I’m a poet. I am a writer. I am a woman with metastatic breast cancer. Like me prior to March of 2015: Incurable and alive. My life prior to diagnosis at stage IV consisted of the wobbly first steps of my life’s spiritual journey. I do not believe cancer is a “gift” or a “war.” It is not a choice I made nor a karmic wheel pinning me down. It’s an epidemic and I am 1:3 women who have or will become diagnosed with this shit. It’s incumbent on me to share of myself with anyone who cares to take a peak at the moments in my life by modality of essay, poem, rant, and above all love.  I give gratitude and positive stadium waves to you for your support, including those who remain strangers and those who become friends.

Currently I live in the Bay Area of Northern California with my partner of 10 years and my cat-son, Simon. This, my words, my blog, my life log – take what you need, come back and visit, and leave a message I will return your call as soon as I can.

5 thoughts on “About (but not about) me.

    1. I agree! There’s a recursiveness to curative powers of writing. I write to heal, the act writing and the act of sharing to gain insight and perhaps provide some, too. “Et maintenant voici mon secret, un secret très simple: ce n’est qu’avec le cœur que l’on peut voir correctement; ce qui est essentiel est invisible pour les yeux.”
      Saint-Exupery
      Here, for what it’s worth, a short, internally combusted poem inspired by your comment…

      The Little Prince
      Fiction as a hobby, such a sweet waste of hours
      Yet I’m minute poor these days to pay even a poets dowery.
      When feeling existentially incomplete.
      Some may say, “you’re depressed!”
      Down where the saddest of enemies scars
      Pointing weaponry dead centered on target souls.
      For I hold (hopeless) hope like a balloon in a child’s fist
      Tightly gripping at the string until the
      Helium leaves a wilted flower in my wilted wrist.
      The differences between disease of body and of mind are
      Merely words, semantic games, and the doctors who define
      The nature of the sickness and the cause of our infirmities
      May be a chill leading to hypothermia
      Of ones essence or their extremities.
      So the little fox chases me until the moon
      Becomes the rise in me and the ascension of the fool.

  1. “Hang tough, I’m here for you! ” is what i always said to my wife during her StgII H2Nu treatments…

    It’s been one year, 3 months and 17 DAZE since Her last treatment. 2-6mos checkups down 22 more to meet!

    IT will never be the same…. CrAzY good times

    1. Life changes daily even without cancer, and you take care of yourself, too. It’s not selfish but in fact necessary for all caregivers not to lose their minds. I’m just a few lines in the ether away from lending an ear or a to assist in finding resources. This is not a lame half hearted offer, but a real one. Thank you for your comment and I hope you’ll follow along, too.

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