Bald Is Better with Earrings (and a sexy Piano Man who gets funky pre-going-bald haircuts with you)

“Don’t think of it as dying”, said Death. “Just think of it as leaving early to avoid the rush.” ~ Good Omens, by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman  

 

Nope, I am not dying just yet, my Wicked Luvs, so stop reaching for your blood-red-and-midnight-black best… I just really love this quote. All right, I love most Pratchett quotes… and when my Knight Writer’s imaginative wit is joined by the yumminess of Neil Gaiman, well… I must share the wild, wild, wild wisdom.

I love that those words embrace the soul and center of my chronic positivity: I do believe, believe, believe… that there will always be something great to get out of even the worst of situations: if the next few months promise to keep you dazed for hours at the time, catch up with all those TV shows you’ve been meaning to watch; if all your bits get so exhausted that you feel they are about to fall off, think of the whole thing as a challenge against your endurance; if the glorious jungle that is your hair is about to fall off in a week or 3, get funky haircuts with your partner in crime, in love, in living; when life gets too serious for games, play seriously hard; when darkness threatens to feed on all that is bright, let your fire burn, shine…

This year, my Piano Man and I were not so sure we would make it to New York Comic Con. I was supposed to have a port inserted last week, on the same day the convention started. But… completely coincidentally (and not because my doctors totally rock), the surgery was scheduled for after the convention. We did not attend two or 3 days, as we have done in the past, but we got to go on Sunday. And since the very first thing we saw (a Good Omens booth) included the phrase “third nipple”, I just knew all would be well (and slightly hysterical).

If we’re friends on Facebook, then you already saw this picture. Still, I had to share it again. I mean, how often do you get to show the faces of your husband and your TV boyfriend in the same picture? *waves at Crowley aka the coolest Doctor ever*.

There was not a lot of swag (that my Piano Man and I were interested in) this year, but we found rather cool earrings for the not-so-little Princess and for me. This pair glows in the dark. I might have to take them trick-or-treating.

Remember that bit I said at the beginning? About how “I believe… that there will always be something great to get out of even the worst of situations”? Well, I have finally figure out what to do with all the pins I have been hoarding for years. This one, which reads, “I’m wondering what to read next…”, was a gift from Rommy. The black ribbon came with a gift from Emma. See? I did not lose a breast, I just found a cool place to show off my pins and ribbons and scarves. 😀

These two might be my new most favorite pairs of earrings. How many beings get to say that they can dangle the TARDIS and two bat’leths from their ear lobes?

 

health Updates and other bits…

1. I am doing well, just busy juggling doctor’s visits and new treatment planning.
2. My inbox is full and then some. I’m not ignoring you, but… it might take me a while to get to your messages and emails and such.
3. The Beautiful Freaks Fest 2 announcement post will go live Monday or Tuesday. What? Don’t tell me you thought we would skip this year. Of course not! freakish beauty is relentless. Besides, nothing replenishes the soul (and distracts the flesh from hurling its guts out) like a wild bit of cyber-partying with awesome friends.
4. The title of this post was partly borrowed from Andrea Hutton’s Bald is Better with Earrings: A Survivor’s Guide to Getting Through Breast Cancer.
5. I don’t like even numbers, so here is an odd line… just for me (and for you, too, of course… if you want it): be good, be wild, be deliciously you… always.

 

More Boob Talk

It’s been a bit of a while, hasn’t it? Well, getting ready for chemo and radiation and such… is busy business, particularly when one is healthily fixated on finding out as much as one can about the procedures… the drugs… the side effects… and whether or not one can get a cranial prosthesis that looks just like Storm’s hair.

I mean, if cancer undearest is going to take so much of my time, the least the bastard can do is help me cosplay. I’m thinking… Okoye while my head is totally bald, Imperator Furiosa when my hair starts growing out, Misty Knight after my hair is a few inches long, and my Storm wig (I mean, cranial prosthesis  *cough, cough*) for whenever I am feeling like flinging wild lightning and making my eyes look creepy (which, knowing me, will likely be fairly often).

So… there I was, waiting to be fitted for a fake knocker—I doubt I will ever wear it with my regular clothes but need one for specialty items (like a paintball armor), which have spaces for two boobies). Anyhoo, I was sharing this gloriously creative idea with another prospective breast cancer ass-kicker, when the look of raw horror on her face made me… burst into laughter. I know… how awfully inappropriate of me, but… when have I been known for my social appropriateness? Exactly.

I apologized to the lady and explained that I was not laughing at her. But at the fact that her facial expression had been so extremely vivid that it looked cartoonish, and well… I have the sense of humor of a 12-year-old boy (or a 9-year-old girl) who believes that nothing could be funnier than saying “fart” aloud or watching a cat get almost murdered by the mouse it wants to kill and devour (Tom and Jerry rocks!). I also told her that finding a way to make the best of things is what keeps me radiant (earlier in our conversation, she asked me how I managed to stay so radiant while she can barely get up in the morning, and she is not even as ill as I am).

After all the explaining was done, and after she started wondering if the wig people would let her get away with a cranial prosthesis that resembled Chaka Khan’s hair in the 70s (and before we were asked to step out of the waiting room because our raucous roaring was disturbing others), she decided that she would try really, really, really hard “to have fun with cancer treatment”. Once I heard those words dance out of her smiling lips, I walked around like a peacock—feeling all superior and all shiny all day. Not because I convinced someone to walk in the wilder (and louder?) side, but because I might have helped another human being find a way to make the best of an impossible situation, to do that honestly, and to do it for herself. It was… magic!

For moi (and for most, methinks), living with a collection of chronic illnesses and then being slapped with a disease that could be terminal isn’t easy, but… it doesn’t have to be the most difficult thing in the world. Like I’ve tried to point out in every Trinkets and Armor post I have shared, I believe that we can turn any torment into something we cannot just live with but thrive through.

I also believe that we must achieve this thriving in our own way. I do it by never allowing any person or group or social expectation to have the power to make me feel anything but perfectly me. Like I told the person, who while fitting me for a breast prosthesis, told me, “What your eyes see from above, when you look at the prosthesis, is not as accurate as what I see when I look at you from the front, and what others are seeing is what matters.” I gave her a smile fueled by the sort of hostility that kind of nonsense rips right out of my gut, and said, “Oh, my dearie, the way I see me and what I think of the seeing will always matter to me a whole lot more than anything you or anyone else can come up with. And since I am the first one on my list of who and what matters to me, whatever you say is less than crap.”

I know this person was just doing her job. And heck, she might even be right about my bird’s-eye view of my boobage. But… we start losing who we are when we stop correcting people about what is true about our Selves. And what I am, my Wicked Luvs, is sure… proud… and protective… of what I see in the mirror. Also, only a blinded fool could look at me without seeing purest Magaly-perfection. And, yes, I am also proud of understanding that my modesty goes beyond anything anyone can withstand without bursting into fits of uncontrollably wild adoration (or rage). 😀

Breathe… my Wicked Luvs, breathe… it gets easier when you breathe… then laugh!

 

and out of life, poetry:

I see perfection
in the mirror, pure wonder—
me, unchangeable
in spirit, willing to grow
into better fitting flesh.

 

 

a wee note…
– I stopped posting weekly Trinkets and Armor prompts because participation went down to almost zero. But worry not, my Wicked Luvs, I shall continue using the tag and you are always invited to add your insight to all my posts.