If you decide someday to stop this little game that you are playin'
I'm gonna tell you all that my heart's been a-dyin' to be sayin'
Just like a ghost, you've been a-hauntin' my dreams
So I'll propose... on Halloween.
Baby, love is kinda crazy with a spooky little girl like you
Ah, spooky, yeah-uh!
"Spooky" (the Atlanta Rhythym Section version)
My mental health has been the topic of much discussion of late. Understandably, everyone has been very concerned about me since Chynna left us (I really cannot bring myself to actually say that she died - it is just so harsh, like a mouthful of sand that you just can't spit out completely. I prefer to say that she just left - much softer and twice as sweet rolling off the tongue, don't you think? Recently, though, someone that I did not know overheard that statement and asked me if she had gone missing.....and I felt awful! For clarification, if you don't know me....my daughter passed away. She is not missing....but I miss her). I have also been worried about my own mental health at various points along the way of this journey. I'm fine. It's all good. I'm not developing multiple personalities. I'm not going to turn out like Sharon on "The Young and the Restless", bumbling around town stealing the likes of random families' pictures and Victor's prized egg. But.....if I were to have a multiple personality disorder....I wonder which personalities would surface? Hmmm.....
The obvious choice would be an intensely Southern character. Let's call her "Pearl" (my great-grandmother had a thing for baubles, hence the names of my great-aunts Jewel and Opal). Pearl would say all the things that I really want to say but just can't force out. She would smoke...and drink whisky...and never wear shoes (If you are a member of my family, you will immediately recognize Aunt Johnnie's influence). Pearl, in my mind's eye, would dress like a western harlot circa 1875. Remember the Diane Lane character of "Laurie Darlin" in "Lonesome Dove"? Pearl will tell you exactly where you stand. Pearl does not mince words. Pearl cusses like a sailor. Pearl wins bar fights. Pearl can take care of herself. She lives alone, probably in a cabin she built with her own two hands. She does not ride her horse side-saddle. Pearl does not need a man...but all the men want her. Her favorite saying? "Hey ya'll....ya'll seen that Marshall anywhar?"
The next persona I think could emerge from my psyche is a bit more dramatic. I'm not very mysterious....but I wanna be. Mysterious, however, rides a fine line with its neighbor reclusive. Think of the Baldwin sisters from "The Waltons" with a little bit of Big AND Little Edie thrown in for flavor. Maybe Marie Laveau meets the crazy aunts in "Practical Magic"? Her name is definitely "Epiphany" (did anyone see Angel Heart?) I would be scarier than any urban legend. Small children would dare each other to ring my doorbell. I would be accused of casting a spell in times of economic depression...I would be thought the responsible party for the swine flu, drought, pestilence, you name it! No one would dare cross my path. Yet with every test that someone needed to pass, with every cheating husband, even to catch the eye of an unrequited love....they'd be knocking on my door. My motto? "Oh what a tangled web I weave!"
Finally, I can definitely identify with this enigma.....the damsel in distress! Meet the last character in the trilogy of my disorder, "Hope" (extremely virtuous but "hoping" she gets her way). Equal parts dumb girl in scary movie that runs toward the monster and Penelope Pitstop with a dash of Scarlett herself, I really mean well, but I just keep getting in these horrible predicaments! I can't help it. And, neither can you, handsome hero who wants to hate me but winds up risking life and limb over and over to ride your white horse to my rescue. I am the ultimate Disney princess and the original, authentic conniving b*&#h all rolled into one! Definitely smart enough figure my way out of any jam, why should I when you're there to save me from myself? My mantra? Gotta be the classic "HAYelp! HAYelp may!"
Don't worry, I feel pretty certain I can keep my demons at bay. Everyone relax. Still, one never knows! I may be calling you if I'm cornered by one of those "mane ol' naasteh snaykes" in the park. If you talk about me behind my back and happen to come down with a sudden onset of pustular adult acne...hmmmm? I really don't like whisky, though. Can western heroines drink Merlot instead?
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Forney Living Magazine Submission
Recently, I was invited to write an article about our charity and corresponding fund-raising event for Forney Living magazine's May/June issue. This is the rough draft. The final version I submitted was about 1/2 this length, but will be condensed further by their editor, I'm sure. Enjoy!
Being a parent isn’t easy. Being the parent of teenagers definitely isn’t easy. When your baby is already sixteen, though, and your world revolves around picking a college, or a prom dress, or even a class ring, the last thing on your mind are birth defects, right? Obviously, if your children are seemingly healthy and they’ve thrived this far, you’ve pretty much made it to the finish line. Isn’t that what you’d think? It’s what we thought, until our sixteen year old daughter, our baby, died of a congenital heart defect three weeks before her seventeenth birthday. We’d like to introduce you to our daughter, Chynna, a spunky, outspoken, audacious young woman, who sadly, was taken from us too soon.
Chynna Nicole Zmolik was a junior at Forney High School. Forney ISD is the only school system she’d ever known. Her friends were the same friends she’d had since kindergarten, or before. She was a lifelong dancer. She was the incoming FHS Jackrabbit mascot. Unbeknownst to her family, her teachers, and even her doctors, she harbored a dark secret. Chynna was born with a Coarctation of the Aorta. Coarctations are normally caught upon birth, if not in utero. Chynna’s Coarctation, doctors now surmise, was most likely a very minor defect at birth, allowing it to go undetected. As Chynna grew, however, so did her birth defect. But, by the time she began to show slight indications, around the age of 15, her symptoms of lightheadedness, shortness of breath, and headaches on the top of her head, were misdiagnosed as various other ailments. Again, you don’t think of a birth defect when your teenage child is studying for finals and gets a headache….or when your dancer is dancing during allergy season and has a little shortness of breath. Parent’s often say that they have a sixth sense about their child’s well being, as in a moment of ESP when their child is in a car accident. Apparently, when they handed out the ESP, we were absent that day. We were oblivious that anything could possibly be wrong with our daughter.
Chynna was diagnosed with a Coarctation of the Aorta on March 28, 2008. The only way to repair a Coarctation is through surgery. In Chynna’s case, this meant open heart surgery. The damage to her aorta was more severe than expected, and sadly, Chynna died as a result of complications of that surgery on April 12, 2008, only fifteen days after her diagnosis. She is no longer here to dance, or cheer, or audition for the play this year, or even to graduate this May. We feel, though, that a spirit as dynamic as Chynna still has many things to offer this world. As parents devastated by the loss of a child, our first emotion was to protect other parents from this fate. After all, if it could happen to us, it could happen to absolutely anyone. We want to save other parents from the horror of losing a child in this manner. You hear about these kids every year. They fall down on the track. They fall down on the basketball court. They fall down during two-a-day football practice. Maybe, like Chynna, they fall down in front of their boyfriends in English class. They usually don’t get back up again. It is discovered that they had a heart condition, some sort of genetic abnormality they were born with, that had gone undetected. Meet the new face of congenital heart defects. This is Chynna: young, talented, smart, vivacious….and seriously ill. Our child was not able to overcome this dire diagnosis, but we are convinced that we can have an impact on other children with congenital heart defects, especially older children/young adults who remain undiagnosed or misdiagnosed.
In November of 2008, Chynna’s Helping Heart, a 501 (c)(3) public charity, was created for the sole purpose of education and awareness pertaining to all congenital heart defects. Our goal is very simple. We just want to tell our story to as many parents as possible. We want to work with medical professionals to develop better information regarding warning signs and symptoms for older children. We want to explore testing options and find out what diagnostic tools works best, so parents can understand the questions they should be asking on behalf of their children. We want parents to know that they are the best health advocates for their children, from birth to adulthood and beyond. This is very much a grass roots effort that any parent can join. We will help to find out what the right questions are, so parents can get the right answers. Recently, Chynna’s Helping Heart held its first fundraiser at Forney High School, Chynna’s Slice of Life, a hometown pizza party extravaganza where the entire community came together in celebration of a young life taken too soon, and to support our quest to prevent this from happening to other children. We were amazed and in awe at the amount of support Forney, TX has to offer our organization. We have a story to tell about one child affected by a congenital heart defect. With your help, we will tell the stories of many children. With your help, we will make a difference. Our motto is this: Help us change the world, one informed parent at a time.
For more information, go to www.chynnashelpingheart.org .
Being a parent isn’t easy. Being the parent of teenagers definitely isn’t easy. When your baby is already sixteen, though, and your world revolves around picking a college, or a prom dress, or even a class ring, the last thing on your mind are birth defects, right? Obviously, if your children are seemingly healthy and they’ve thrived this far, you’ve pretty much made it to the finish line. Isn’t that what you’d think? It’s what we thought, until our sixteen year old daughter, our baby, died of a congenital heart defect three weeks before her seventeenth birthday. We’d like to introduce you to our daughter, Chynna, a spunky, outspoken, audacious young woman, who sadly, was taken from us too soon.
Chynna Nicole Zmolik was a junior at Forney High School. Forney ISD is the only school system she’d ever known. Her friends were the same friends she’d had since kindergarten, or before. She was a lifelong dancer. She was the incoming FHS Jackrabbit mascot. Unbeknownst to her family, her teachers, and even her doctors, she harbored a dark secret. Chynna was born with a Coarctation of the Aorta. Coarctations are normally caught upon birth, if not in utero. Chynna’s Coarctation, doctors now surmise, was most likely a very minor defect at birth, allowing it to go undetected. As Chynna grew, however, so did her birth defect. But, by the time she began to show slight indications, around the age of 15, her symptoms of lightheadedness, shortness of breath, and headaches on the top of her head, were misdiagnosed as various other ailments. Again, you don’t think of a birth defect when your teenage child is studying for finals and gets a headache….or when your dancer is dancing during allergy season and has a little shortness of breath. Parent’s often say that they have a sixth sense about their child’s well being, as in a moment of ESP when their child is in a car accident. Apparently, when they handed out the ESP, we were absent that day. We were oblivious that anything could possibly be wrong with our daughter.
Chynna was diagnosed with a Coarctation of the Aorta on March 28, 2008. The only way to repair a Coarctation is through surgery. In Chynna’s case, this meant open heart surgery. The damage to her aorta was more severe than expected, and sadly, Chynna died as a result of complications of that surgery on April 12, 2008, only fifteen days after her diagnosis. She is no longer here to dance, or cheer, or audition for the play this year, or even to graduate this May. We feel, though, that a spirit as dynamic as Chynna still has many things to offer this world. As parents devastated by the loss of a child, our first emotion was to protect other parents from this fate. After all, if it could happen to us, it could happen to absolutely anyone. We want to save other parents from the horror of losing a child in this manner. You hear about these kids every year. They fall down on the track. They fall down on the basketball court. They fall down during two-a-day football practice. Maybe, like Chynna, they fall down in front of their boyfriends in English class. They usually don’t get back up again. It is discovered that they had a heart condition, some sort of genetic abnormality they were born with, that had gone undetected. Meet the new face of congenital heart defects. This is Chynna: young, talented, smart, vivacious….and seriously ill. Our child was not able to overcome this dire diagnosis, but we are convinced that we can have an impact on other children with congenital heart defects, especially older children/young adults who remain undiagnosed or misdiagnosed.
In November of 2008, Chynna’s Helping Heart, a 501 (c)(3) public charity, was created for the sole purpose of education and awareness pertaining to all congenital heart defects. Our goal is very simple. We just want to tell our story to as many parents as possible. We want to work with medical professionals to develop better information regarding warning signs and symptoms for older children. We want to explore testing options and find out what diagnostic tools works best, so parents can understand the questions they should be asking on behalf of their children. We want parents to know that they are the best health advocates for their children, from birth to adulthood and beyond. This is very much a grass roots effort that any parent can join. We will help to find out what the right questions are, so parents can get the right answers. Recently, Chynna’s Helping Heart held its first fundraiser at Forney High School, Chynna’s Slice of Life, a hometown pizza party extravaganza where the entire community came together in celebration of a young life taken too soon, and to support our quest to prevent this from happening to other children. We were amazed and in awe at the amount of support Forney, TX has to offer our organization. We have a story to tell about one child affected by a congenital heart defect. With your help, we will tell the stories of many children. With your help, we will make a difference. Our motto is this: Help us change the world, one informed parent at a time.
For more information, go to www.chynnashelpingheart.org .
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Local Gypsy Sought in Park Scare - More at 10pm
Let's Get it started, in here...
And the bass keep runnin', runnin'
And runnin', runnin'
And runnin', runnin'
And runnin', runnin'
And runnin', runnin'
And runnin', runnin'
And runnin', runnin'
And runnin', runnin' and...
In this context, there's no disrespect- So, when I bust my rhyme, you break your necks
We got five minutes for us to disconnect- From all intellect like the rhythm effect
To lose your inhibition -Follow your intuition
Free your inner soul and break away from tradition
'Cause when we beat out, girl, it's pullin' without
You wouldn't believe how we wow s*&t out
Burn it 'til it's burned out -Turn it 'til it's turned out
Actin' up from north, west, east, south
Everybody, everybody, let's get into it
Get stupid
Get it started,
get it started,
get it started
let's get it started in here -Yeah
"Let's Get it Started" The Black Eyed Peas
Yes, the runner. That's me! I want to be a runner. Not a walker. Not a jogger. I want to be a runner. Just pop my head onto Flo Jo's body and watch me go, Jenny. I want to feel the wind in my hair. I want those endorphins! I want that runner's bod! There is just one small, teeny-tiny, potentially problematic issue. I HATE to run. I think it is physically impossible for me to do so. My ankles hit together when I run! I didn't even know that was a potential hazard? Did you know that there is a funny bone in the human inner ankle area? Trust me, there is - it hurts like poop when your inner ankles bump together. I also have a tendency to step on my own big toes when I run. Have you ever seen a woman with a little boy's burr haircut howling in pain from the constant bumping together of her inside ankle bones AND stepping on her own big toes? It ain't pretty. Trust me, I'm trying. I shall not give up! I do it for all of us. We, the few, the proud, the completely and totally unathletic....I will not let us down. I will tread (on my own ankles) to the places we have only dreamed we'd go. I do, however, have a few questions. Maybe you will know the answers. After all, if I'm going to do this for all of you wannabe Olympians out there, I should at least understand fully the miracle that is.....The Idiot's Guide to Running.
First of all, level with me. Is there anything I can do about my excessively jiggly derriere? Do I just have to deal with it? Honestly, it reminds me of that weight bobber on a fishing pole - you know, the thingy that keeps the minnow from swimming up to the surface? I'm like a brim fisherman with a weight that was meant for a blue whale! I swear I could run like 90 miles an hour were it not for my butt. I thought I MIGHT be a swimmer instead of a runner, but I don't like to get water up my nose and I was afraid that a Spaniard might swim by me, stick a flag in my butt, and proclaim me as the new world! Can't have that. So, running it is....but VERY slowly - I am definitely a V4 trying to pull a Hemi engine! So.....do ya just let it bounce? It's gettin' pretty jiggy back there (do people still say that?). Will all that friction make it bigger or smaller? This is but one of the things I must know.
Secondly, I don't know what to wear. I don't think the sassy ladies wear those bicycle shorts under the running shorts anymore, al a 1995. I tried wearing sweat pants, but that looked scarily PTA mom-ish and a tad like a fleecy Steve Earkel. I even tried long athletic shorts, but with this hair I look like a 5 year old little boy dressing up in NBA clothes. I did find one pair of uber chic low waisted capri sweat pants. AMAZING....except that on me they looked like I was planning on running across a flood plane. Also, can they not make running shoes under $100 that won't make my feet look like canoes? No wonder I step on my own feet! They're so darn big in those shoes. Can't they make attractive flip flops to run in - the constant bumping of my big toenails against the inside of my canoe means a slow, cruel death to a pedicure.
Finally, I need some coaching on proper running protocol. When one is running and happens upon a lovely family standing still across the JOGGING PATH, shoulder to shoulder, thereby obscuring the entire trail, what are one's choices? Can't go over it. Can't go around it. Can't go under it. Does one jog in place until said family finishes gazing at the elusive North American Speckeldy Heckedly Tweety Tweet? Would it be improper to say, "Excuse me huge-mongous Duggar-esque family, please move your canoes off the path so we high brow runners can swoosh past you? " Also, what does everyone do with all their accouterments? Yesterday I "ran" (what I do doesn't really qualify as an actual run yet....perhaps I am like a hummingbird, running so fast that I look like I'm standing still?) with my Ipod, my phone, a pen, a Wal-Mart receipt to use as a message pad (I was expecting a call, ok!), a jacket (in case I got cold), sunglasses, and my keys. I looked like a portable kiosk and sounded like a gypsy! Pair that image with the 8th continent jiggling behind me and it's no wonder the hot guy I spotted was running so much faster than I was.....he feared for his life. There was an androgynous gypsy running after him who was tripping itself and carrying a portable office. But, just like Forrest, wherever I will go from now on, I will be runnING! More like running on empty, I suppose!
And the bass keep runnin', runnin'
And runnin', runnin'
And runnin', runnin'
And runnin', runnin'
And runnin', runnin'
And runnin', runnin'
And runnin', runnin'
And runnin', runnin' and...
In this context, there's no disrespect- So, when I bust my rhyme, you break your necks
We got five minutes for us to disconnect- From all intellect like the rhythm effect
To lose your inhibition -Follow your intuition
Free your inner soul and break away from tradition
'Cause when we beat out, girl, it's pullin' without
You wouldn't believe how we wow s*&t out
Burn it 'til it's burned out -Turn it 'til it's turned out
Actin' up from north, west, east, south
Everybody, everybody, let's get into it
Get stupid
Get it started,
get it started,
get it started
let's get it started in here -Yeah
"Let's Get it Started" The Black Eyed Peas
Yes, the runner. That's me! I want to be a runner. Not a walker. Not a jogger. I want to be a runner. Just pop my head onto Flo Jo's body and watch me go, Jenny. I want to feel the wind in my hair. I want those endorphins! I want that runner's bod! There is just one small, teeny-tiny, potentially problematic issue. I HATE to run. I think it is physically impossible for me to do so. My ankles hit together when I run! I didn't even know that was a potential hazard? Did you know that there is a funny bone in the human inner ankle area? Trust me, there is - it hurts like poop when your inner ankles bump together. I also have a tendency to step on my own big toes when I run. Have you ever seen a woman with a little boy's burr haircut howling in pain from the constant bumping together of her inside ankle bones AND stepping on her own big toes? It ain't pretty. Trust me, I'm trying. I shall not give up! I do it for all of us. We, the few, the proud, the completely and totally unathletic....I will not let us down. I will tread (on my own ankles) to the places we have only dreamed we'd go. I do, however, have a few questions. Maybe you will know the answers. After all, if I'm going to do this for all of you wannabe Olympians out there, I should at least understand fully the miracle that is.....The Idiot's Guide to Running.
First of all, level with me. Is there anything I can do about my excessively jiggly derriere? Do I just have to deal with it? Honestly, it reminds me of that weight bobber on a fishing pole - you know, the thingy that keeps the minnow from swimming up to the surface? I'm like a brim fisherman with a weight that was meant for a blue whale! I swear I could run like 90 miles an hour were it not for my butt. I thought I MIGHT be a swimmer instead of a runner, but I don't like to get water up my nose and I was afraid that a Spaniard might swim by me, stick a flag in my butt, and proclaim me as the new world! Can't have that. So, running it is....but VERY slowly - I am definitely a V4 trying to pull a Hemi engine! So.....do ya just let it bounce? It's gettin' pretty jiggy back there (do people still say that?). Will all that friction make it bigger or smaller? This is but one of the things I must know.
Secondly, I don't know what to wear. I don't think the sassy ladies wear those bicycle shorts under the running shorts anymore, al a 1995. I tried wearing sweat pants, but that looked scarily PTA mom-ish and a tad like a fleecy Steve Earkel. I even tried long athletic shorts, but with this hair I look like a 5 year old little boy dressing up in NBA clothes. I did find one pair of uber chic low waisted capri sweat pants. AMAZING....except that on me they looked like I was planning on running across a flood plane. Also, can they not make running shoes under $100 that won't make my feet look like canoes? No wonder I step on my own feet! They're so darn big in those shoes. Can't they make attractive flip flops to run in - the constant bumping of my big toenails against the inside of my canoe means a slow, cruel death to a pedicure.
Finally, I need some coaching on proper running protocol. When one is running and happens upon a lovely family standing still across the JOGGING PATH, shoulder to shoulder, thereby obscuring the entire trail, what are one's choices? Can't go over it. Can't go around it. Can't go under it. Does one jog in place until said family finishes gazing at the elusive North American Speckeldy Heckedly Tweety Tweet? Would it be improper to say, "Excuse me huge-mongous Duggar-esque family, please move your canoes off the path so we high brow runners can swoosh past you? " Also, what does everyone do with all their accouterments? Yesterday I "ran" (what I do doesn't really qualify as an actual run yet....perhaps I am like a hummingbird, running so fast that I look like I'm standing still?) with my Ipod, my phone, a pen, a Wal-Mart receipt to use as a message pad (I was expecting a call, ok!), a jacket (in case I got cold), sunglasses, and my keys. I looked like a portable kiosk and sounded like a gypsy! Pair that image with the 8th continent jiggling behind me and it's no wonder the hot guy I spotted was running so much faster than I was.....he feared for his life. There was an androgynous gypsy running after him who was tripping itself and carrying a portable office. But, just like Forrest, wherever I will go from now on, I will be runnING! More like running on empty, I suppose!
Friday, April 10, 2009
Lots of war - Little bit of peace
As the smoke settles on the battleground, a weary general steps forward to survey the damages. It isn't fair, these battles we must fight. They are not designed by us. They are never profitable. They are never brief. There are no winners. As the curtain closes on this scene, the setting sun highlights the general's beautiful orders, decorations, and medals. Like luminescent candy drops, they glisten in the waning sun. "What have I done to deserve these honors," the general wonders, "when so many others before me have lost this fight?"
I am the general, for I have won this war waged on my behalf almost a year ago....for now, at least. I have many decorations. My scars also glisten under their thick layer of Mederma! I fought many battles - not all of them turned out as I had hoped. I choose not to wear my medals on most days....my husband says that I have ribbon greed and there is no reason for me to flaunt all my pretty achievements at once! Here is a brief recap, in case you weren't aware, of the war of my life.
I lost my daughter, but not my sanity. Not yet, at least! The color red has a whole new meaning for me as I continue to fight the war of heart disease/defects that she, sadly, was not able to win. I ride into battle on her behalf everyday, and, like the high school football hero who peaked too soon, I relive her best moments for her over and over again in my mind.
I lost my breast, but not my life. I look at myself in the mirror, fresh from the shower, and, finally, I don't wince at my reflection quite as badly as before. Yet, like a 5 year old's attempt to carve a turkey, I will never be able to straighten out my jagged lines. The color pink was always a favorite of mine. Now it symbolizes the struggle between my mind and body as I learn to live without benefit of femininity in this womanly-less woman's body.
After cancer, there are still skirmishes on the outskirts of this town of mine. Hijackers lay in wait for me everywhere I go, waging bloody coups on what is left of me. Lymphedema is my Left Bank, of sorts. It will never go away - I just have to attempt to tame it, appease it, bargain with it. The ribbon for this disorder is lavender. I have never liked lavender. Now I know why.
Faith, hope and love, right? We all know which was the greatest of these. I have Chynna, Cancer, and Lymphedema. And, let me assure you, Chynna was the greatest of these three. I would gladly, had I been given the choice, have thrown the cancer fight in exchange for her life. I had my chance to make my mark, after all, and she did not. I would not have blinked, nor flinched, nor hesitated for a single moment. I would've ridden straight into that battle without any weapons if it meant that Chynna would be sitting here writing a little story about how she misses her Mommy. It just didn't happen that way, though, did it? I think I need one more ribbon - the ribbon for a lost child. What color should I choose for this one? Maybe Tiffany blue. Only beautiful things come from a Tiffany blue box.
I am the general, for I have won this war waged on my behalf almost a year ago....for now, at least. I have many decorations. My scars also glisten under their thick layer of Mederma! I fought many battles - not all of them turned out as I had hoped. I choose not to wear my medals on most days....my husband says that I have ribbon greed and there is no reason for me to flaunt all my pretty achievements at once! Here is a brief recap, in case you weren't aware, of the war of my life.
I lost my daughter, but not my sanity. Not yet, at least! The color red has a whole new meaning for me as I continue to fight the war of heart disease/defects that she, sadly, was not able to win. I ride into battle on her behalf everyday, and, like the high school football hero who peaked too soon, I relive her best moments for her over and over again in my mind.
I lost my breast, but not my life. I look at myself in the mirror, fresh from the shower, and, finally, I don't wince at my reflection quite as badly as before. Yet, like a 5 year old's attempt to carve a turkey, I will never be able to straighten out my jagged lines. The color pink was always a favorite of mine. Now it symbolizes the struggle between my mind and body as I learn to live without benefit of femininity in this womanly-less woman's body.
After cancer, there are still skirmishes on the outskirts of this town of mine. Hijackers lay in wait for me everywhere I go, waging bloody coups on what is left of me. Lymphedema is my Left Bank, of sorts. It will never go away - I just have to attempt to tame it, appease it, bargain with it. The ribbon for this disorder is lavender. I have never liked lavender. Now I know why.
Faith, hope and love, right? We all know which was the greatest of these. I have Chynna, Cancer, and Lymphedema. And, let me assure you, Chynna was the greatest of these three. I would gladly, had I been given the choice, have thrown the cancer fight in exchange for her life. I had my chance to make my mark, after all, and she did not. I would not have blinked, nor flinched, nor hesitated for a single moment. I would've ridden straight into that battle without any weapons if it meant that Chynna would be sitting here writing a little story about how she misses her Mommy. It just didn't happen that way, though, did it? I think I need one more ribbon - the ribbon for a lost child. What color should I choose for this one? Maybe Tiffany blue. Only beautiful things come from a Tiffany blue box.
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