As someone who has suffered abuse in the past, I am always one of the first people who will step in and advocate for the abused. While it’s hard for some to understand the thinking process of someone who suffers from abuse, if you have been there, you know all too much just how it affects your life permanently. When I was about 16, I had to have part of my face reconstructed, all thanks to my step-dad. While I would like to say that is all that I had to deal with, it’s not. Possibly not even the worst thing that ever happened. Surgeons can do amazing things to reconstruct the body but there is nothing that can ever change the past or the lasting memories it leaves behind.
A few weeks ago, a good friend of mine shared a story about someone who is currently struggling due to an abusive relationship and a “bad hand” dealt out by the world. After hearing her story, I was compelled to try to do something to help. While I must do all that I can to protect her identity; to help make her future better, I must share some of her past. For the sake of her safety and pride, I will give her an anonymous identity and shall deem her “Chi-Chi”. You’ll know why here soon.
Chi-Chi was running a successful business with her fiance’ and to an outsider, Chi-Chi’s world seemed perfect. Unfortunately, the facade of “the perfect life” began to crumble and Chi-Chi realized that she could no longer lie to herself. The abuse she was dealing with was destroying her body, her mind and her soul. Sacrificing everything, Chi-Chi left home on a whim, with only the clothes on her back and her 3 senior Chihuahuas (now you know why I picked the name). She ran as fast as she could, as quietly and unnoticeably as possible.
Chi-Chi set out to make a new life and she quickly got a job in advertising and she started to settle in to a calmer and happier time. Finally, life was turning around and again, Chi-Chi began to make a name and a life for herself. Then out of left field, she was diagnosed with breast cancer.
Chi-Chi underwent a double mastectomy and when her health allows it, Chi-Chi works from home for a nominal amount of money. Because of the strength of her medications, which include pain killers, Chi-Chi doesn’t work frequently enough to cover her cost of living or her medical requirements. As each day passes, Chi-Chi postpones her doctor’s appointments and chemotherapy because she just doesn’t make enough to care for herself and her three dogs. With her rent 5 months behind and growing, Chi-Chi doesn’t know where to turn. While her landlord is trying to work with her, she wonders just how long it will last.
Many people would be bitter and resentful if they dealt with what Chi-Chi has but instead of ask “Why me”, Chi-Chi wakes each day with a smile on her face, an armful of hugs to hand out and a positive attitude, of which I am very jealous. She never complains and never asks for help.
It’s in those moments of life where I think that certain people cross our path for a reason. To go through each day and ignore what is presented before us is ignorant. Life’s a lesson, whether for ourselves or for another. Sometimes we are here to listen, to learn and to be healed and other times we are the teacher or the healer. It’s my turn to heal, myself and Chi-Chi.
A ChipIn has been created to assist Chi-Chi with “everyday” expenses and to help her catch up with her rent. While I do not personally manage this ChipIn, I do completely trust who is. You can find the link by clicking here. If you aren’t comfortable donating money, we are also collecting items. Below is just a small sample of some of the things needed to help her.
- household and personal items
- gas cards or gift cards
- flea treatment for small-breed dogs (3 dogs)
- generic Rimadyl for the male Chihuahua
- “Wellness”Vegetarian dog food for the 2 female dogs
- grain-free dog food for the male dog
- fruits and vegetables (she prefers a mostly “Vegan” diet and will not eat red meat or pork)
- food/pantry items
Items will be collected throughout the Kansas City area. If you think you may be able to help Chi-Chi in other ways, please email me at firstname.lastname@example.org and let me know what you can do. She is residing in the Kansas City, Missouri area. We are open to any suggestions or recommendations. If you’d like to send her a card, let me know and we can collect them and deliver them with any other items donated.
Yesterday, I had the joy of having what I think was my first mammogram. I think, because I really am not sure. Through my lifetime I have had so many medical conditions and tests that it has become utterly ridiculous. Can you give yourself Münchausen syndrome? So many things have happened that I really am starting to think that I’m crazy. Okay, yes they typically always find something but I still always have that crazy feeling when I have to call the doctor for the umpteenth time in a month.
About a month ago, I started having some pain in my right headlight. A few days after it started, I had this weird discharge that reminded me of a popped zit (TMI, I know but frankly don’t care). Instead of calling the doctor I decided against it since I knew that my favorite Aunt Flow would be visiting soon and bringing with her the typical guests that I don’t want. Cousin’s Bloating and Cramping and Uncle Badtouch (aka Psychotic Mood Swings) always visit with Aunt Flow and after them being around for an hour, I get totally stressed and freaked out. Hell, I dread the week up until they come because I know that soon they will arrive and throw my life in chaos during their visit. Anyway, my point was that when Aunt Flow comes the Hooter’s hate me. So, I waited and Googled “breast discharge”.
Aunt Flow packed up and left a few days early and I noticed that the boob was still hating on me. Again, I reached for Google, my own imaginary doctor that listens to all my diagnosis of myself and agrees with me. I had cancer, I just knew it. It’s funny how I didn’t picture cancer and all the fear that comes with it. Instead, I pictured the huge breasts that insurance would pay for after I would force a mastectomy. Yeah, I am that shallow.
Days later, the pain got so intense that I started missing work and would spend most of the day crying in pain. I tried to call my doctor finally but she was out of town and the office told me to go to the local urgency room. I did that and was informed after 5 seconds of boob prodding that I had mastitis, an infection of the breast. Larry would later refer to it as “Titt Rot”. I was prescribed Percocet for the pain and Bactrim and Chlindamycin for the infection. I took the meds for a week before my doc made it back this past Monday.
On Monday I went in to my doctor and she said that she did not feel that I had an infection because I was minus some of the symptoms. She ordered blood work and more tests after she found that I had a lot of swelling in the lymph nodes of my arm pit. The blood work was first to come back and it showed that my white blood count was normal and so they thought that I could have the “C” word.
Yesterday, I went in for a mammogram and breast ultrasound. The main purpose of this is to tell you girls what a mammogram is really like. I had always heard terrible things, so I thought I would share my side.
When I arrived I was taken back to a dressing room and was asked to remove my shirt and bra. Boys, if you are reading this… put your penis away. Trust me when I say that this is NOT a sexy story. Anywho, I was handed what I like to think of as the Batman cape, if it were made for a midget (vertically challenged individual). I’m a VERY modest girl so I asked the tech if I could have some type of cover-up and she refused and said that I wouldn’t need it. About ten minutes later she came back for me and told me to pick up my purse and carry it with me but to leave my clothes. I freaked out again and she told me that I would be fine. She then proceeded to tell me that my breasts wouldn’t be memorable for her. The bitch insulted me and she hadn’t even seen them yet. How did she know that my boobies weren’t something your mind couldn’t ever erase? I walked un-quickly behind her down the hall, trying to prevent the jiggling of my back boobs and love handles and the view of my lower back tattoo. Don’t say it, I already know.
I make it to the room and she tells me to put my purse down on the chair and to step up to the machine and remove my cape. I was having fun pretending to be midget Batman and was not prepared for her to reach up and remove the cape on her own. Okay boys, if you have made it this far… “And the cape gently caressed my shoulders as it fell to the floor in a heap.” That’s for you.
My hands instantly jump up in an attempt to cover my boobs. The tech shook her head and threw some more insults about how insignificant my breasts would be at the end of the day. Like that is supposed to make me feel better! I want to see jealousy in your eyes, Witch! No jealousy from her. She man-handled and manipulated me into that damn machine and that is when the boob smooshing commenced.
I’ve heard people talk of the pain of a mammogram and I must say that if my tittlet (what I call my small boobs) wasn’t hurting like hell already, I may have liked the experience. It’s like a man that knows what he is doing. Lol. The machine starts gentle at first and by the end of it, you feel like your boob is going to explode like a can of Cheese Wiz that’s thrown in a fire. I really don’t think it would have been that bad if I hadn’t already been broken. I vomited. I wish the tech would have called me first. I was boob raped.
I have my sense of humor about me because after the mammogram and ultrasound I was told that there was no cancer found and no “gross abnormalities”. When I asked what “gross abnormalities” were she just told me that something was found but my doctor would discuss it with me. I haven’t heard yet so don’t ask. I was also told that I have Fibrocystic Breast Disease. It amazes me that my non-existent hooters could pose such a problem. The way my mind works, Rush Limbaugh would have a greater chance of boob disease than me.
So, I’m cancer free and curious why I am more inclined to cover my boobs when a female technician does a mammogram but when a male does a cooter check, I am ready and willing. Humm. I guess my boobs don’t have the built end defense mechanism of resembling the Predator so I am more willing to protect them.