One mic. One beat. One stage.
Nas was on the brain, because Jay mentioned that Nas and Mary J. Blige are going to be touring near us. There are myriad reasons why I will be avoiding large public gatherings in the near term, but I did actually see Nas as the closing act of a Rock the Bells concert in NYC in 2007 (?). Completely o/t, but I also saw Mary J. in concert with Jay Z a decade ago and both are a must see if that's your thing.
In any event, this is my stage, right? I value and have always valued transparency. I've had many people tell me I'm brave for telling my story, but if I'm being real here, I have always been a sharer. I LOVE when people ask me questions and want to learn more. It's no different than me typing all of my questions into Google and relying on internet strangers and Dr. Google to answer my deepest, most awkward questions about life or, more recently, the diagnosis.
Today I called the head of our admin staff to ask about getting a printer at home, to make my work from home life a little easier. I opened the call by telling her about the diagnosis, and had continued talking like we were just going to breeze over that part and get to the heart of the call. But oh no! She jumped in, skipped right over the pity, and went right to her line of questions AND I LOVED IT. Let's do this!
Are they doing chemo first to shrink the tumors before surgery?
How do you know what kind of surgery you'll have?
Will you have just the tumors removed, or mastectomy?
How many rounds do you have to do?
Did you find it through regular scans?
Did you have any symptoms?
At that point she asked if she was asking too many questions. "No!" I said. "I'm an open book." I know that sounds scary to so many people, particularly as women, particularly as people of color, and particularly in Corporate America where we feel we will be judged for sharing, or feeling, or quite simply being.
Not here, folks. I am all about the sharing. Primarily, I share because this was detected because I listened to my body's signs. I don't even mean just the cyst. I'll share more about that later. But people should know that we cannot leave matters of the body to machines and chance and a pipe dream. We need to of course have our regularly scheduled exams, but if it isn't time for that yet (*ahem*), we need to be in tune with our bodies and know that this stuff can happen no matter what your diet or family history or breastfeeding history is.
Okay, and selfishly, I'm about this transparency because I will not be providing the level of service that my clients are accustomed to. I need people to know that it took me two days to respond to their question because I'm dealing with some really heavy stuff, and not because I just can't handle my work load. You know?
I bring my authentic self to work. And home. And online. And to the grocery store. Everywhere.
My kids were having a tough time marrying the information I shared, about the "sickness" or "cancer" in my body, with my physical appearance. They had a hard time believing that one could be "sick" and not look sick. They became very cautious around me once I came home from that first treatment. Now I actually looked sick, and I think they were concerned about getting me sick. Or maybe even a little concerned about catching the sickness from me? It's been tough.
I have always been very hands on and attachment-esque with my kids. They sleep next to me most nights, and suddenly were not. I had bandages. I was in bed more often. I looked (okay, look) pale. James was asking to sleep with my mom, I think out of fear of hurting me. Vivian has been taking nightly baths with me, and I always catch her staring cautiously at my breasts. Yesterday I randomly scratched my shoulder and she said "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" And then she told me last night that her "boobie hurt really bad" and she chastised me for taking my bandages off, exclaiming with both hands that I'm "not posed to take the bam-baid off." One night lying in bed, James asked me, "Mama? Besides your sore boob, are you still fine?"
My sweet, empathetic, sensitive kids. While I know this is so confusing for them, I feel so grateful that we have created a platform (called home) where they feel open enough to express their inner monologues. If they are going to process this, I am happy that they are processing out loud, even if I don't have all the answers for them.
All I have is one mic. one beat. one stage.
In any event, this is my stage, right? I value and have always valued transparency. I've had many people tell me I'm brave for telling my story, but if I'm being real here, I have always been a sharer. I LOVE when people ask me questions and want to learn more. It's no different than me typing all of my questions into Google and relying on internet strangers and Dr. Google to answer my deepest, most awkward questions about life or, more recently, the diagnosis.
Today I called the head of our admin staff to ask about getting a printer at home, to make my work from home life a little easier. I opened the call by telling her about the diagnosis, and had continued talking like we were just going to breeze over that part and get to the heart of the call. But oh no! She jumped in, skipped right over the pity, and went right to her line of questions AND I LOVED IT. Let's do this!
Are they doing chemo first to shrink the tumors before surgery?
How do you know what kind of surgery you'll have?
Will you have just the tumors removed, or mastectomy?
How many rounds do you have to do?
Did you find it through regular scans?
Did you have any symptoms?
At that point she asked if she was asking too many questions. "No!" I said. "I'm an open book." I know that sounds scary to so many people, particularly as women, particularly as people of color, and particularly in Corporate America where we feel we will be judged for sharing, or feeling, or quite simply being.
Not here, folks. I am all about the sharing. Primarily, I share because this was detected because I listened to my body's signs. I don't even mean just the cyst. I'll share more about that later. But people should know that we cannot leave matters of the body to machines and chance and a pipe dream. We need to of course have our regularly scheduled exams, but if it isn't time for that yet (*ahem*), we need to be in tune with our bodies and know that this stuff can happen no matter what your diet or family history or breastfeeding history is.
Okay, and selfishly, I'm about this transparency because I will not be providing the level of service that my clients are accustomed to. I need people to know that it took me two days to respond to their question because I'm dealing with some really heavy stuff, and not because I just can't handle my work load. You know?
I bring my authentic self to work. And home. And online. And to the grocery store. Everywhere.
My kids were having a tough time marrying the information I shared, about the "sickness" or "cancer" in my body, with my physical appearance. They had a hard time believing that one could be "sick" and not look sick. They became very cautious around me once I came home from that first treatment. Now I actually looked sick, and I think they were concerned about getting me sick. Or maybe even a little concerned about catching the sickness from me? It's been tough.
I have always been very hands on and attachment-esque with my kids. They sleep next to me most nights, and suddenly were not. I had bandages. I was in bed more often. I looked (okay, look) pale. James was asking to sleep with my mom, I think out of fear of hurting me. Vivian has been taking nightly baths with me, and I always catch her staring cautiously at my breasts. Yesterday I randomly scratched my shoulder and she said "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" And then she told me last night that her "boobie hurt really bad" and she chastised me for taking my bandages off, exclaiming with both hands that I'm "not posed to take the bam-baid off." One night lying in bed, James asked me, "Mama? Besides your sore boob, are you still fine?"
My sweet, empathetic, sensitive kids. While I know this is so confusing for them, I feel so grateful that we have created a platform (called home) where they feel open enough to express their inner monologues. If they are going to process this, I am happy that they are processing out loud, even if I don't have all the answers for them.
All I have is one mic. one beat. one stage.
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