About Dusky Dream…. Yes, this is my legal, parent given name. No, my parents were not hippies. No, I am not a porn star. These are the wise and well-thought out questions I met with when I tell people my name. Now that this is out of the way….
Visually, I used to fit the stereotype of a stay-at-home, Orange County housewife. I was driving an over-sized SUV up until very recently. I live in a decent home with 3 kids, 1 dog, and last but never least, my software non-geeky hubby. I dawn the daily disguise of a fitness freak which includes Nikes, yoga pants, a workout tank with various phrases such as “I’ll work out tomorrow.” However, in early 2021, I got the diagnosis that is most people’s worst nightmare. I learned I had breast cancer.
Social Media makes it seem like everybody’s got their shit together. As I form my “About me” it’s Christmas time. Soon, my mailbox will be filled with cards like the one I already sent (what’s the hold up, losers!?) portraying perfect little families in their color-coordinated ensembles, showcasing perfect candid expressions pretending to be caught off-guard by the photographer holding a big ass lens in their face. I have 2 opinions of this. LAME! But also…. GUILTY!
I am a mom, without her mom, and without her dad, just trying to be ok. I lost my mom in 2016, months before having my last child, my first girl. My mom never got to meet her. I also lost my older brother to suicide when he was 24 and I was 18. 2019, brought even more loss; My oldest brother and then my father both passed away. When people say they’ve been through some shit, I tend to not believe them. If you have to say it, it doesn’t seem as believable.
I notice things. Details are important. The sun is never a bad thing. Neither are dogs or pizza. I would love to be OCD but time and energy no longer allows for this. I love to read but only have time for magazines. Those magazines get covered in comments that I leave in the bathroom for my husband to read. I’m not nice when I look back through those magazines and see some of the comments I make. I yearn to travel with and without my kids but lack the discipline to plan it out. I’m a sucker for This is Us, Allen Iverson, wine, drinks with sugar and bubbles, bubble baths, clean smelling kids, pretty smiles, and all that is REAL. Truth, for me, is very hard to hear and accept. But, every day I try to be more honest: with myself, with those I love, and in the way I present myself to the world.
My new diagnosis kept me away from my blog. I was simply just trying to live. I have endured 8 rounds of chemotherapy. I lost all my hair. I underwent surgery to remove my left breast, some lymph nodes, and a reduction to my right breast. I did not heal well from that surgery due to the long-lasting effects of chemo. I still don’t heal well. So after more surgeries and 5 and a half weeks of radiation, I was left with one boob, lots of scars, a lesbian haircut, skin burns, and a port that ever so slightly sticks out of my chest. But, I made it.
A lot of time had to pass for me to be me again. But, am I myself? I’ve been in combat. I’ve been strung across the ugly trenches of chemo. I’ve felt like I was closer to death at times. I cried over the possibility of not seeing my kids grow up. I experienced what hell was like. I chose not to stay.
Instead, I chose to follow my heart. I did some crazy stuff. I bought a pricey car with no job. I vacationed in Hawaii with 2 of my childhood best friends on a few days notice because I’d never been. I got another tattoo (I can’t die without having all my kid’s names on me). I reconnected with a person that I’d written off (more of this story to come). I painted walls and doors in my house because “nothing is permanent,” (not even us). And I began to show the world who I really was without fear of being judged or disliked. I did whatever the fuck I wanted (within the limits that I felt were necessary so that my husband wouldn’t divorce me).
And, now I want to talk about it. All of it. And I hope that if you can relate on any level, you share your own journey.