Pfizer Shot #2

Pfizer Shot Two, My poem for you

Our world is a mess
But I still hold hope, I confess
Though many profess
to have the solutions 
They’ll utter social promises
They’ll offer resolutions 

The key ingredient
that needs to be spread—
The words that need to be said-
Kindness, concern and love 
From our heart
and not from our head

Heading out for this shot today 
My mind filled with anxiety
I pull the car over
Turn the flashing lights on
I need to Pray,
so I pray a Psalm

Dear God of Covid and Cancer,
In the next variant for the world to see 
In the next tumor progression inside of me 
Please spread the contagion 
of love and compassion, 
Kindness and humanity

Have those multiplying inside of people 
In their Season of Cancer
In their Days of Covid

And may our next scans show 
High levels of increased activity 
Suspicious for love 

And numerous sites 
with proclivity for kindness 
And compassion
That’s our answer
That’s our cure 

Dear God of Covid & Cancer
If you could— 
Spread this comfort
Over our entire earth 
Our places of birth
We could understand
Our worth

We would stop the hate - it’s NOT our fate
Not ours to decide.
When you disrupt the universe  
You disrupt her tide
Mother Nature 
We need you
as our Guide

My left blinker on
Pulling back on the road
My prayer was sent up 
in Universe Code

Converse with the people
Take my words- do your part
And send them via feelings 
to every beating heart

Put the beat of my prayer 
in the rhythm of your heart 
The sound can defeat
what is wrong with the planet 
Dear God of the Universe, 
Take this love,
Go and plant it.

Pfizer shot number two
Sexy modern mRNA
Moderna or whatever 
You’ll get today

God of Covid & Cancer 
Universe I’m pleading
Hear my prayer while 
my own heart’s still beating

15 minutes I have to wait 
Praying while writing out my fate 

Gold Beads of Prayers 
Drum Beats of Prayer
Songs of Love 
Final Chorus of Compassion
Words of truth
Spread this Loving-Kindness
May humanity take fast action 

3/20/21 UCLA Pfizer Vaccine#2
©Flori Hendron

Toothache

Toothache 
Heartache
Dumb Mistake
Or Stomach-ache?

I’m a whole woman
Hard to pin point
One prickly pain from the rest of me.

Hot/cold sensitivity
And what about this tooth?
Yes, it hurts.  
And what about that tooth?
Yes, it hurts, too.

Bite down. 
Does this hurt?
No, I can still bite.
And believe me, I will.

When did the pain start?
On October 12, 1994
When my mother died suddenly.
It got really bad as they lowered her into the ground.

My heart absorbed that pain,
Integrated the tooth-throbbing, the pulse-racing
Right into my own bloodstream.
I had my mom inside
with every beat of my heart
She was there.

The other tooth?
That pain started in 2004, 
When my father died.
It got much worse in 2005
When my marriage died.

I could not bite
I lost weight.  
The weight of a husband.

After a few years, 
I stopped having pain-
until this morning
When tooth pain woke me.
And my ear hurt
It was listening too hard to my tooth.

And then fear got involved
Worry jumped in
Root canal?
What if ONJ?
Infection?

Now my Mind was involved.
WHY does my tooth have to hurt?
WHY now? WHY me? WHY? 

I don’t have a new dentist yet.
My young, old one died. 
Shocking heart attack.
Another loss of 2020

The Endodontist - he will see me.
I am SEEN!

Hello, I am still alive Dr. O!
Yes, I was supposed to have treatment this morning.
But my tooth aches at 3:00am
And I am wide a-woke

And I’m worried.
I don’t know when it will be my turn.
Take my mask off? 
Yes.  When will it be my turn?
I need that vaccine.

Your blue eyes, 
talk to me from above your mask-
So kind and reassuring.
No infection, No ONJ, 
No clear sign of root canal
BUT it might be the beginning 
of a bad tooth.  

Only time will tell.  
Watch and wait.  
That describes the last 24 years.  

At least today I am seen!
You are seen, too, Dr. O.
Gratitude for your reassuring blue eyes.  
I am Watch and Wait.  
See you next week.
A new year.  

Pinktober

OCTOBER 2020

PINKTOBER

It really got me this year
Felt like a gut punch
Here we go—

Inundated
Breast Cancer
**awareness**

Pink News
Pink Ads
Pink Washing

Companies making PINK money
Using OUR Ribbons but not funding
OUR research
for a CURE

WE are expected to fund our own cure
with runs and rallies
while Pharma spends OUR money
on finding more treatments
Because Treatment
Equals profit

Clinical Trials
practically impossible to gain access
Especially if you have
Real Breast Cancer
Metastatic
The kind that sticks around
Until it kills you

Clinical Trial Criteria:
Carried over from one FDA approved trial to another

Never a reflection of the actual people
living with the actual cancer

Clinical trials
Should be called
Clinical Trials and Tribulations

Hoop-jumps through fire
Schedules that work for them, not you
Randomized and double-blind
No one can see straight

How I miss the Mundane World
And my life before those three shitty words:
You Have Cancer

1996 - Before Cancer
I was just a mom of two little kids; a beautiful son and daughter and I had a kind and decent husband. And a fabulous career. I was not carefree; I was stressed trying to juggle and manage it all. Kids, work, husband, social life, pre-school, private school, synagogue life, volunteering, PTA, play dates, baby sitters, plan some travel, plan some dates, buy everyone’s clothes, buy birthday gifts, stay in touch with family, send out holiday cards, cook dinner and manage the house. Collaborate with my then-spouse on some design projects and don’t forget to engage my own clients. SUPERGIRL! Federal Express allowed my career to flourish.  It was so very long ago, right after fax machines were invented. 

By accident, I chose the hardest road; work part-time and mom full-time. My design career was the busiest it had ever been.  And if I could bill it, I would do it. My end game was to remain a self-employed design and marketing consultant.  I loved my work and I loved my family.

I ate healthy, I exercised, I got fresh air. At age 38, the last thing I expected was Breast Cancer. 85% of cancers have no family history. I have no family history. But I did have an aggressive little fucking breast cancer drop into my life like a nuclear bomb.

The ripple effect
Went straight through me
Hit my family
Hit my friends
The mushroom cloud still darkens my days

My life would’ve been so much easier
if I’d only known that I would survive for 24 years!
But that’s not how cancer works.

You get three months at a time.
Scan to Scan
Check up to Check up

I’ve learned to live in
“This is the Day I Am Given”
Often scared when making plans
Always wondering,
Will I be here to see milestones?

And here we go-Pinktober once again.
Raising our own funds
Moving the needle through
Unpaid Advocacy Work

Hash-tagging each other to death
Watching our friends die
And wondering if we’ll be next

A vaccine nearly ready for COVID
But for Breast Cancer
Still NO CURE!

Last Song I Sing

JUNE 29, 2020

The last song I sing
Will be a Song of Gratitude
Not a song of Bitter Grapes
Not a song of Salty Tears
I will sing a Song of Love

The only lyrics,
The names of my children
The chorus, the names of my parents
All in the Key of Life

And when my words are not enough
Or my voice too weak to hear
I will sing my song
With paint in every color

Bold and gorgeous
Colors of sunset
Soft and intricate
Splashed onto the paper with my last breath!

Flori; the sun is shining, paint!

I will paint my Song of Love
Twenty-four years ago
I Wailed my song to God
Please God, let me raise my children!
They deserve a mother

My Song leaking out of my eyes
Every day, all day
Chemo. Cancer. O God!

I sang the song of the
Breast Cancer Warrior
With painted eyebrows
And my hand-painted silk scarf 

Six years in remission
A Song of Grace for all to hear

Then my song - dead silenced
My breath taken away as
Cancer came at me again
Recurrence!
The music changed
Beethoven’s 5th

Chemo. Cancer. God.
SURGERY!
Why me? I sang so loudly
Maybe I screamed
Why me, God? WHY?

So I changed my song to a
Song of Prayer
And I changed my name
To trick the evil spirits

And I sang my name in Hebrew
So that God could find me.
And I Sang my Hebrew Prayer
Everyday.
Please God. Please.

Surgery. Chemo. Cancer. God.
Remission.
Thank you, God,

Again, I sang out Gratitude.
I wrote and rewrote my song;
My symphony of life
I did it all!

Raised my kids
Raised a glass
Raised awareness
They walked the aisle, Graduation!
Two times each child.
I walked the aisle, a wedding, my youngest child!

I was there, I did it all.
Showed them how to be stand-up, 
and how to stand tall
Showed them how to show up
how to answer the call

Taught her to drive, him to drive a stick
Got them ready for prom
Not an easy trick
Sang Gratitude with the Chorus
Couldn’t believe my good fortune.
Everything back then seemed some kind of distortion

Healed what wounds I could
Showed them a mother who worked hard to do good
I helped them with their college apps.
And I moved them to college-
Chemo again, so many naps.

Time went on
They each found their way
Thank you, God,
What else could I say?

My last song filled with
Gratitude not tears.
I lived to see it all
Plus an extra 24-years
Everyone Dies, Last Goodbyes
My song of Love and Gratitude.

Countdown

AUGUST 13, 2020

TIME
I’m on the countdown
to the end of my life.

Hey! don’t sad-face-crying-emoji-me
you fucks

You are on the
Exact
Same
Countdown

The difference;
my countdown is LOUD
Messy
Full of grief
FEAR and vulnerability

TIME
I see it
I wear it
I feel it
I eat it
I breathe it
I drink it

I love it and hate it
And whatever it is - I Need More

You & you & you
all try to hide the time you have

You diet and dye it
And lift it and tuck it
You Botox, you fill
Shots or a pill
You whiten you brighten
but mostly you frighten
You falsify eyelashes and fortify nails
Hiding time passed however you can.

How do you expect to be awarded more time
when you clearly show The Universe
how uncomfortable you are
with the time you’ve had?

And shameful!
Your reluctance to SEE me
naked and raw

“Wow, you sound so great!”
THAT is the same as telling Stevie Wonder he doesn’t sound blind.

How I sound and how I feel
are two entirely different categories.

SOUND!
Noise
Laughter
A baby cries
A bomb goes off,
people are shattered,

Corks pop
New Year’s Eve
Celebration

Laughter
Joy
Music

Sobbing
Sobbing
I can’t breathe
I. Can’t. Breathe.
Help!
Help help me
Help me please!

I am dying
Something is profoundly wrong inside of me

Oh...on film I look good
says radiology
Breast cancer activity
slow and low

(Ooooo on film, I look good).
Once I’m dead,
cancer activity
none
I will finally be cured!

FEELINGS
Something is profoundly wrong inside of me
I don’t feel good
Hear that
Hear me

SOUNDS
Tick-tock
Life clock

WORDS
I’m on the countdown
to the end of my life

###

Gin & Tonic

2:00AM Gin & Tonic
The flavor lingering in my mouth like the last time I was kissed. I mean really kissed. Some men taste so delicious.

Gin & Tonic
Tastes like foreplay. And shared laughter. Tastes like holding hands and a wink from far across the room. Tastes like a brilliant mind. And a gorgeous smile. And contagious laughter. Refreshing, like a man who knows how to heat me up. I miss that part of life.

Gin & Tonic
On his tongue and mine. Naked bodies. No longer thinking. Moving through a buffet of wet sex and passionate love.

Gin & Tonic
Fresh citrus on my tongue. Grapefruit spray lingers in the air. Saturday mornings. Scones and coffee. Now I mourn that part of life, and that wide-alive part of me.

Gin & Tonic
Tastes like lies and broken promises. Hidden messages on a phone. Inappropriate texting. Tastes like lousy fucking cheating. Tastes like crushing disappointment. And shock.

Gin & Tonic, down the wrong pipe. Burning and choking on disbelief. Why can’t I just die? But this is the day we are given. And a new partner is nowhere in sight. That last one, said good-bye and cried. More tears than a baby, as his mommy leaves for work. Wait! I wish I’d shouted. Come back here and teach me how to un-love you. What do you mean you will always love me? And stop crying. Stop it! You’ve done this your whole life. Teach me. Teach me how to un-love.

3:00am Sipping Port
Its syrupy flavor coats the bitter taste of broken love. The perfectly cut-crystal glasses bounce daggers of light between us. We’re on the front porch. He’s still crying. I need some fucking sleep.

Bring me a polished wooden treasure box, with inlaid cabochon jewels on the lid. Opals, Turquoise and Tiger-eye. Line it in silky white satin. A soft and sacred space to hold my broken heart.

Put me back the way you found me. Everything cute and funny and sexy and smart. Intact. Restore my original settings. Give me back my self. My confidence, my power. You stripped me bare with your boyish charm.  I was all-in.

Gin & Tonic
The aftertaste of old love. Memories. Sorrow. Crushed dreams on crushed ice. New dreams only come when you sleep.

This is the day we are given.
Please don’t let me slip away.

The Shamed Invisibles

Stage Four, MBC. We are the shamed invisibles.
Somehow, WE didn’t beat cancer. Cancer beat us. 

Shaking our heads in disbelief.
Feeling like we’ve failed.
We fought during early stage.
Fought hard.
As if our life depended on it. 

Our eyes cast down in shame, we whisper “yes, stage four”. 
Lifelong treatment. Yes.
We’re so sorry,
To put you, our beloveds, through this all over again. 

I know you saw me eating ice cream,
a potato chip, some candy.
I know I had a drink or two.
But besides that occasional digression-
I really tried to win. 

I’ll admit I wasn’t managing stress well. 
Sure I let my ex get the best of me.
The way he tried to take me down.
Take my home. Take my money.
The ways in which he lived in lies.
And how shocking it was to see him leave our kids.
I’ll admit—I let that stress get to me.
I let that grief suffocate me. At least for a while. 

Yes, I should have yoga’d more.
And breathed more. Cardio’d more.
Slept more. Meditated. Relaxed.
Let go of anger. And fear. 

I’m so sorry.
I know it’s hard for you
to see this happening to me.
To see me losing.
After all you went through
with me the first time.

All that time.
Mommy always sick.
Then the recurrence.
Mom in bed.
The surgeries.
The chemo.

And 11 years later,
the beast came back.
Single mom and single cancer patient,
Stage 4 terminal
I was so terrified. 

I hope you see it’s hard for me, too.
To see the fear and sadness on your faces;
to see so much premature grief
on your beautiful faces—it’s hard for me, too. 
I’m not used to losing
or failing
or coming up short.

Yet here I am
stage4 metastatic
breast cancer, shhhhhh.
I’m so sorry.
Truly deeply sorry. 
I hope you see, it’s hard for me too.

I am the shamed invisible.
I didn’t beat it.
I didn’t kick its ass.
And it is kicking mine. 

Darkness

SEPTEMBER 22, 2020

Darkness
Migraine arrives
Holes in my vision
Blind spots

My words are gone
Anxiety spikes
Can’t spell made
Instead I write take
It’s not the right word
That much I know

Art Deco Neon blindness
My poor right eye
I’m scared
Can’t think straight
Words are jumbled
Heart pounds
Migraines fuck me up

Crying
I don’t want to be alone
I don’t want more chemo
I don’t like facebook
Or social media

I love old photos
Better times
Mini snuggles with me
Maybe sensing
Despair
Fear

It’s been an extra rough week
I tried to have a life line
Something vital
I could count on

A friend line
A phone line
But that proves too much
For people

I’m sorry I forgot to call
Almost everyone
One call a week
One call a day
It’s too much

So I call myself
Hello...
You’re not alone
You have you

Something is wrong
with my body
I say to me;
I have weakness
And neuropathy
And numbness
And loss of sensation
Loss of desire
Loss of motivation

This numbing of me
It’s hard to track
Tomorrow I will draw
Every area that is
-Not Right-

I will mark what is wrong
Drawing with lipstic
Up and down my leg
My torso
A real time body map

I will write a legend with
Lip liner and bare minerals
For my doctors to read
For big pharma to read
And cc: the FDA
Body Breakdown:
Real life Effects from 24 Years
Breast Cancer Drugs
Radiation, Chemotherapy
Surgery and Depression

Right foot numb
Right big toe numb
Bottom of right foot numb
Ankle feels tight
Right knee cap
Kind of numb

Pins and needles
Fire ants dance
Right inner thigh
Right quad weak
Right quad numb
Right groin numb
Right hip pain
Right pain right side (Slide to the left)

Back feels weird
Spine
Pain
Slipping out
And Weak

Stomach pain
Weak
Distended
Diaphragm locks

Right breast
Fire Ants march
Edema
Not good
Right arm skin
“weird sensation”  

Shut the fuck up -
don’t you dare judge me
I never asked for any of this

Neck hurts
Degenerative disk disease
arthritis
Stiff and achy
Sleep disrupted
Cough non-stop
Air quality or lung mets
Allergies or anxiety

Pulmonary doctor hiding
Sends letters for money
But doesn’t see me
When I say I can’t breathe
LISTEN TO MY LUNGS
(george floyd)

Listen
Breathing
Coughing
Wheezing
Crying
Grieving
Breast Cancer is winning
The fight was never fair.

###

Sacred Places

JULY 20, 2020

My most sacred place
Takes a ritual of steps
Patience…
Deep breaths
Getting quiet

The lighting of a candle
Smoke and Smoldering
of Sage

I call on my spirit guides, Zebra, Yellow Bird
The energy of my ancestors
I silently talk to the universe
“I am here”

And crystals; Pink quartz
A Beautiful amethyst (the color of my mom)
A carved angel from Judi
A striped feather from Linda
An iridescent piece of abalone
And my tiny brass Buddha

I walk the sage
Circle three times
Asking the universe
“See me”

Choosing the sheets (of paper)
Do I want thick or thin?
My hands land on a sheet
A small piece
Thick ragged edges
I love it

Opening the Pans (of paint)
In my own sacred case
Rests pans of every color
A mist of water
wakes them up!

Then time disappears
dips out of sight, or
Blends with the light
I am no longer thinking
I am human, being
I am in process
My Sacred Place

Wet paint on the wet sheet
I’m mesmerized
as color spreads
Blends, moves slowly

My breathing and heartrate slow, too
I like the edgework;
the place where color stops
And shape is defined
The place where colors cross
And new colors emerge

Getting out my magic bottles
Of rich India Ink
Adding ink, point by point
Finding those edges
Where color and paper meet

More spray
Mesmerized by the Sacred patterns
Of India Ink
Roots spreading wide
Flowing through the mist

Surely THIS is the universe
Making itself known!

People often share
what they see in art.
Their eyes dart to mine,
Looking for confirmation

Art is not what you see.
Art is what you feel, when you see
Art is the universe
Making itself known.

Texts In Times of Covid

MAY 10, 2020

People love to text. It’s not just young people, it’s all people. Texts with little emoji‘s or worse, texts with bitmojis and gifs.

It’s is the most we can be bothered with. A way to contain our interactions with others. We can even copy our texts and just send them out to each person as if they were an original. Who would know? I will also acknowledge that many people are using their phone for FaceTime, for zoom gatherings to learn share and discuss different things during quarantine and isolation.

But I also contend that for things that matter the most, like feelings, hiding behind texts is still the preferred method.  It’s also the worst method. I’d rather get nothing, than a bunch of empty texts. It’s like getting a card that contains only a signature beneath the pre-printed message.  Why bother?

On Mother’s Day, a Hallmark holiday at best, it triggers a lot of feelings for most people. I think of the last time I spent Mother’s Day with my own mother in 1994. We went to Chase Park in the Marina. My kids were little, I was still married, my mother was still alive, but it was not the best day.  If I had it to do over again I wouldn’t bother changing a thing because it really is just a Hallmark holiday.

This year it’s backfired on Hallmark, because we are not shopping and we are not sending flowers and we are not even gathering with family and friends to share food. We can’t share life and we can’t share death anymore.

My feeling is why bother with the celebration? What are we really celebrating? Our mothers? A complicated and strained relationship at best.  A relationship we look at and evolve with over our entire lives. Even when we become mothers ourselves, our relationship issues with our own mother continues whether they are dead or alive. I think of Mother’s Day like Valentine’s Day; it’s a day that makes most people feel shitty. And a day that costs a lot of money for nothing of value.

I cannot make the best of a bad situation; I’m just trying to stay alive. I feel trapped and overwhelmed. I am sick from chemo too much of the time, and unless you are too, you cannot understand.

People are suddenly relaxing their isolation rules. But how am I supposed to relax mine? Nothing has changed. There still can be asymptomatic carriers. The virus is still spreading. There are 80,000 people dead. After being in quarantine for so long, it seems foolish to suddenly decide to mix with people especially when the people I would mix with are mixing with other people.

 Fuck all the text messages from today. They do nothing to lift my spirits. They offer no chance for an exchange of energy, for truly being seen or heard.  I hope they make the sender feel good, they certainly don’t make me feel good.