Manifest©
by Kim Markou
Fade in.
Music up as full color, old grainy footage appears on the screen as opening credits roll. We see a young girl, around 4, holding a watering can. She runs around the yard holding the watering can, water splashing out everywhere. She is laughing and enjoying herself the entire time. Home video cam pans over to her mother, who is watching and smiling.
MOTHER
Water the flowers Chloe!
Close up of girl watering flowers.
cut to:
INT. CHLOE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT
BLACKNESS. Breathing. Stirring. We hear tossing and turning in bed. A faint, sleepy whine and then a gasp. CHLOE, now 17, sits up in bed, her face illuminated by the moonlight. She is disoriented and sweating. In the moonlight on the windowsill sits a dying plant in a homemade ceramic container.
CHLOE (V.O.)
They say guilt is one of the strongest
emotions, we, as humans, can feel…
Its also reported guilt can manifest itself
in various ways.
cut to:
INT. SCHOOL – HALLWAY - MORNING
CHLOE walks down a hallway. STUDENTS pass her, but don’t acknowledge her. CLOSE-UP of a handmade pep rally banner hanging on the wall. It sports the school colors and is very bright.
cut to:
INT. CLASSROOM – DAY
CHLOE sits at her desk doodling in her notebook. The classroom is full of STUDENTS. A TEACHER lectures, her voice is muted.
TEACHER
So with that in mind, what would you
consider to be Blake’s main objective
of the poem?
VARIOUS shots of students involved in the lesson. Two students raise their hands at the same time. The teacher picks one.
STUDENT
I think he wanted everyone to know about
the horrible working conditions the children
subjected to.
TEACHER
Yes. I would agree…
CLOSE UP of Chloe’s doodle. She’s been sitting there writing ‘My Life Is Shit’, making the letters darker and darker until she has just about gone through the paper. The words are surrounded by little pictures of dead plants growing out of piles of poop.
cut to:
INT. CHLOE’S HOUSE – KITCHEN – AFTERNOON
CHLOE’S MOTHER sits at the island, going through some papers.
MOTHER
I’m thinking of re-doing my picture for my
business cards.
Chloe does not respond. Her mother looks at her.
MOTHER
Anyway I was thinking since I have
to go and have them taken, why don’t you
go with me and we’ll have a portrait
done together – just the two of us.
(beat)
It’ll be fun. We can get our hair and
makeup done.
(beat)
You know… make it a whole day of
beauty kind of thing. Just the two
of us.
Chloe looks at her blankly before turning and leaving the room. Tears swell up in her mother’s eyes and she just shakes her head.
cut to:
INT. CHLOE’S HOUSE – HALLWAY - EVENING
CHLOE’S MOTHER knocks softly on her bedroom door. She waits a moment and knocks again. She reaches for the knob, but then hesitates. She turns and walks down the hallway.
cut to:
INT. CHLOE’S HOUSE – KITCHEN
CHLOE’S MOTHER is sitting at the kitchen table talking on the phone.
MOTHER
I guess she’s …well…I don’t know.
(beat)
She comes home everyday and
then she’s gone, you know, disappears
into her room.
(beat) (listens)
I know it’s a rough age but…
(beat)
I’m thinking of having her talk to someone
at school. I’ll give them a call.
cut to:
INT. SCHOOL - HALLWAY – AFTERNOON
CHLOE again walks down a hallway. STUDENTS pass her again, but don’t acknowledge her.
CHLOE (V.O.)
I don’t mind being alone.
(beat)
I guess it’s kind of my penance or
something.
(beat)
It’s what I deserve.
cut to:
INT. SCHOOL – CAFETERIA – AFTERNOON
CHLOE sits alone in the crowded room. STUDENTS eat and visit with each other as Chloe stares off into space. Her food sits untouched on the tray in front of her. She looks out the window with a blank look on her face.
cut to:
CHLOE’S DAYDREAM
CHLOE, 8, helps her MOTHER plant flowers in the front yard.
MOTHER
Aren’t they beautiful Chloe?
CHLOE
Yes. The red ones are my favorite!
(beat)
This one is for Daddy.
The mother smiles sadly as Chloe pats the earth around a newly planted flower.
cut back to:
CAFETERIA
CHLOE is jarred as a STUDENT bumps her in passing, whacking her in the head with his tray. She turns around and looks at him. The boy doesn’t acknowledge what he did and just keeps walking and talking to his FRIEND. Chloe looks around, but nobody has witnessed the injustice.
cut to:
INT. CHLOE’S HOUSE – AFTERNOON
CHLOE sits motionless on her bed, staring into space. An opened photo album rests on her lap. CLOSE UP of an older picture of her mother and father. Her mother is pregnant in the photo. Her father wears a police uniform. A tear rolls down Chloe’s cheek.
cut to:
INT. SCHOOL – HALLWAY – MORNING
CHLOE walks down the hall. She looks around with a bit of a confused expression. Things don’t look the same. She spots the pep rally banner and stops. She stands looking at it. The colors are muted and flickering in black and white.
(cont’d)
(cont’d)
THREE BULLIES walk past her. They take notice of her staring at the banner. Their POV shows the banner in bright colors. One of them nudges his friends and then, in a voice mimicking someone deaf says:
BULLY
(slowly)
P..E…P……R…A…L….L….Y.
His friends laugh and they walk away. Chloe turns and looks at them. Their color appears muted as well and also flicker on and off in black and white. Chloe looks up and down at all the kids passing. CLOSE-UPS of their faces as they react to her scrutiny. Some make brief comments like ‘weirdo’, ‘head case’, and ‘psycho’. One is heard saying ‘Take a picture already…’
cut to:
INT. CHLOE’S BEDROOM – NIGHT
CHLOE tosses and turns in her sleep.
cut to:
INT. CHLOE’S HOUSE – HALLWAY
CHLOE opens her bedroom door and walks down the hallway. She hears crying in another room and decides to investigate. She slowly makes her way toward her mother’s bedroom. The crying is louder now.
cut to:
INT. MOTHER’S BEDROOM
CHLOE’S MOTHER sits sobbing on her bed. She hears a creak in the floor outside her room. She stands and walks over to the door.
cut back to:
HALLWAY
CHLOE’S MOTHER opens the door to find CHLOE standing there.
MOTHER
Chloe? What is it? What’s wrong?
CHLOE begins to cry. Her mother immediately embraces her.
MOTHER
Oh baby. You can talk to me about
anything.
CHLOE
(through tears)
I’ve just been….
(beat)
I’ve been thinking about my dad
a lot lately.
A strange expression crosses her mother’s face.
MOTHER
You’re dad?
(beat)
Is that why you’ve been acting
so strangely?
CHLOE
I feel like he’s not here because of
me.
Her mother gently pushes her away so she can look her in the eyes.
MOTHER
Oh Chloe. Don’t EVER think that
is YOUR fault. EVER.
CHLOE
But he…
MOTHER
He made his own choices in life.
(beat)
We all make our own choices.
CHLOE
But if you didn’t have me then…
MOTHER
He’d still be gone.
She pulls Chloe close again.
MOTHER
He’s still be gone.
cut to:
CHLOE’S DREAM
INT. FUNERAL HOME
CHLOE walks slowly past MOURNERS all dressed in black and POLICE OFFICERS in full dress uniform. She approaches a large door. She turns and looks at the mourners, who are all watching her. She turns back to the door and opens it. Inside the door are so many flowers she cannot see past them. She begins pushing her way through the incredible array of flowers. Just when it seems she is at the end, she sees a coffin. She takes a step toward it, but then looks down to see she is stepping off into air. She falls screaming.
cut back to:
CHLOE’S ROOM
CHLOE wakes up frantically. She takes a moment and realizes where she is. She sits up in bed and looks around in the darkness. Things appear blurry to her. She looks over at the window and spots the dying plant. She gets up and swats it off the sill, causing it to crash to the floor.
cut to:
INT. CHLOE’S HOUSE – KITCHEN – NEXT MORNING
CHLOE’S MOTHER is bustling around the kitchen. She pours coffee into a travel mug and opens the fridge for milk. She calls up to Chloe.
MOTHER
CHLOE! It’s late! Get a move on!
I’m showing a house in forty minutes so
if you want a ride to school, you better get
down here!
cut to:
INT. CHLOE’S ROOM
CHLOE grabs clothes out of her closet. We see her in color, but her P.O.V. is completely black and white. VARIOUS SHOTS of items she is holding and looking at. She is panicked.
cut back to:
KITCHEN
CHLOE’S MOTHER growls, placing her briefcase on the counter and walks upstairs.
cut to:
INT. HOUSE – UPSTAIRS HALLWAY
CHLOE’S MOTHER walks sternly toward Chloe’s room. She opens the door saying:
MOTHER
Honestly Chloe I…
And she stops. A look of disbelief crosses her face.
cut to:
SHOT OF CHLOE’S ROOM – MOTHER’S P.O.V.
CHLOE stands in a sea of clothing. It is EVERYWHERE.
cut to:
INT. SCHOOL – HALLWAY – MORNING
CHLOE walks down the hallway. STUDENTS eye her up and down, some snickering quietly, others loudly, blatantly laughing. Her P.O.V. is completely black and white. All the sounds are not distinguishable. As she passes we see the students P.O.V. and it is full color.
cut to:
INT. SCHOOL - HALLWAY
TIGHT TO MEDIUM SHOT of CHLOE from behind as she passes students in the hall. She is wearing a RIDICULOUS outfit. NOTHING matches.
cut to:
INT. SCHOOL – COUNSELOR’S OFFICE – DAY
CHLOE sits across from the COUNSELOR. They look at each other. The counselor’s P.O.V. is bright and colorful. Chloe’s P.O.V. completely black and white. She tries to shake it off and is annoyed at having to be there.
COUNSELOR
Do you want to talk about anything?
CHLOE
No.
The counselor flips through some papers and then starts reading out loud.
COUNSELOR
Principal’s honor roll last three years…
school spirit squad last two…
art club, French club…
(beat)
Par le vu?
Chloe just looks at her.
COUNSELOR
My point here is you have been
active and social up until…
CHLOE
(interrupting)
Would it make you feel better if
I started a Facebook page?
COUNSELOR
Chloe this isn’t about making ME
feel better. It’s about helping YOU
to work through whatever’s going on.
Chloe stands and walks toward the door. She turns to the counselor.
CHLOE
There’s NOTHING going on.
Chloe opens the door and starts to walk out.
COUNSELOR
CHLOE.
Chloe stops, keeping her back to the woman.
COUNSELOR
It’s okay to feel like crap sometimes.
(beat)
That’s part of being a teenager.
Chloe, her eyes swelling with tears, turns to the woman.
CHLOE
How would you know?
COUNSELOR
Chloe I’ve lived that age…
I know….
CHLOE
You don’t know anything but a
few choice phrases they taught you.
(beat)
Well I know a thing or two.
(beat)
I know what’s what.
COUNSELOR
What do you know? Tell me.
CHLOE
I know he wanted to leave. He
wanted to quit. I heard him tell my
mother. But she told him ‘no. wait
until Chloe is out of school. We need
the insurance. She needs the insurance.
COUNSELOR
Who? What are you talking about?
Chloe starts crying.
CHLOE
Don’t you fucking listen?!!
( beat)
Jesus!
(beat)
I heard them. He was saying he had
a bad feeling, that it had been twenty
five years and that things were changing
and he just had a bad feeling.
(beat)
But he didn’t leave. He didn’t quit
because of me. If they didn’t have me,
he would have left and he’d be alive.
The counselor looks through her papers.
COUNSELOR
Chloe I’m a little confused here.
CHLOE
Really?!! So I guess….You’re NOT as
smart as you think and I AM as fucked up as
everyone around thinks I am.
(beat)
I’m an abscess! I’m pus!!!
Chloe runs out of the room. The counselor stands perplexed.
INT. CHLOE’S HOUSE – KITCHEN – MORNING
CHLOE, enters the kitchen carrying a folded note. She looks around for her mother and spots her mother’s briefcase on the counter. She carefully places the note deep within the briefcase. The phone rings. Chloe looks at it. The caller ID reads ‘high school’. Chloe looks to see if her mother is around. The answering machine picks up. After the beep, we hear the counselor leaving a message.
COUNSELOR
This is Miss Downing, Chloe’s counselor
at school. Please call me when you get a chance.
There’s something important I’d like to discuss
with you concerning Chloe and my meeting with
her yesterday.
(beat)
Please call me as soon as you get this message.
The answering machine beeps off as her MOTHER enters the kitchen. She looks at Chloe’s outfit, which again, does not match. But her mother bites her tongue and tries to make the best of it.
MOTHER
Good. You’re up… AND you’re
ready to go? Wonderful.
(beat)
Who called?
CHLOE
Telemarketer.
Her mother shoves a few papers in the briefcase as Chloe watches.
MOTHER
Okay, well, let’s hit the road. I’ve got a
showing and then a closing. Keep your fingers
crossed the Meerchek’s financing didn’t
fall through.
They leave the kitchen.
cut to:
INT. CAR – DRIVING – MORNING
CHLOE’ MOTHER drives and CHLOE sits quietly looking out the window. They stop at a stop sign. An ambulance with its lights on passes in front of them. Chloe’s mother blesses herself.
MOTHER
There but for the grace of God go you or I.
Chloe looks at her.
cut to:
EXT. SCHOOL – MORNING
CHLOE begins to exit the car.
MOTHER
(smiling)
Keep your fingers crossed for me!
CHLOE
Sure.
She gets out and shuts the door. She stands looking at the school. Her P.O.V. is still black and white. Her mother drives away. Chloe enters the school.
cut to:
INT. CHLOE’S HOUSE – MOTHER’S BATHROOM – AFTERNOON
CHLOE stands in front of the open medicine cabinet.
cut to:
INT. CHLOE’S HOUSE – BASEMENT – AFTERNOON
CHLOE walks down the stairs into the basement. She crosses the room to a toolbox and starts rifling through it. CLOSE-UP as she removes a plastic box of razor blades.
cut to:
INT. OFFICE BUILDING – CONFERENCE ROOM – DAY
CHLOE’S MOTHER is at the closing. In the room with her are TWO COUPLES and ANOTHER REAL ESTATE AGENT. They are all seated around a large table. Neat piles of papers sit ready to be signed. Chloe’s mother digs through her bag.
MOTHER
So I guess lighting all those candles
at church wasn’t wasting my time.
(beat)
We’re all here.
Everyone chuckles. She takes some papers out of her bad and Chloe’s note falls out. She picks it up, not sure of what it is, and unfolds it.
cut to:
INT. HOUSE – CHLOE’S ROOM – AFTERNOON
In slow motion. Dark music up. CHLOE enters carrying a prescription bottle and a razor blade. She draws her shade down.
cut back to:
INT. OFFICE
In slow motion. CHLOE’S MOTHER reads the note. A horrified look crosses her face. She drops the note and looks at the other people, whose smiles slowly turn to looks of concern. We see the other real estate agent mouth the words ‘Are you okay?’. Chloe’s mother digs for her car keys and upon finding them, runs out the door. The other real estate agent stands and runs toward the door calling M.O.S. to her. The two couples are confused.
cut back to:
INT. CHLOE’S BEDROOM
CHLOE sits down on her bed. She opens the photo album. She pours a handful of pills into her hand and washes them down with water from a water bottle on her nightstand.
cut to:
INT. CAR – DRIVING – DAY
CHLOE’S MOTHER frantically drives, weaving through traffic and honking. Tears flow down her cheeks as she yells to the other drivers.
MOTHER
Come on! Fucking move! Get out of the way!
cut back to:
CHLOE’S ROOM
CHLOE turns her arm so her palm is facing up. She looks at her arm. She takes the razor in the other hand and slowly starts to cut. She rolls her head back with a haunting look up. Everything is black and white except for the red blood dripping off her arm and onto the floor.
cut back to:
INT. CAR – DRIVEWAY
CHLOE’S MOTHER pulls into the drive and bolts out of the car. She runs to the front door.
cut back to:
CHLOE’S BEDROOM
CHLOE falls back onto the bed. She closes her eyes.
cut to:
MONTAGE OF SHOTS:
CHLOE watering flowers with her mother.
CHLOE walking through hallway at school.
CHLOE sitting in class looking out the window at the flowers.
CHLOE and HER MOTHER sitting in the car as the ambulance drove by. Chloe looking at her mother as she blesses herself.
The sound of the ambulance becomes louder and louder, taking over the music and moving into the present…
cut to:
EXT. SCHOOL – AFTERNOON
A groundskeeper plants flowers outside the school. Camera pans up to the window above him. Camera moves through the window into the office.
cut to:
INT. SCHOOL – COUNSELOR’S OFFICE
The COUNSELOR sits at her desk. Across from her sit CHLOE and HER MOTHER. Chloe wears a long sleeved shirt, but white bandages peek out just beyond the sleeves.
The counselor, mother, and Chloe are talking M.O.S. Soft music up.
CHLOE (V.O.)
After all of that, I discover out my father
is still alive. He had left my mother when
she was pregnant. I had never even met the man.
INSERT picture of CHLOE’S DAD in a cop bar surrounded by other cops.
CHLOE (V.O.)
(cont’d)
He is still a cop in Suffolk County somewhere
and had never remarried. Mom said he was a
HUGE drinker.
cut to:
INT. CHLOE’S HOUSE – HALLWAY
CLOSE-UP of a new, photographed portrait of Chloe and her mother hang on the wall. Camera travels through the front door outside.
cut to:
EXT. HOUSE – YARD – DAY
CHLOE and HER MOTHER plant flowers together.
cut to:
INT. HOUSE – CHLOE’S BEDROOM – NIGHT
CHLOE sleeps soundly. Camera pans to thriving plant in ceramic planter on her windowsill.
CHLOE (V.O.)
They say guilt is one of the strongest
emotions, we, as humans, can feel…
Its also reported guilt can manifest itself
in various ways.
Fade out.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
Jesus and the alien connection
I recently watched a show on the History Channel about possible alien visits to earth during ancient times. It covered many different theories and offered a huge amount of evidence, which supports the idea that biblical characters had, indeed, encountered intelligent life from beyond our solar system. This started me thinking about the beginning of religion and if, perhaps, the all-powerful God figure written about in the Bible, had extraterrestrial roots.
The program discussed the pyramids and the possibility that the awe-inspiring structures were designed to operate as some sort of power source, combining different elements to create hydrogen. This theory was the result of exhaustive examinations of the intricate tunnels found within the pyramids; tunnels with no apparent purpose to the average lay person.
I was absolutely captivated by the evidence presented. The wheels in my mind started turning and suddenly I was struck with a theory that defied everything I was ever raised to believe. Is it possible Jesus himself was the result of an extraterrestrial and human paring?
If you are a believer in alien encounters, like I am, then consider for a moment the possibility. In the show I watched, Ezekiel, the biblical character, was supposedly told by an all-knowing being ‘This is why I brought you here’. That might imply humans were transplanted onto this planet instead of originating here. Then I thought about the dinosaurs and how they supposedly ‘suddenly were extinct’ by some sort of large explosion. Perhaps an alien race eradicated the dinosaurs so they could implant humans here; humans who would build their pyramids and afford them a power source on earth.
This is where my theory now incorporates Jesus. When I think of Mary and her immaculate conception, it makes me wonder if some sort of advanced alien race didn’t impregnate her. Perhaps they intended for their race to be incorporated into the human race. What happened next? Jesus was born. A man believed to have powers unlike any other human. He could bring the dead back to life. He made food multiply. He was wise beyond his years. Perhaps Jesus was meant to reproduce. But what did we do? We killed him.
After his death, I think the aliens kept coming back to check on things and realized Jesus had not, in fact, reproduced, but had been destroyed. The aliens looked at the civilization that was now taking over the planet and probably thought ‘They’re fucked now’ and just kind of left. All the alien sightings since then are probably the aliens just doing fly-bys to estimate how long it will be until we destroy our planet.
The program discussed the pyramids and the possibility that the awe-inspiring structures were designed to operate as some sort of power source, combining different elements to create hydrogen. This theory was the result of exhaustive examinations of the intricate tunnels found within the pyramids; tunnels with no apparent purpose to the average lay person.
I was absolutely captivated by the evidence presented. The wheels in my mind started turning and suddenly I was struck with a theory that defied everything I was ever raised to believe. Is it possible Jesus himself was the result of an extraterrestrial and human paring?
If you are a believer in alien encounters, like I am, then consider for a moment the possibility. In the show I watched, Ezekiel, the biblical character, was supposedly told by an all-knowing being ‘This is why I brought you here’. That might imply humans were transplanted onto this planet instead of originating here. Then I thought about the dinosaurs and how they supposedly ‘suddenly were extinct’ by some sort of large explosion. Perhaps an alien race eradicated the dinosaurs so they could implant humans here; humans who would build their pyramids and afford them a power source on earth.
This is where my theory now incorporates Jesus. When I think of Mary and her immaculate conception, it makes me wonder if some sort of advanced alien race didn’t impregnate her. Perhaps they intended for their race to be incorporated into the human race. What happened next? Jesus was born. A man believed to have powers unlike any other human. He could bring the dead back to life. He made food multiply. He was wise beyond his years. Perhaps Jesus was meant to reproduce. But what did we do? We killed him.
After his death, I think the aliens kept coming back to check on things and realized Jesus had not, in fact, reproduced, but had been destroyed. The aliens looked at the civilization that was now taking over the planet and probably thought ‘They’re fucked now’ and just kind of left. All the alien sightings since then are probably the aliens just doing fly-bys to estimate how long it will be until we destroy our planet.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Three Ectomies
This blogging thing is completely new to me, so if I come across as complaining or whiney, that is not my intention. Nor is it my intention to appear negative about my Life or the lives of others.
I received an email comment about my last blog. It came from, of all people, my mother. She felt compelled to write to me and tell me that I am not a loser or an underachiever. Gotta love your mom, right? I do love her and I thought long and hard about some of the things she pointed out to me.
Today was a weird day. It started out raining and then just tapered off to cool. I went to Wal-mart with my hubby and my youngest. When we walked in, it was like a chilly fall day. When we left, there was snow and ice blowing sideways. I was immediately baffled because I could have sworn the weather forecast was the 60’s for most of this week. Just goes to show you, Mother Nature has her own agenda.
So this evening, as the snow began to subside, I was left with this wintry doldrumy kind of feeling and really wasn’t even in the mood to write. But I thought about a comment my eleven year-old made to me yesterday. I was looking something up online and he walked into my office and stood behind me for a second before asking, “What’s a hysterectomy?” I tried my best to explain it in a way that wouldn’t emotionally scar him for Life. Then he replied “You’ve had all these ‘ectomies’… that’s weird” before leaving the room. I just sat there and thought about it. Then I thought about what my mother had written to me.
I guess when listing my accomplishments, I neglected to add one thing. I had cancer. There. I said it. It really sucked. I know there are a lot of words in the English language I could choose to describe it, and some people might say I’m being lazy to pick such a menial sort of phrase, but really – it just sucked.
I felt a lump in my chest around April. It was in a strange spot, nestled in the inner quadrant of my left breast, but almost appearing to be on the chest bone. It was just to the left of the center of my chest. It wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t small, either. It felt hard, like a golf ball. I imagine it had been there for some time and I had felt over the course of the previous months, but because of the location, I must have reconciled that it was part of my chest bone, until it started to grow and made it’s presence known. I went to the doctor, who told me she did not think it was cancer because cancer usually doesn’t start there or look like that. I felt reassured but decided it must come out because whatever it was – it was an intruder and not welcome. I had a mammogram and an ultrasound on both breasts. ‘Ectomy #1’ – the lumpectomy.
I got the results on May 13, 2009. It was cancer and it was in both breasts. Driving home from the doctor, all I could think of was “I’m going to die. I’m going to die and my boys won’t remember me after a few years. Henry might because he’s older, but George is only three and he won’t remember me. All the time I’ve spent with him, all the times I’ve fed him and changed him and bathed him and he’s going to forget me because I’m going to die” I was shocked and pissed and sad and angry. I didn’t know exactly what to do, but I knew that I would figure it out. I had to.
I immediately ran to my computer, which had always been a great source of information. Under the comfort of anonymity, I surfed every site dedicated to cancer, trying to figure out what the hell to do. I read posts from survivors; I read posts from the terminal. I read pages on curing cancer naturally. I read those from traditional schools of treatment. There was so much information out there that most nights I went to bed with my head spinning. And I would cry almost every night because I didn’t know what to do and was scared.
After meeting with doctors and researching my options, I decided to remove the breasts and opted for immediate reconstruction. ‘Ectomy #2’ – the mastectomy. June 26, 2009.
Silly me. I thought removing what the cancer was in was going to be enough. I had been diagnosed as Stage 1 with no lymph node involvement. Never did I realize the breast tissue that had been removed could come back with ‘positive margins’, but it can. My doctors told me I should now do chemo and radiation. What? (Actually I think my reaction was more like “What the f%#@?!!!” They couldn’t be serious. At that point I had enough of the mammograms, ultrasounds, cat scans, MRI’s, blood tests and pathology. I didn’t care if I had positive margins for DCIS, I wasn’t going to put poison and radiation into my body. I refused any further treatment and decided I would take matters into my own hands through supplements and PH balancing.
Just when I thought I was in the clear, I get a letter from my oncologist telling me to come in for a follow-up. I knew what she wanted. She wanted me to subscribe to five years of a drug called Tamoxifen. This because my cancer had been estrogen-driven. “Absolutely not.” I told her. “I haven’t read anything good about that and I haven’t spoken with anyone who had a good experience with it.” What are my options? Take out the ovaries and eliminate 90% of the estrogen in my body. ‘Ectomy #3 – the hysterectomy. March 8, 2010. I did the whole kit and caboodle to eliminate cervical and uterine cancers in the future.
So where I had been critical of my accomplishments, my mother had praised me for getting through this past year. But I didn’t see the whole ‘cancer’ thing as cause for praise. It was merely self-preservation to the highest degree. Did I feel as though I faced down my own mortality? You bet your ass. Until you are sitting in a doctor’s office and here the words “You have cancer”, you’ll never know real fear. Fear of the unknown, fear that you haven’t done what you wanted in your Life, fear you’ll never see your kids grow up, fear you haven’t made your mark…
I could post a pink ribbon on my blog and link it to a thousand sites related to breast cancer. But I won’t. I could call myself a survivor, but I’d rather say I’m just happy to be alive – for now, anyway.
I didn’t mean for this blog to be a bummer and I promise my next one will have more humor in it. But I guess I wanted to put this out there so anyone reading this (is anyone reading this other than my mother?) could understand a little more about where I’m coming from. I’m thinking of changing the name of my blog. Not because my mother doesn’t think I’m an underachiever, but maybe because after taking a good look at where I’ve been and what I’ve been through… I don’t see myself as one.
Thanks for reading.
Kim
I received an email comment about my last blog. It came from, of all people, my mother. She felt compelled to write to me and tell me that I am not a loser or an underachiever. Gotta love your mom, right? I do love her and I thought long and hard about some of the things she pointed out to me.
Today was a weird day. It started out raining and then just tapered off to cool. I went to Wal-mart with my hubby and my youngest. When we walked in, it was like a chilly fall day. When we left, there was snow and ice blowing sideways. I was immediately baffled because I could have sworn the weather forecast was the 60’s for most of this week. Just goes to show you, Mother Nature has her own agenda.
So this evening, as the snow began to subside, I was left with this wintry doldrumy kind of feeling and really wasn’t even in the mood to write. But I thought about a comment my eleven year-old made to me yesterday. I was looking something up online and he walked into my office and stood behind me for a second before asking, “What’s a hysterectomy?” I tried my best to explain it in a way that wouldn’t emotionally scar him for Life. Then he replied “You’ve had all these ‘ectomies’… that’s weird” before leaving the room. I just sat there and thought about it. Then I thought about what my mother had written to me.
I guess when listing my accomplishments, I neglected to add one thing. I had cancer. There. I said it. It really sucked. I know there are a lot of words in the English language I could choose to describe it, and some people might say I’m being lazy to pick such a menial sort of phrase, but really – it just sucked.
I felt a lump in my chest around April. It was in a strange spot, nestled in the inner quadrant of my left breast, but almost appearing to be on the chest bone. It was just to the left of the center of my chest. It wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t small, either. It felt hard, like a golf ball. I imagine it had been there for some time and I had felt over the course of the previous months, but because of the location, I must have reconciled that it was part of my chest bone, until it started to grow and made it’s presence known. I went to the doctor, who told me she did not think it was cancer because cancer usually doesn’t start there or look like that. I felt reassured but decided it must come out because whatever it was – it was an intruder and not welcome. I had a mammogram and an ultrasound on both breasts. ‘Ectomy #1’ – the lumpectomy.
I got the results on May 13, 2009. It was cancer and it was in both breasts. Driving home from the doctor, all I could think of was “I’m going to die. I’m going to die and my boys won’t remember me after a few years. Henry might because he’s older, but George is only three and he won’t remember me. All the time I’ve spent with him, all the times I’ve fed him and changed him and bathed him and he’s going to forget me because I’m going to die” I was shocked and pissed and sad and angry. I didn’t know exactly what to do, but I knew that I would figure it out. I had to.
I immediately ran to my computer, which had always been a great source of information. Under the comfort of anonymity, I surfed every site dedicated to cancer, trying to figure out what the hell to do. I read posts from survivors; I read posts from the terminal. I read pages on curing cancer naturally. I read those from traditional schools of treatment. There was so much information out there that most nights I went to bed with my head spinning. And I would cry almost every night because I didn’t know what to do and was scared.
After meeting with doctors and researching my options, I decided to remove the breasts and opted for immediate reconstruction. ‘Ectomy #2’ – the mastectomy. June 26, 2009.
Silly me. I thought removing what the cancer was in was going to be enough. I had been diagnosed as Stage 1 with no lymph node involvement. Never did I realize the breast tissue that had been removed could come back with ‘positive margins’, but it can. My doctors told me I should now do chemo and radiation. What? (Actually I think my reaction was more like “What the f%#@?!!!” They couldn’t be serious. At that point I had enough of the mammograms, ultrasounds, cat scans, MRI’s, blood tests and pathology. I didn’t care if I had positive margins for DCIS, I wasn’t going to put poison and radiation into my body. I refused any further treatment and decided I would take matters into my own hands through supplements and PH balancing.
Just when I thought I was in the clear, I get a letter from my oncologist telling me to come in for a follow-up. I knew what she wanted. She wanted me to subscribe to five years of a drug called Tamoxifen. This because my cancer had been estrogen-driven. “Absolutely not.” I told her. “I haven’t read anything good about that and I haven’t spoken with anyone who had a good experience with it.” What are my options? Take out the ovaries and eliminate 90% of the estrogen in my body. ‘Ectomy #3 – the hysterectomy. March 8, 2010. I did the whole kit and caboodle to eliminate cervical and uterine cancers in the future.
So where I had been critical of my accomplishments, my mother had praised me for getting through this past year. But I didn’t see the whole ‘cancer’ thing as cause for praise. It was merely self-preservation to the highest degree. Did I feel as though I faced down my own mortality? You bet your ass. Until you are sitting in a doctor’s office and here the words “You have cancer”, you’ll never know real fear. Fear of the unknown, fear that you haven’t done what you wanted in your Life, fear you’ll never see your kids grow up, fear you haven’t made your mark…
I could post a pink ribbon on my blog and link it to a thousand sites related to breast cancer. But I won’t. I could call myself a survivor, but I’d rather say I’m just happy to be alive – for now, anyway.
I didn’t mean for this blog to be a bummer and I promise my next one will have more humor in it. But I guess I wanted to put this out there so anyone reading this (is anyone reading this other than my mother?) could understand a little more about where I’m coming from. I’m thinking of changing the name of my blog. Not because my mother doesn’t think I’m an underachiever, but maybe because after taking a good look at where I’ve been and what I’ve been through… I don’t see myself as one.
Thanks for reading.
Kim
Friday, March 26, 2010
Help Wanted
Well here I am, at it again. I read over my last post and realized I asked a critical question, but never really answered it. My question was "Am I a loser?". That's a hard one to answer, or, at the very least, an easy one to ignore. The term 'loser' is used so often these days, and sometimes not always in a fair way. What constitutes a loser? We can watch television and see a celebrity do something stupid and comment "What a loser", but in reality, are they? They appear to have achieved a lot in life - fame, money, success... but then they make one slip up and everyone bombards them with criticism. Geez... that doesn't leave much hope for the rest of us then, does it?
I decided to take a condensed, candid look at my life, weighing a couple of my accomplishments over my shortcomings. I took the step by step approach. I'll give myself one step forward for each accomplishment and two steps backward for the things I consider 'failures' or, at the very least, pitfalls. It's my own personal, albeit sad, version of Chutes and Ladders.
I graduated high school. One step forward.
I graduated college. One step forward.
I graduated high school in 1983 and finally received my bachelors degree in 1997. That's a biggie. Two steps back. I should have followed through and had my B.A. in 1987. Instead, I blew ten years of my life doing God knows what. I can't even remember what had been so important as to trump my college education. After receiving my college degree, I went on to do absolutely nothing with it. I didn't pursue a Masters, but instead rested on my laurels and floundered in dead end jobs waiting tables, bartending, cleaning houses, and then fell ass backwards into film and video production. Hmmmm..... it's not looking too good for me right now. But do I consider myself a loser? Not yet.
I had my first son in 1998. One step forward.
I had my second son in 2006. Another step forward.
I had my second son when I was 42. That's another biggie. While other women my age were feverishly working on their careers, trying to balance it all, I once again put any semblance of a career on hold to stay home and nurture my newborn. It was during this period that I realized I really needed a job I could do from home. After all, I didn't want to put my young son in daycare and have a stranger experience his toddler moments, first step, first word. In truth, I didn't want anyone bonding with him but me. Selfish? Absolutely! We definitely needed to be a two-income family, but I ignored all the Dr. Phil and Oprah episodes centering on that subject. Instead I let us sink into debt so I could play "Stay At Home Mommy" no matter what the cost. So I'll reward my selfish and unproductive last three years with another two steps back.
Looks like I'm neither moving ahead nor falling behind. Ahhhh - the classic and most comfortable position for an underachiever like me. Status quo can be quite tempting and quite validating for those of us with no particular place to go and no short term goals begging to be met.
So what is my verdict? Do I officially consider myself a loser? Kind of. Does that count? I mean I definitely could be farther ahead in my career, but I've also enjoyed my time with my boys. And it's not like there are a million jobs out there for writers. A good friend of mine described the current state of online writing jobs as Journacide. The death of conventional writers. If you Google 'writing jobs', you'll find thousands of sites dedicated to helping all of us struggling word jockies find work. The problem is, there are more 'opportunities' than actual, paying jobs out there. I have spent countless hours investigating site after site only to find many are just preying on our desperation. And many offer to find you a job - for a fee.
There's a small advertising agency in New Jersey I have done work for. They call me on occasion to brainstorm and come up with creative ad concepts for a very boring industry - construction equipment. The advertising in this industry does not conform to any of the usual parameters of advertising. For instance - 'Sex Sells' does not apply here. And that knocks out a lot of options in advertising. Every so often I get called in and get a few hours of work out of them. And I am grateful for those hours. It's during these meetings when I actually feel like a grown-up, doing grown up things. I feel productive. I feel as though I am contributing. I feel needed.
My mom says it's good for me to get out of the house and be in a different environment. She couldn't be more correct. Those brief moments of brainstorming over how to make a front loader attachment for a tractor interesting are sometimes the best hours of my week. I grasp onto them because for a fleeting moment I am not 'Mommy' or "Babe". For a nanosecond, my responsibilities span beyond the dishes and the laundry and the overflowing cat box. I get up, I shower, I dig out my best 'officey' clothes, do my makeup, style my hair, and get into my car.
Gazing up at the house as I back out of the driveway, I see my little one in the window looking out at me. Behind him stands my husband with a somewhat forlorn look on his face. It's as if they both know given the chance, I would skip our exit on my way home and keep driving until I hit Lake Tahoe and disappear into the wonderfulness for about a month. But I wave to them as I pull away and for a split second, I am sad to be leaving. But the farther I get from the house, the more excited I get at the thought of being in an environment where my opinion on things other than what's for dinner will actually be appreciated.
I drive along and fantasize about the interesting conversation that lay ahead. I am already mulling ideas around in my head and practice their presentations outloud in my 2003 Suzuki as I make my way through the Delaware Water Gap and into Jersey. "This is great!" I say to myself as I pull into the parking lot. I get out of my car, grab my adult-looking work bag and my bottle of Poland Springs water and check my look in side mirror.
As I'm walking toward the building, I am suddenly hit by a mini panic attack and overwhelmed by insecurities that were almost non-existent five minutes ago. What if they hate my ideas? What if my stomach growls during the meeting? What if I don't have anything more interesting than what they have come up with between all of them? Suddenly this doesn't feel fun and I wonder if I made a mistake. Maybe I should have researched it more. Damn it, I should have asked for more time!
As my hand reaches out for the front door of the building, I am overcome with a burning desire to be back at home, shuffling through the kitchen in my robe and slippers, robbing the coffee maker of the last mouthful of grimy, but still drinkable morning bliss. At that very moment, I'd give anything to be in my sweats, picking up Lego pieces off the floor. Then I think "What the hell is wrong with me?" Here I had been given the opportunity to show people what I've got and before I can even begin, I'm wishing I were done. Maybe I really am a loser? Am I a loser?
Nah...I'm just an underachiever.
I decided to take a condensed, candid look at my life, weighing a couple of my accomplishments over my shortcomings. I took the step by step approach. I'll give myself one step forward for each accomplishment and two steps backward for the things I consider 'failures' or, at the very least, pitfalls. It's my own personal, albeit sad, version of Chutes and Ladders.
I graduated high school. One step forward.
I graduated college. One step forward.
I graduated high school in 1983 and finally received my bachelors degree in 1997. That's a biggie. Two steps back. I should have followed through and had my B.A. in 1987. Instead, I blew ten years of my life doing God knows what. I can't even remember what had been so important as to trump my college education. After receiving my college degree, I went on to do absolutely nothing with it. I didn't pursue a Masters, but instead rested on my laurels and floundered in dead end jobs waiting tables, bartending, cleaning houses, and then fell ass backwards into film and video production. Hmmmm..... it's not looking too good for me right now. But do I consider myself a loser? Not yet.
I had my first son in 1998. One step forward.
I had my second son in 2006. Another step forward.
I had my second son when I was 42. That's another biggie. While other women my age were feverishly working on their careers, trying to balance it all, I once again put any semblance of a career on hold to stay home and nurture my newborn. It was during this period that I realized I really needed a job I could do from home. After all, I didn't want to put my young son in daycare and have a stranger experience his toddler moments, first step, first word. In truth, I didn't want anyone bonding with him but me. Selfish? Absolutely! We definitely needed to be a two-income family, but I ignored all the Dr. Phil and Oprah episodes centering on that subject. Instead I let us sink into debt so I could play "Stay At Home Mommy" no matter what the cost. So I'll reward my selfish and unproductive last three years with another two steps back.
Looks like I'm neither moving ahead nor falling behind. Ahhhh - the classic and most comfortable position for an underachiever like me. Status quo can be quite tempting and quite validating for those of us with no particular place to go and no short term goals begging to be met.
So what is my verdict? Do I officially consider myself a loser? Kind of. Does that count? I mean I definitely could be farther ahead in my career, but I've also enjoyed my time with my boys. And it's not like there are a million jobs out there for writers. A good friend of mine described the current state of online writing jobs as Journacide. The death of conventional writers. If you Google 'writing jobs', you'll find thousands of sites dedicated to helping all of us struggling word jockies find work. The problem is, there are more 'opportunities' than actual, paying jobs out there. I have spent countless hours investigating site after site only to find many are just preying on our desperation. And many offer to find you a job - for a fee.
There's a small advertising agency in New Jersey I have done work for. They call me on occasion to brainstorm and come up with creative ad concepts for a very boring industry - construction equipment. The advertising in this industry does not conform to any of the usual parameters of advertising. For instance - 'Sex Sells' does not apply here. And that knocks out a lot of options in advertising. Every so often I get called in and get a few hours of work out of them. And I am grateful for those hours. It's during these meetings when I actually feel like a grown-up, doing grown up things. I feel productive. I feel as though I am contributing. I feel needed.
My mom says it's good for me to get out of the house and be in a different environment. She couldn't be more correct. Those brief moments of brainstorming over how to make a front loader attachment for a tractor interesting are sometimes the best hours of my week. I grasp onto them because for a fleeting moment I am not 'Mommy' or "Babe". For a nanosecond, my responsibilities span beyond the dishes and the laundry and the overflowing cat box. I get up, I shower, I dig out my best 'officey' clothes, do my makeup, style my hair, and get into my car.
Gazing up at the house as I back out of the driveway, I see my little one in the window looking out at me. Behind him stands my husband with a somewhat forlorn look on his face. It's as if they both know given the chance, I would skip our exit on my way home and keep driving until I hit Lake Tahoe and disappear into the wonderfulness for about a month. But I wave to them as I pull away and for a split second, I am sad to be leaving. But the farther I get from the house, the more excited I get at the thought of being in an environment where my opinion on things other than what's for dinner will actually be appreciated.
I drive along and fantasize about the interesting conversation that lay ahead. I am already mulling ideas around in my head and practice their presentations outloud in my 2003 Suzuki as I make my way through the Delaware Water Gap and into Jersey. "This is great!" I say to myself as I pull into the parking lot. I get out of my car, grab my adult-looking work bag and my bottle of Poland Springs water and check my look in side mirror.
As I'm walking toward the building, I am suddenly hit by a mini panic attack and overwhelmed by insecurities that were almost non-existent five minutes ago. What if they hate my ideas? What if my stomach growls during the meeting? What if I don't have anything more interesting than what they have come up with between all of them? Suddenly this doesn't feel fun and I wonder if I made a mistake. Maybe I should have researched it more. Damn it, I should have asked for more time!
As my hand reaches out for the front door of the building, I am overcome with a burning desire to be back at home, shuffling through the kitchen in my robe and slippers, robbing the coffee maker of the last mouthful of grimy, but still drinkable morning bliss. At that very moment, I'd give anything to be in my sweats, picking up Lego pieces off the floor. Then I think "What the hell is wrong with me?" Here I had been given the opportunity to show people what I've got and before I can even begin, I'm wishing I were done. Maybe I really am a loser? Am I a loser?
Nah...I'm just an underachiever.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
My Quagmire
To say I am at a crossroads in my life would be the understatement of the century. A crossroads presents options - four to be exact. You can either turn right or left, move forward, or go back from where you came. My current position would be described more or less like being knee deep in black, oily, thick tar while not only being within site of a busy intersection, but also being forced to watch others, in expensive sports cars, fly by while having interesting conversations, eating the best food, and listening to fresh, inspiring music. They don't even notice me. Instead, I remain there, like a bird on the road with a broken wing, waving in vain, hoping someone will stop and pull me out, but the cars are too fast, the food is too good, and the music is too loud.
I long to be productive. I long to create, to provide a service, to make my mark. I am reminded of a line once spoken by Jessica Lange to Ed Harris in the movie Sweet Dreams, "People in hell want ice water..." Yes, we do - with a little lemon in it please.
Maybe I'm over-reacting and not really in hell. Perhaps the cars don't stop because I'm not really sinking into a pit of black self-loathing goo. Possibly to them, I am just standing there. Would they, for a second, suspend their wealth-building conversations and comment "Why is she just standing there when there are so many great places to go?". Am I really okay, but just imagining I am failing as a human being? If I sit at my desk with a blank piece of white, twenty pound, letter sized copy paper from Staples and a stolen pencil from my twelve year-old and begin to write down my accomplishments, could it be possible I am not the loser I think I am? Hmmmm. Let me see.
I worked for years in film (I'll use that term loosely since it was one independent feature film and they spelled my name wrong on the credits) and video. Started out as a production assistant, which is kind of like a mule, or really, just an ass, on the set. Did that for a while until I could prove to the egotistical, bloated producers I could handle more than laying bags of potato chips on the craft service table and moving the occasional car blocking the shot. I was promoted to production coordinator, which meant I was responsible for covering the producer's butt at all costs without ever considering for a moment I would get any recognition or credit for putting in eighteen hour days. The way I knew I was doing a good job was not because I received praise or a pay raise, but because my phone rang and I got hired for the next job. After six years of stress and feeling under appreciated, I decided to give up all the glamour and excitement to have a baby. That baby is now twelve and thinks I am a total idiot. That was Tulsa.
Now living in Pennsylvania, I have two boys, one twelve and one four. I still apply for production jobs, although I know I don't have the stamina or patience for it anymore. My real dream is to make hundreds of thousands of dollars writing - but I'd settle on $400 a week if the opportunity presented itself. I really just want to be able to write and have some sort of effect on people. Would it matter if I were making them mad or making them laugh? Probably not. As long as I was making them feel something. I prefer humor to cynicism and actually dabbled in stand-up comedy at one point. It was always something I wanted to do and one day, when I was in between marriages, I just did it. I called a local comedy club and asked if I could have five minutes on stage. I wrote some material, practiced it in front of a mirror, and then drove there and got on stage. At first I was really nervous, but then it kind of felt... I don't know... cool. I said things like "Walking behind someone with a fat ass in a crowded mall is like driving behind a mini-van in traffic..." and such. I guess it kind of worked because I was approached later that night by a guy who runs a comedy night at a bar in Newark and he asked me to go down there and perform. I did and I really liked it. But then, as with all the ventures I have ever undertaken, Life got in the way and my dreams of being a stand-up comic drifted out to sea. But to this day, I find myself sneaking off to my computer to type in little things that pop into my head. I'm secretly compiling another volume of jokes and observations.
So now I'm here. Blogging. It's new and strange to me. Even the word "blog" sounds weird and doesn't feel appropriate. It reminds me of the words "snot" and "blob". It doesn't bring creativity to mind, but if that is what this crazy laying down of ideas has been branded, then who am I to criticize. I am just glad to be part of the process.
I long to be productive. I long to create, to provide a service, to make my mark. I am reminded of a line once spoken by Jessica Lange to Ed Harris in the movie Sweet Dreams, "People in hell want ice water..." Yes, we do - with a little lemon in it please.
Maybe I'm over-reacting and not really in hell. Perhaps the cars don't stop because I'm not really sinking into a pit of black self-loathing goo. Possibly to them, I am just standing there. Would they, for a second, suspend their wealth-building conversations and comment "Why is she just standing there when there are so many great places to go?". Am I really okay, but just imagining I am failing as a human being? If I sit at my desk with a blank piece of white, twenty pound, letter sized copy paper from Staples and a stolen pencil from my twelve year-old and begin to write down my accomplishments, could it be possible I am not the loser I think I am? Hmmmm. Let me see.
I worked for years in film (I'll use that term loosely since it was one independent feature film and they spelled my name wrong on the credits) and video. Started out as a production assistant, which is kind of like a mule, or really, just an ass, on the set. Did that for a while until I could prove to the egotistical, bloated producers I could handle more than laying bags of potato chips on the craft service table and moving the occasional car blocking the shot. I was promoted to production coordinator, which meant I was responsible for covering the producer's butt at all costs without ever considering for a moment I would get any recognition or credit for putting in eighteen hour days. The way I knew I was doing a good job was not because I received praise or a pay raise, but because my phone rang and I got hired for the next job. After six years of stress and feeling under appreciated, I decided to give up all the glamour and excitement to have a baby. That baby is now twelve and thinks I am a total idiot. That was Tulsa.
Now living in Pennsylvania, I have two boys, one twelve and one four. I still apply for production jobs, although I know I don't have the stamina or patience for it anymore. My real dream is to make hundreds of thousands of dollars writing - but I'd settle on $400 a week if the opportunity presented itself. I really just want to be able to write and have some sort of effect on people. Would it matter if I were making them mad or making them laugh? Probably not. As long as I was making them feel something. I prefer humor to cynicism and actually dabbled in stand-up comedy at one point. It was always something I wanted to do and one day, when I was in between marriages, I just did it. I called a local comedy club and asked if I could have five minutes on stage. I wrote some material, practiced it in front of a mirror, and then drove there and got on stage. At first I was really nervous, but then it kind of felt... I don't know... cool. I said things like "Walking behind someone with a fat ass in a crowded mall is like driving behind a mini-van in traffic..." and such. I guess it kind of worked because I was approached later that night by a guy who runs a comedy night at a bar in Newark and he asked me to go down there and perform. I did and I really liked it. But then, as with all the ventures I have ever undertaken, Life got in the way and my dreams of being a stand-up comic drifted out to sea. But to this day, I find myself sneaking off to my computer to type in little things that pop into my head. I'm secretly compiling another volume of jokes and observations.
So now I'm here. Blogging. It's new and strange to me. Even the word "blog" sounds weird and doesn't feel appropriate. It reminds me of the words "snot" and "blob". It doesn't bring creativity to mind, but if that is what this crazy laying down of ideas has been branded, then who am I to criticize. I am just glad to be part of the process.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
