Month: March 2016

I count down the days. Eleven. I will be driving my wife to the hospital to have them remove her breasts, yes breasts. Both need to go. She has chosen to go flat, not get implants. I understand and agree, having talked about and explored the option of prostheses.

I feel like I’m somehow part of a devious, horrible plan. Like driving an innocent to a torture chamber. I know that’s a hyperbole. Over dramatic, probably even a sacrilege. I should be thinking of it as something that will save her life. I try to hold that thought. But, I know how difficult this will be for her. She’s been surprised at her reaction to the loss, how she’ll view her body after, how she’ll look in clothes without them, and how it will be for me.

And the loss of her breasts is of consequence to me. They have excited me; they comforted me. They are a part of the woman I love.

It will be an adjustment for both of us; another bump in the road we travel together.

(To read what’s behind writers, or at least this one, scroll down to: “When Do Writers Write: Amended.”)

Last December my wife got a breast cancer diagnosis. She has had cancer two other forms of cancer, a sarcoma and thyroid. Well, to be more accurate, this will be her fourth cancer since she had a breast cancer tumor, earlier. This is her second breast tumor. In April, she’ll be having bilateral mastectomies.

In last Saturday’s Scribbles I wrote that I couldn’t write when I’m upset. I’m going to amend that statement: I have difficulty with my fiction writing. My mind does not want to hold the many details necessary to advance my mystery/thriller plot. However, I’ve realized I can write about what’s going on in my life, like I did in my miserable teen years. I was frigging prolific! Like Dear Diary on steroids. That was also my Poetry Period, where I put my angst to rhyme. I’ll probably not go there with the rhyme shit. At my age that would be really weird! But maybe it will be helpful to write about how being the wife of my wife feels, going through her life partner’s double mastectomy. I would guess there’s not much written from the lesbian perspective. I have feelings and thoughts I never ever would have guessed I’d have in this situation.

More next week, my watery eyes make is difficult to see the computer screen.

(To read the first post on this subject, scroll down to: “When Do Writers Write.”)

The image of a writer is often portrayed as a hard-drinking, hard-living, unhappy tormented soul. When I’m distressed, I can’t write. If I’m sad, I can’t write. If I have a hangover, I can’t write. When life is good, I can throw down 10,000 well-writen words–at least they feel that way at the time. So, does that mean I’m not a writer? I wonder about other writers.

On another note:

I had a great turnout at my book reading, Q&A, and signing! The very first event I had of this nature felt intimidating, but as I get experience with it, I’m enjoying them. I spend months and months on a novel and to have peeps enjoy them is heartening.

(For more about writers, go to: “What Makes writers Write?”)

The image of a writer is often portrayed as a hard-drinking, hard-living, unhappy tormented soul. When I’m distressed, I can’t write. If I’m sad, I can’t write. If I have a hangover, I can’t write. When life is good, I can throw down 10,00o well-writen words–at least they feel that way at the time. So, does that mean I’m not a writer?

On another note:

I had a great turnout at my book reading, Q&A, and signing! The very first event I had of this nature felt intimidating, but as I get experience with it, I’m enjoying them. I spend months and months on a novel and to have peeps enjoy them is heartening.