Where Vanity Goes to Die
I stood there looking in the fogged up mirror, staring back at myself. Unhappy. The words floating around in my head are harsh. "You look like a prepubescent boy. Short hair definitely doesn't suit you." "Stupid cancer," I say loudly. As of late, this is how my shower routine ends.
I Don't Need Your Pity Play Date
I have come to the realization that I'm completely alone. Not so much physically, but emotionally. Does that make sense? I felt like this often growing up. Outnumbered is the word that comes to mind. My parents had each other, as did my three brothers. Me? I was the only daughter. I always felt out of place. Odd man (or should I say, girl?) out.
It's always been hard for me to make friends. To this day, I have few that I really keep up with. A select few who know my deepest, darkest fears. As it usually goes when it comes to military spouses, however, I eventually have to leave them all behind. Still, out of sight doesn't mean out of mind - and these days I really miss them.
Confessions of a Cancer Patient
I'm awake, for maybe the fifth or sixth time tonight. Like other nights, it's a cold sweat that wakes me. I rise up and stare sleepily at the light that shines through my blinds. My body aches, there is no comfortable position to sleep in. I rise slowly so I don't wake him, and I hear a soft snore that tells me he's deep in a dream. The weight of my own body almost feels like too much and balance takes real effort. It's a long walk to our restroom only about 6 feet away. I dampen a cloth and moisten my face and my chest. Sore still both from accessing the port and a deeper pain that I can't shake.
I haven't slept a full night in I don't know how long. In the mirror, I see the reflection of a woman I still don't recognize. Short fuzzy hair, darkened nails and a round face, moon face they call it; they, the others, like me. I don't like this woman. I feel a pit in my stomach, a feeling that's familiar. A cross between angry and sad, my eyes water. It's time to make my way back.
Life or Death?
Article by: Jeanette Martinez
Original Photo Credit: Flickr
I couldn't even bring myself to lift the pen, to open a notepad or to even consider writing. I know this feeling all too well. I feel like I have in the past: a lack of interest, motivation, or maybe inspiration. It hasn’t just affected my body now, this cancer has affected my mind— correction, this chemo, in essence a poison.
Ten Steps to Self Love
We all have moments of self doubt and insecurity. If you don’t, congratulations.
Still, I don’t believe you…
Whether it’s pertaining to appearance or personal success, I like to believe I am not alone. With that in mind, I share with you (Dun dun dun…) 10 things you can do to boost your self confidence!
I Don’t Want To Inspire You
Someone told me a few nights ago, that I was an inspiration. That I was a great example for other women, a warrior. Still, last time I checked, I’m not a recipient for the Nobel Peace Prize. I am just me. I have cancer.
I don’t want to be an inspiration. I just want to live.
A Date Which Will Live In Infamy
December 7th 1941, is a day burned into our minds, whose embers will never vanquish. It’s not a “Hallmark” holiday, we don’t give or receive gifts and you won't get the day off work. On this day, 73 years ago one of the most infamous attacks in American history occurred. 2,403 Americans were killed and 1,178 wounded when, at 7:48 am Hawaiian time, Pearl Harbor was attacked by 353 Japanese fighter planes, bombers, and torpedo planes in two waves, launched from six aircraft carriers. All eight U.S. Navy ships were damaged, half were completely sunk, with crew members still aboard. So much life was lost that day, which brought the United States totally into World War II.
It is a day that would go down in our history books, a day that we’d share with our kids, and our kids with their kids. A day that continues to inspire many brave men and women to serve our country; that many years later still brings sadness and tears to many, but also brings hope.
Hope in the unity of a country in even the worst of times.
Faith that as Americans we can come together and fight to protect our way of life, our freedoms and our families.
That Post Gave Me Cancer
Facebook makes me angry. No. PEOPLE on Facebook make me angry.
How on earth do others not see how ridiculous they are when engaging? You have a point to get across and, dammit, you KNOW you are right! So, naturally here’s what you do: you argue, you hit *CAPS LOCK* and have it out with whoever you happen to disagree with on that day. Because how else would you prove you're right? I suppose you could share some cold hard facts to back your opinion, but WHY would you if you KNOW you're right?
ADULTS. SCARE. ME.
The Best Kind Of Cancer
At twenty-nine, this was unexpected. Although, I should add, that at any age, this would have been unexpected.
“You’re scans came back abnormal. We believe you have what’s called Hodgkin’s Lymphoma…”
She says it so matter-of-factly, I have to do a double take “what?”
Still, there is that glimmer of hope in the way she says, “we believe.”
Believe. Unconfirmed. Not set in stone. Of course they’ll have to perform a biopsy to verify but it could always be negative…
Meghan Trainor Makes Me Cry
Jeanette is a 9 year Army Spouse and mother of two. She resides in beautiful Fort Jackson, SC; where the water is warm and mosquitoes roam- yes, she spends a lot of her summer bathed in bug repellent. She enjoys volunteering for different organizations and lending a hand when one is needed. Currently, she is the Publicity Chairman for the American Red Cross of Fort Jackson. In her free time, she loves to read, write and color her hair. She is humorous, charismatic and free spirited. “Jei", as her friends like to call her, firmly believes that a positive attitude can change everything and tries constantly to better herself through self-affirmation and motivation. Though she is California born and raised, she fully embraces her new southern home. Still, she spends her days dreaming of her second home, Seattle, and her eventual return.