On faith, blood, and being completely overwhelmed

I just got home from a fancy black tie event at the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts in Washington, DC. I've only been to the Kennedy Center a few times in my life but it is one of the premier event venues in the world. Artists and entertainers from around the globe look forward to participating in shows here. Going to the Kennedy Center for an event is a hugely big deal. When I received my invitation from the Susan G. Komen Foundation to attend the gala this evening, I was overwhelmed and excited. Of course, I would accept the invitation and I was sure that I would have a fantastic time with my date. Although, when I accepted, I didn't have a date in mind. (One of those things that happens when you don't have a boyfriend) Well, after asking a few friends and even my mother... it became painfully obvious that while I was excited about going to the Kennedy Center... I was alone in that excitement and I would be alone on the night of the event. I do a lot of things alone so, it didn't bother me too much. A little... but not a lot.

So, fast forward to the day before the event. I am feeling horrible. I'm flush, not exactly feverish but warmer than normal. I'm crampy. I'm cranky. I'm feeling just yucky. And then... out of the blue... my on again, off again... show up whenever it wants to menstrual cycle decided to make an appearance. That was a bummer. Since my treatment ended and after a 2 year hiatus, my menstrual cycle now is not like my menstrual cycle was before cancer. Before cancer, I was a 3 day girl...light to medium flow. My world didn't really stop when my cycle came on the scene. Now?? I feel like that little girl in the Exorcist. My body doesn't feel like it belongs to me. My head hurts, my back hurts, my stomach hurts. I'm nauseous and tired and achy all over. It is horrible. But the worst part of it all is that my flow is scary now. I am constantly slightly light-headed from the amount of blood that I lose during these horrible days (sometimes weeks) of my new crazy cycle. I used to hear horror stories about women who would lose so much blood during their cycles that they would be rendered useless during that period of time. (no pun intended) So now that it is my turn to experience this type of hell... I tend to simply remain still and quiet and just stick close to home. But... I felt an odd sense of obligation to attend this event even though I didn't want to go alone. I didn't want to wear the dress or the shoes that I had and I just didn't feel well. I went anyway.

The event was lovely. I ended up talking to two very important people who made me realize that there was an issue why this woman with an issue of blood pressed her way to this event. The first person I saw who was critical for me to talk to was a fellow pink ribbon survivor and blogger, Stef Woods. http://citygirlblogs.com/blog  If you don't follow Stef, please do because she totally rocks! Stef wanted to discuss some new initiatives that she's interested in pursuing regarding women of color and breast cancer. So of course, I was all in. I mentioned to her how overwhelming the evening had been, how I didn't want to come and I was ready to go until I saw her and then *click!* just like that, I realized why I was there. I prepared to go home after she and I finished talking because I felt that I must have accomplished my mission and my cramps were so hard that I felt faint. A few moments later the lovely lady who had been sitting to my left very quietly, introduced herself and we began chatting. Turns out... she was the Deputy Ambassador to Ghana and a dedicated fundraiser for Komen Foundation. (smile) I breathed a prayer to God in thanks for this connection to Africa because my heart has been so drawn to that continent for so long that I knew sitting beside her was not luck or good fortune but a sincere blessing. She and I also shared a laugh about how much we didn't want to be out tonight -- it was cold and rainy and our beds really were calling to us but we both felt a compulsion and an obligation to show up and to represent for the millions of women and men who suffer because of this disease.

Imagine the horror I felt when I stood up to leave -- fancy shoes in hand, comfy ballet slippers on feet -- and I look down at my chair and realize that my friend was wrecking havoc and I was bleeding profusely. I excused myself to the ladies room, fleeing with my purse and my shoes in my hand. Thankfully, the bathroom was empty when I got there and I went to the farthest stall and sobbed. I was in pain. My cramps were horrible, I was bleeding everywhere and all I wanted was to get out of that very beautiful, very fancy event and go home. It was just before 11pm. I called my cousin and wept and cried because she would understand. I fix myself up, gather as much of a smile as I could and proceeded to leave. As I stood outside, I was thankful that the Kennedy Center is such a fancy place that they have a standing taxi line and I wouldn't be subject to flagging a cab on a corner in an otherwise very quiet part of the city.

Even though I sometimes feel like a fancy girl... trying to hail a cab in DC after dark is a great reminder that all things are not equal and racism is real. Cab drivers in this city do not like to pick up black people. Especially black people who live beyond the borders of the "acceptable areas" in the city. I am a black people who doesn't live in the city at all. I live outside of the city in the suburbs and its a nice ride from downtown DC. Ten to twelve minutes in the freezing cold and rain, I've been struggling to stand on my feet, to hold back tears, to not curse out the 2 inconsiderate women who butted in front of me in line to talk to their friend with not so much as a backwards glance to acknowledge my pretty brown face. *shrug*  I'm used to it and yet, the sense of entitlement still makes me pissy and angry. But, my "issue of blood" was a far more pressing issue than the rudeness of two 20-somethings who acted as though just being at an invitation only event by one of the most prestigious charities was a privilege that perhaps only they should have been able to experience.

Finally, it is my turn to get in a cab. I tell the driver where I'm going, he simply continues on his phone call. When he hangs up, I tell him again where I need to go and the best and fastest way to get there. I ask him whether he accepts credit cards and he says no. I ask if he would mind stopping at an ATM on the way so that I can have enough cash to pay him. He says sure. Less than 10 minutes later, he stops in front of a Citibank and I slide across the seat to exit and run into the bank to get the cash I need. My mind is preoccupied and I leave my shoes and my purse on the seat, while I grab my phone and my wallet. Two minutes later -- because the machines were down and I couldn't get cash at that moment -- I step out the door and he's gone. He's gone. HE'S GONE!! I scan the street, I don't see him. I tell myself that perhaps he had to move around the corner so as not to hold up traffic -- yes, it is 11:15pm in a business area but I'm grasping at straws. But... he's gone. Nowhere to be seen.

My knees buckle just as the rain starts to fall. I'm tired. I'm alone. I'm in pain. And now... I have no keys, no ID, no fancy shoes and no purse -- which means that my issue is about to become a huge problem. So, the tears fall. And fall... and fall. After several attempts (read -- 20 minutes on hold), I finally get through to the cab company to report that one of their drivers had stolen my purse. Yes, stolen. Because there was no reason for this man to take off and leave me. I was not belligerent. I was not rude. If he did not want to take me to my home, all he had to do was say so and I would have gladly gotten out of his vehicle and gone my own way. But he said nothing and he left a fare -- which is against DC law -- stranded. After freaking out with the stupid guy at the cab company, it is now 45 minutes later and I'm cold and scared and still alone.. but I still feel awful and weak and lightheaded because my issue of blood has about another 20-30 minutes before I'm going to have a problem. Again. I can't think straight so I call my cousin. I try to call a girlfriend who is better versed in DC cab-ology but she's asleep. I call a friend who is working in the area because after flagging down 10 cabs... I realize that fur coat or not, diamonds earrings and all, gorgeous gold and pearl necklace be damned... at the end of the day... I am a bald-headed black woman who lives beyond the boundaries of the "acceptable" areas of the DC metro area. No one wants to take me home. I have money to pay. They don't care. When they stop... which is about every 5th cab, they don't want to take me where I need to go. I call my friend and he's working and not due to get off until 1:00am. That would be 2 hours after I left the event. I am cold. I am cramping and I'm about to have an issue... with my issue of blood. *Once again, breast cancer is the gift that just keeps on freaking giving!*

I call my father and he agrees to pick me up. It takes him an hour to get to me. I've now been crying, praying, rocking... and running in and out of the bank's ATM area trying to flag down other cabs from the same company when I can... for two hours. I'm mad. I'm sad. I'm pleading with God to just touch that man's heart and have him respond to the request to return my things. None of the above work. My feet are soaking wet because the little ballet shoes that I packed in my purse were canvas... and it rained tonight. Cold feet. Cold hands. No purse. No shoes. And no way to get home.

What a wonderful night. I feel very grateful that I was invited to attend this obviously big deal event. But I'm pretty sure that I won't be going ever again. So, let's count up the costs of the evening:

Spent: $30 to get to the Kennedy Center from my home.

Lost:  one vintage leather clutch given to me by my mother (cost: priceless)

Lost:  one passport

Lost: One pair of too cute Betsey Johnson silk dress pumps

Lost: one set of house keys

Lost: one extra cellphone charger

Lost: one pair of pink ear buds

Lost: *deep sigh* All of my Bobbi Brown makeup and Nars lip glosses (yes, I carry my makeup with me in case I need to reapply)

Lost: (and probably gone for a long time) My faith in accepting that people have compassion at all

Gained: A reconnection with a totally awesome pink ribbon sister

Gained: one more beautiful event at the gorgeous John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts

Gained: a wonderful connection to a very nice lady from Ghana -- a place I have wanted to visit for many years.

I think that before I go to sleep -- and I see percocet in my future -- I will pray for God to soften my heart because right now... I'm pretty much feeling like... pink ribbons be damned, this Pinktober has been on my last good nerve for the past 28 days and I cannot wait for November 1st to get here. I'm done with all this foolishness around pink ribbons while we skip over the hard parts about this wretched disease. I'm sick of being nice. I'm tired of smiling when I want to cry. I'm mad as hell that there isn't a cure. I'm disgusted at the disparities in treatment for minorities, research for minorities and I'm tired that people don't get it. Sitting at a table with people who were more excited to snap pictures in their pretty dresses and tuxedos because they were just happy to be someplace that "just anybody" couldn't get invited to was just about more than I could bear.

IT'S NOT ABOUT THAT! Its not. Its not. It is not about that.

I believe that if I have faith the size of a mustard seed that I can move a mountain. Right now... that's all that I have. Mustard seed faith. Faith that I will be restored with my things. Faith that people will start to wake up and realize that this disease is so much more than pink ribbons. Faith that people will have compassion simply because what they do affects other people. But I don't have a lot of faith right now. I have it... its just not abundant and overflowing. But the mountain that I am believing will be moved is the belief that showing up to a society event with celebrities makes you a change agent. I am going to pray for a softening of my heart and an increase in my faith.

And I will be calling the Yellow Cab company of DC a whole bunch of times this weekend... hoping to find my stuff because I simply cannot afford to replace what I've lost. I just can't do it right now. And I need my ID because I have to get on a plane in about 10 days. To follow my dream which will allow me to continue to be a change agent in this struggle against this wretched disease. Please pray with and for me.