For Erica (And Her Boobies)

Recently a good friend of mine, Erica,  was diagnosed with breast cancer and began the lengthy treatment process. In an attempt to understand what she may be going through, I wrote a poem for her. I wrote it from her perspective, in an attempt at imagining what she may be going through right now - a roller coaster of emotions that she can try to control, but sometimes has a hard time keeping in check. A lot of the lines I took from actual facebook posts that she made or words she used in conversations with me.  And I also didn't know all the specifics of the treatment plan when I wrote it, so it may not be totally accurate. I also tried to inject humor, not to trivialize her experience, but because I've noticed she's been using humor and sarcasm a lot in her messages to me. I can't begin to really feel what she's going through, but I wanted to try.  

Erica is an amazingly strong woman and I admire the way she's facing this with grace and courage. I'm confident that if anyone can beat breast cancer, Erica will be the one.


For Erica (And Her Boobies)

There's a lump in my breast
The doctor told me it was a 3
On a scale of 1 to 6
1 being definitely not cancer
6 definitely cancer
They gave me a 3
Probably not cancer

Probably not cancer?!

I need a second opinion
More tests
This doctor tells me
You should prepare yourself for cancer

How the hell do I prepare myself for cancer?

The results take 6 days
6 days to prepare for cancer

Waiting

I'm strong

Waiting

I'll get through this

Waiting

This isn't happening to me

Results...

I have cancer

Shit

Invasive Ductal Carcinoma
That sounds bad

I have cancer
Now what?

Chemo
At least it's Halloween season
I can wear fun wigs
Maybe I'll go blond

Surgery
Boobs are overrated anyway
Think of the money I'll save on bras

Radiation
I heard the White House scans visitors for radiation risks
Maybe I'll be considered a threat to national security

5 years of hormone therapy
5 years
There goes the rest of my 30s

No
I can't think that way
I'm strong
I'll get through this

Dammit
Now I have to tell everyone else
No use trying to hide it
It'll be pretty obvious once I start treatment
I'm going to get this announcement over with

Facebook post:
I have breast cancer
I'll start treatment next week
I'm in good spirits
I feel super confident that I'll beat this
Smiley face

There
I've said it
Though I still don't believe it myself
I have cancer

It's scary
It's hard to wrap my brain around it
I don't feel sick
But once I start chemo...

No
Stay positive

I'm strong
It hasn't spread to my bones
Or my brain

I'll get through this
I'm in fighting mode
And feeling super positive

All of my doctors believe they can cure me

I'm staying positive
With the occasional fits of tears
I'm not ready to cry in public
People already feel uncomfortable around me
Now that they know

I have cancer

I don't want to magnify it by bursting into tears
One minute I'm fine
Having a normal conversation
Then it sneaks up on me
And I'm sobbing
Of course, I don't stop talking
Just call me the awkward cancer girl
Smiley face

I'm strong
I'll get through this
I'm in good spirits
I'm confident I'll beat this
I don't even feel sick

It's strange to think
In order to heal me
They have to make me sick

Today I start chemo
Today it becomes real

I have cancer

But it will NOT beat me
That's what everyone says

I AM strong
I WILL get through this
Smiley face

Chemo
Surgery
Radiation
Cancer

Bring
It
On

 

My favorite photo of Erica and me :)

Regret Sadness Anger HOPE

You know what's awesome? The semester is over. There are no more assignments. We finished the poetry unit weeks ago. And still, one of our students sent me this beautiful poem this week to be added to the blog.

REGRET

by  Jay- r Aluyen

the sea pulling you away from me

farther,

farther into the unknown where i cant find you

the only hope i had of keeping you, broke loose and i

tried in vain to followed you, but the waves is not my friend

washing ashore and keeping you in its care till somebody

somebody more deserving of your affection will treasure you..

how i wish for the times we spent,

to turn around and come back to me

when they feel my deep repentance

in the melody of my tears

can the things done be undone?

forgotten, buried six feet underground?

if time is but a thing that makes a past,

can time ever bring me back to that past?

eternal the love we had, 

had i not broken and shattered your heart

tears streaked down my cheeks,

as i watched darkness embrace your back.

It's actually not totally awesome that the semester is over. This was, by far, my favorite semester at BSU. And that is due, almost completely, to this Creative Writing class. At the beginning of the semester, I don't think any of us - the students, myself or my counterpart - would've called ourselves poets. And now, I think we've all felt more poetic as a result of our semester together. It started with Crystal's Performance Poetry mini-workshop and continued through a visit from another PCV poet, BJ Stolbov and his advice to "Go all the way to the edge. And then pull it back a little if you need to." The momentum continued through open mic nights and assignments that allowed us to explore tough topics that we don't always get to talk about. It gave us a safe space to share emotions that we probably don't often share with others. We talked and wrote about love, betrayal, abuse, alcoholism, neglect, adultery, heartbreak, death in nearly every manner you can imagine. We cried a lot together. But we also laughed a lot. The moments I spent in that classroom were some of the best of my entire Peace Corps experience. 

And on my last day of class with them, they surprised me with a party! They shared songs, speeches, poetry, stories and many of their other talents. They gave me some really nice cards and gifts and, well, they made it even harder for me to leave. 

The last poem I wrote was actually dedicated to them. It was inspired initially by the constant battle with other teachers and their insistence that my job should be to "fix" the students' accents so that they sound more like me. I hate that. First of all, it's insulting to the students - they speak beautiful English, and their accents make a lot of the language sound more lovely. And they're Filipino, what's wrong with them sounding Filipino? On one day in particular, someone told me that we needed to make them sound more like me because most of them will end up working in call centers. This made me sad, but mostly, it made me angry. Not with the person who told me this, but at the reality that many Filipinos face. 

It saddens and enrages me that when these students graduate with degrees in Education and English that the reality is most of them will not be able to find jobs. At least not here in the Philippines. And most likely not in Education. How futile it all must seem to them. I admire their dedication to their studies despite the lack of opportunities they know they'll face when they graduate. But I find it unacceptable for Higher Education to settle for simply training them to be call center agents, or "fixing" their accents so they can go work abroad as care takers, nannies or domestic help. That's fine if those are the jobs they aspire to, but they've chosen Education for a reason. And after hearing their poetry and short stories, I know that working in a call center is not the ultimate goal for their future. They want more. They're capable of more. And they deserve more. 

I wrote this poem to express my anger at their situation and my hope for their future. It probably has a bigger impact if you hear me read it aloud, but I hope that you can feel it just by reading it.

Not My Job

It’s not my job to make you

Speak like me

Think like me

Be like me

It’s not my job to break you down

Just to fix you up

It’s not my job octogenarian American patient won’t know

That you’re Filipino

It’s not my job

It’s not the job of higher education to tell you

What to think

What to say

And how to say it

It’s not our job to make you feel

Inferior

Incomplete

Invalid

It’s not our job to crank out

Batches of colonized call center clerks

That’s not the job of higher education

And it’s not my job

My job is to teach you

To think for yourself

Express yourself

Be yourself

It’s my job to build you up

Empower you

To find your voice

And to use it

To speak up

And tell the world what you think

What you want

Who you are

And I hope you’ll use your voice

To do your job

As a teacher

As a writer

As a leader

Because it’s not your job to ensure that

Some guy in California is happy with his Direct TV service

Or that some banker in Hong Kong has a clean condo

Or that someone else’s grandfather in Canada is well cared for

That’s not your job

Your job is to

Demand more

More freedom

More opportunity

More JOBS

For yourself

And your future students

That’s your job

And my job here is done.