart has been broken so deeply that I believe it will be a long recovery in that area. But I'm sure that I will recover and I'm sure I will be okay. Its just going to take some time to get used to the new me and my new normal.



One night, many months from now... I'll have two breasts (perky ones too), a flatter tummy, longer hair, clear shiny nails, no prickly feeling in my hands and feet... no hot flashes... and I'll look back and probably think that this season wasn't that bad. Time puts a veneer on things that seems to take away some of the sting and pain that was felt in the moment. Right now, I know it is hard but not impossible. Its tough but I can handle it. Its just where my life is right now.

...and I hope that eventually I can truly make peace with all of this. Right now, I waver between feeling cursed and feeling blessed. And I haven't pushed beyond that yet. Maybe one day I will.

I have to tell you, I'm very grateful for my radiation "buddy" Irene. Most of you who know me personally, know that whatever I'm feeling or thinking shows up on my face. I don't play poker for that reason. (ha ha!) Irene has only known me during this last portion of the journey... but she knows when I need a hug and never fails to give me just the right amount of touch to make feel better. My family is not very demonstrative with hugs and such. And typically, neither am I. But sometimes my heart gets so very heavy and its all I can do to just hold the tears behind my eyeballs... and like clockwork Irene comes around with a hug that reminds me that I am here. I am human. And I'm not alone. I'm really not alone.