My Anaconda Don’t Want None Unless you Got Bunions.

Back in November I had foot surgery to remove a bunion.

It’s been the worst fucking thing to ever happen to me.  Medically speaking.  Ok, ok ok….almost as worse than fuckface cancer.

I luckily inherited this protrusion from my mother.  And grandmother.  And her mother.  And so on and so on I am guessing.  I’m also guessing that my bone disorder probably didn’t help much in this department as well, cause this thing was pretty big as far as bunions are concerned.  A stage 3 on the from not so bad to pretty bad scale, with a 4 being pretty bad.  (Stage 4 is literally where your toes are pushed over on top of one another….which sounds not fun at all.)

My bunions have always bugged me.  Physically and aesthetically.  Sharp shooting pain would radiate out from the bone pushed out of place, especially at night when all I wanted to do was sleep.  Imagine being stung repeatedly on the side of your big toe.  Yeah..

Not to mention finding shoes wide enough to accommodate such a beast was a bitch.

I had become quite self conscious of my feet.  I never wore flip flops, or sandals that didn’t have a wide enough strap to hide the damn thing.  Never walked barefoot around people I didn’t know that well, unless I absolutely had to.  Never did foot fetish porn…Not that I wanted to….well..who knows, maybe if my feet hadn’t been so jacked up I may have given it a go to surplus some extra income.  (Surplus??  That’s not the word I want to use….bloody chemobrain….)

I figured as long as i had the down time, might as well take care of it.

So I made an appointment with a Podiatrist.

(Side note…my Podiatrist is really really really good looking, and from here on, will be reffered to as Hot Dr.)

After some x-rays and consultations, he advised, I could approach this in one of two ways.  One where they just push the bone back in and fuse my big toe together to keep the bone from protruding back out.  This option would result in a shorter recovery time, 4 wks to be exact. Or I could go for option #2 a lapidus bunionectomy, where they insert a rod into the bone of my foot to keep aligned.

Option 2 allowed for more flexibility,  whereas option 1 would not, and since I dance and yoga and all the other crap I do, #2 seemed the better choice, regardless of the longer recovery time of 6-8 weeks.

Hot Dr. warned me that this would be incredibly painful, but I laughed at his warnings thinking that with my combined shitty medical history and all that I had endured, that this procedure would be nothing compared to say oh…..cancer?  My pain threshold was high.  I wasn’t scared of a little pain.

However, when that nerve block wore off after surgery, I was singing a different tune.

Holy fuck of all that is fucking holy….

Nothing was working to ease the amount of pain I was in.  I’m surprised I didn’t overdose from taking just about every narcotic prescribed to me.

A week and a half go by, and back to see Dr. Hot to have my huge encasement of bandaging removed and to be fitted for a boot.

He unwraps my foot and says that it way more swollen than he would like it to be, however given my previous condition (cancer) it would make sense that my body is still a bit out of whack.  But other than that….everything looked good.  They throw me in the boot, and send me out on my way with a follow up in 3 weeks or so.

The whole time however, my foot is stinging like a motherfucker.  Some days it felt like blisters on the tops of my toes.   Other days it felt like someone was stabbing the back of my heel with a screwdriver.   Most days it was a combination of both.

To say I was miserable is an understatement.

My foot felt ( still feels) dull to the touch.  Like when your foot falls asleep, and you try to move it or stand on it and it feels like you stuck your toe in an electrical socket.  Oh and let me mention that it feels like it’s wrapped in thick plastic, and there’s a credit card slicing me down the middle of my big toe and the other guy next to it.

Upon my follow up appointment, Hot Dr. informs me that due to the severity of the bunion, that there was probably excessive nerve damage from rearranging things and shoving things back into place, and that the feeling in my foot should come back….with in a year’s time.  Cause nerves have nothing better to do than take their sweet time repairing themselves.   Fucking pussies.

So that’s where I am today.  Putting weight on my foot feels weird, uncomfortable and hurty.. and had someone told me sooner to start putting weight on it, maybe it wouldn’t be this tough for me to stand/get to walking on it now.

I started physical therapy last week, and I know this guy is gonna push me.  Hard.  I mean, I guess that’s good, cause I need to get back to two feet…but It’s gonna hurt like a bitch.

This whole experience has definitely taken a toll on my outlook.  I’m just angry, annoyed and pessimistic.  I don’t know why it’s been so hard to hold a space of gratitude and healing.  I mean, cancer was a breeze compared to this.  I know that sounds assholish…but shit.

I suppose  the one good thing that has come out of this is that I am now being followed by two bunion foot fetish dudes on my Instagram.  So I guess there is that?  Cause I’m not having the other foot done now.  I definitely do not want to go through this again.

No fucking way.  Fuck that.

 

 

 

 

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Live Life!

I don’t come here much anymore.

More so than in the past I am finding it very hard to find the words to express what it is I feel and think in a way that does not make me sound like a neanderthal.  “Me good.  Me happy.  Me eat pizza” …Though I am not sure if neanderthal’s actually had the capability of such language…or pizza for that matter.  Well, I definitely know they didn’t have pizza, but I digress.

My thoughts get lost along the way to the tips of my fingers that long to type them out and breathe them into some sort of physical existence.

Life is good.  Really good.

I am in remission.  Finally.

Well, let me go back.   I’ve been in remission since after my first round of Hyper CVAD, however, as of this past June, I am officially OFFICIALLY….In remission.  Meaning no more chemo in whatever form.  No maintenance, no nothing.

My last bone marrow biopsy came back clean.  My Oncology team was super happy.  I’ve done extremely well.  I only have to come see them now every three months.

I have spent this past summer really trying to “live life”.   This has been my new mantra.  I like to yell it and throw my hands up in the air like I’m on a roller coaster.  Very metaphorical.

I’ve gone on trips, attended events, spent time with loved ones and appreciated every…single…moment.

Because folks, it’s all about the NOW.  and GRATITUDE.

I jumped into Burlesque with a fire and determination to, well, not suck at it.  I’ve had quite a few ladies in my town really light the fire under my ass too really be creative, to really let go, and to really just own it.  I don’t want to be another faceless burlesquer in this city, (though I have a feeling that I still probably am.)  However, I know that when I leave the stage after performing, I have put on one hell of a number and the audience has really enjoyed it.  They may not remember my name per se, but they will remember that girl who threw out the tootsie rolls or had the giant googly eyes on her ass.

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I’m letting go of hooping.  Meaning, that I don’t feel it has a purpose in my life anymore. I have such conflicting feelings about this, but at this time, the feeling of disappointment, frustration and exhaustion that I feel inside the hoop outweighs the feels of freedom, connection and spirituality.  (I mean, I had felt enough of that going through cancer.) I just feel like I can’t keep up with all that is happening in the hooping community.  My body feels like it will never be able to re-learn what it once knew yet alone learn all these flippity doo’s, escalators, and off body spastic spinny spins. It’s such a shift in mindset, because I never hooped to “impress”, yet it seems like there is such pressure for there to be.   It’s a new generation of Look at Me!

Where’s the flow?

Ehhh, whatever.  Maybe I’m just old.  Get off my lawn!

I’m sure at some point I’ll probably pick it up again.   Cause that’s what I do.  I hardly ever just quit something.  Entirely.

So that’s basically it.  For now.

Doing my thing.

Living life.

 

 

Waiting for the Gas to Evaporate

My interest in hooping has completely fallen to the wayside.  I no longer feel that connection I once had while in the hoop.

I think going through cancer had a big part to play.

Actually I know that it has.

It’s just not the same.  It’s more work.  My hoops don’t feel right.  I can’t get the flow down without feeling clunky, and not to mention, I can’t keep up with all the moves that are going on in the hooping world.  It leaves me feeling quite defeated.

Of course I know that with anything practice practice practice, but after going through one of the most intense period of my life, where all i did was muster all the strength I had to fight off cancer… I just don’t have it in me to “work”  and to work hard at something.

There is still a small part of me that isn’t ready to let go of hooping completely.  There are times where I will urge myself to just get in the hoop and to just keep running something over and over…however after 50 failed attempts I grow frustrated and slip back into the same old redundant moves, which then makes the whole process feel boring.

I’m not sure I’ll ever get back into hooping with the fervor I once had.  Something inside tells me I will.  But now is just not the time.  For now, I’ll practice the few hooping routines I once had down pat, but I think that’s the extent of my hooping for awhile.

At least for now.

 

A Matter of Time.

The thing about cancer is that it always looms.  Even when you beat it to it’s core, there is still that worry that it will spring forth new life and wreck havoc again.

I feel anxious and jittery these days.   For many reasons actually.  But this has been one that sits with me, compelling me to do so much more with the time I have been given, because you never know.  You just never know.

Time.

It is something that has become acutely aware within me.  I fear that there is not much left.

Everyone else sits calmly.   I can not.   They seem content with the motions.  Or in no hurry.  Priorities elsewhere.  Meanwhile, time…life, is slipping by.

If not now then when?

 

A Burdence

Most my life has been spent feeling as though I am a burden to someone.

Having gone through cancer….hasn’t lessen that feeling.

I don’t know when I will return to full capacity.  Yet I feel that there are expectations and assumptions about my return to “normalcy”.

I don’t even know what is normal anymore.  Not that I ever really believed in a “normal”.

Truth be told, I just don’t know what to do with myself now.

I don’t feel as though I am ready to jump back in full swing.  One, my energy wanes from time to time.  I get sick on occasion.  My immune system is weak causing me to pick up a cold every other week.

I know during my treatment all I bitched about was getting back to my life and the things I loved to do.  Yet now, my life…those things I loved to do have become tiresome.  Difficult.

This rant is nothing new.  Just the same old blah blah blah that plagues me from time to time.  Yet, when it comes to others, and their sense of time, It just feels like more is expected of me.

And I just don’t know what to expect of myself just yet.

And I don’t want to expect anything really.

Because I just don’t know.

I just don’t know where to go after all of this.

And it’s the scariest, most depressing part of this journey thus far.

The Year of Rebirth: Alive and Kicking.

Once again, another year has come and gone and a new one is upon us.

Let me just say that I am sooooo glad to say goodbye to 2016.  It truly was a fucker of year, what with having cancer and everything that goes with it, loved ones struggling, Trump being elected.  I mean seriously, I don’t know what crawled up 2016’s ass and died but it pretty much had a vendetta for most of us.

Of course with turmoil, comes knowledge.  I know that a lot of people struggled with 2016 on various levels.  I would hope that out of those struggles, a deeper understanding of ourselves has been attained. With the passing of 2016 we can now move out from under the rubble of such a tumultuous year stronger, wiser, kinder and with more love in our hearts.

Each year I try to attach a theme to it.  Something to work on or overcome.  A reminder of some sorts to help me be the best me possible.  It was something I noticed someone I know doing way back when, and I thought it such a great idea.

I’ve had many themes over the years.  (you’ll stumble across them if you dig about in this here blog of mine.)

Sometimes I come out a champ.  Sometimes I don’t.   I reflect, take what I need to be a better me, and move on.

The last few years I began calling upon the wisdom of the Fairy Oracles to share their insight in the potential the year could bring, and what areas of myself I should pay close attention to and work on.

Last year they must have been incredibly drunk and on crack, because the card pulled for the theme of 2016 was…..Vacation.

If they thought taking a vacation from my day to day was going through chemo treatments, well I gotta say…I disagree.

In any case, 2016 became the year of survival.  Whether it was known or not.  Because that is exactly what I did.  I survived.   (and if you are reading this, you did as well.)

As 2017 made it’s appearance, I toyed once again with consulting the fairies about their thoughts on what the focus of the year could be, but before I could get my deck of Oracle cards out, a word began to reverberate with in.

rebirth

After all the muck and mire of 2016, Some sort of re-birth is needed.  A Renascence if you will.

This is the time to come back alive.  To shed whatever crap 2016 burdened us with and begin anew.  Like the phoenix rising from the ashes.  The time is now.

If not now, then when?

And I am tired of waiting for “when”.

This is the year to do something you’ve always wanted to do but were too afraid.  Fuck that fear.  Do it.  You owe it to yourself to get out there and tap into your authentic being.  Authenticity doesn’t come from being afraid, or putting something off till tomorrow, or the next week, or month.

And not only is it getting out there and living life to it’s fullest, it’s also living each and every moment with gratitude.  Even when the shitty stuff happens, because it is only then that we truly realize how strong we are.

So there you have it.  The year of rebirth.  The year of really digging deep and connecting with who we really are, and really living that truth to the very best of our ability.

And yeah, living it up while you can.

 

Out of curiosity, I consulted the fairy oracle to see if they too were in tune with the idea of renewal for the year, and what do you know…..They feel Vacation is still a good theme for this year as well.  Or maybe they are trying to tell me they are on vacation and to quit bugging them.

Those damn fairies.

vacation

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nose to the Glue Gun

I taped my Burlesque pasties back on this past September.

I wouldn’t say I am in full on Foxy mode, as I have yet to incorporate the hoop back into new numbers, or perform older numbers.

Hooping is still quite cumbersome and trying.

The effort to actually….jump…even a few inches.. is akin to the feeling of twenty pound weights tied around ones ankles.

It doesn’t help my on going problem of balance and stability.

So sans hoop I have been going.

I will say though that my costuming has improved quite a bit.  Not to say that I had shitty costumes before, but the effort for me…on some things were a few ruffles sewn in here and there.

One of the biggest appeals of burlesque for me was all the glitter, sparkley, fluffy, shiny fun things one could wear.   (You basically can wear anything.  That old potato sack?  Couch cover?  Dining room curtains? Pot holders?  Just throw some glitter on it.  Good to go.)

I have become best friends with my glue gun.  (And pretty much burned the fingerprints off my fingers.)

For my Troupe’s Vegas show I put together two showgirl looks…..

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Ok it’s hard to tell really and I didn’t get a good picture of me looking Vegasy…but you get the idea.  Definitely more bling going on.

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Bling!

 

I did a real cute number where I was trying to get this man to notice me while we were waiting for our bus to Vegas.  Coyly flirting at first, then as my subtle advances fell on uninterested eyes, I would punch it up a notch with more lascivious moves and then burying the mans face in my bosoms.  (The man kindly played by my fiance…as I don’t think he would have approved of me motor boating some other dude….and not that I would want to motorboat some other dude.)  I would post the video, but it was during this performance I had my very first pastie pop.   Took me a whole good five seconds to realize it as well.  So, there you go world.  You got some nipple from me.  Ehh whatever. I wasn’t that bent about it.

Our Halloween show, I took a more..bizarre road?

I definitely wanted to up the creep factor.  So this is what I came up with.

 

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I’m not really sure how this one went over with the crowd.  Personally, I thought it was creepy.  I busted out my poi, which is something I hadn’t done in a loooooooong while.  And let me just say, spinning poi in a poofy crinoline skirt is not easy.

Overall I am pretty proud of this one.  I feel it’s pretty unique, to my local scene anyway.

You can see the video to that here: Foxy Moon Halloween

No pastie pop there, though I do have a moment to make sure everything is intact. 🙂

 

The last show I did for the year was a Heavy Metal Food drive for our local food bank.   Our troupe did a improve-ish group number.  I dressed as an elf and made the whole group reindeer pasties, because honestly….how could I not??  They were so F’n cute and fun.

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Move over Rudolph.

 

There you have it.  Or there I have it.  My getting back into the waters of burlesque.  I’ve got some down time till next April, and I’ve got some more silly ideas.  I would like to get back to hooping.  I know that I could.  It just takes time and discipline.  Yet the whole ordeal with cancer has made me very flippant towards anything that requires “hard” work.  I mean, I just worked hard on beating a fucker of a disease and pretty much, oh you know, not dying.  I’m not really ready, nor want to do battle with learning how to hoop all over again.  But I know I will, because I can feel it calling to me.  I may never be the best hooper in the world.  Shit, I may not ever be a decent hooper again, but something inside me loves it to much to just walk away and be done with it for good.

I just don’t want to deal with that struggle right now.

 

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