I had an illegal abortion at 14 yrs. It was one of the hardest decisions I ever made with long term effects. I do not regret it, it was the right choice. I would not allow someone else to dictate what was right for my body and life, even if it meant unsafe, scary measures. Having a baby at 14 yrs would have meant a drastically tragic path for the me. Once our bodies are controlled and mandatory breeding enforced, women will lose all their rights in all other areas of their lives. Never go back!! No matter your childbearing age... all of us , including men, must support accessible safe choices for women!! Also, adequate, sex education must be appropriately taught in all schools. My high school teachers passed out telephone books (yes the thick ones of 1970's) and intervened in couples sitting in the decorated gymnasium together, instructing us to place the book on the boys lap if we were to sit on our date's lap for pics; because sitting on a boys lap fully clothed was how we could get pregnant!!

Evolving and letting go... fashion/styles edition

NOTE: I am using lots of gendered descriptions of what "feminine" means for me in this essay. I know that all women define what being a woman means for themselves. Some people born female, do not see themselves as "women" at all. That is not my experience and for this personal tale, I refer just to my experience. So, I am using wording that reflect my ideas of what femininity and woman-ness mean to me, a woman born in 1962. If my descriptions feel un-relatable or confusing, consider it a sociological relic from times past (but actually, not so conceptually antiquated for many women today).

I am going through a shedding, a lightening of my personal carry-ons in this life. I am a hoarder of sorts for fashion items: clothes, shoes, purses, makeup. Like all plus size women, I retain my smaller size clothes I once wore with hopes of fitting into them again. And like all femmes who played with high femme costumes at times, I hold on to those vestiges of a style past. 

I have had several styles throughout my life. Playful and curious girl, athletic child through my 20's, teen fox, college feminist, lesbian soft butch, leather grrl and later back to femme. In my forties, I experimented with occasional high femme costumes for select interactions. I played with high heels, fetishy clothes at times. I had returned to dating men after decades of lesbianism and played with occasional stereotypical vixen-like costumes and styles. I was like a little girl playing dress up. I guess I wanted to see what I had "missed" all those decades. I sometimes enjoyed the attention it got me, but generally felt uncomfortable for a variety of reasons. 

I also was influenced by "mi reina" (my queen), my mother, who died in my late 40's. My mother was a beautiful, high femme style icon in my world. She manifested herself as an elegant and yes, sexy woman all her life. The woman wore heels until close to her death in her 70's. She had a svelte figure that she encased in stylish dresses, accessories and when she "dressed up", watch out! She was a feminine beauty most women aspired to. I have such glittery memories of her stepping out with my dad, heavily perfumed, makeup, hair and nails impeccable, and clothed in awesome outfits that always included the highest of heels (her favorites: Charles Jourdan’s) She was sumptuous and classy in her outfits and impressive jewelry. Her Latin flair colored her aura and choices. And yes, she donned a mink and diamond rock like a diva!

I guess, after her death, I was trying to channel her when I tried stepping up my feminine style game. It was a beautiful gift she left me. And one I am finally tailoring to suit me as I now am, but in her spirit. I would say now-a-days, the style I aim for is feminine, elegant, sporty at times, comfortable and creative. Sometimes sexy/sensual but not in overt, over-the-top ways like high heels, tons of makeup and tight, provocative minimal coverage clothes. I want to present flair with fabric choices, colors, style and hints of sensuality at times. Comfort is now a big consideration, especially since my mobility has become compromised with my rheumatoid arthritis. It is still evolving. (For example, this is my 2023 Halloween Cat Woman outfit.) But one thing I know for sure, some things do not suit me anymore. And I am letting them go from my wardrobe. No more saving them for a never coming occasion where I will need/want to present in that old way.

So, thanks to the helpful Breast Cancer Foundation donation service, I can release these items for re-use. First among them was clothing that are too small for my body. Or that are a style I no longer care to wear. Next are the high heels and other uncomfortable shoes. It is creating space and feels liberating. I am more intentional when acquiring  fashion items these days. I want to love my pieces. I am also overhauling my cosmetics drawers. Having sold cosmetics over a decade, I have lots of makeup. Most of it expired. I am loving the bare palette this creates in my life to redesign myself! 

Ouch

 

I have an appointment with my pain doctor this morning. After that, I have my infusion therapy. Ever since the awareness of opioid addiction swept the medical field, it has been very difficult to get pain medications for non addicts experiencing real pain. Ugh! The refrain I hear from my rheumatologist and other doctors is "I am not a pain doctor. See a pain doctor" whenever I ask for pain medication. Even for Tylenol with codeine. Even in the emergency room upon discharge. You go from dilaudid and morphine in the hospital to, if you are lucky, six tramadol upon discharge. When the condition has not been resolved!

I have severe pain in so many joints and throughout my GI tract (RA can affect organ systems too) that I have difficulty walking, holding a mug of coffee in morning, sleeping, eating and just being able to work a half day or shop for groceries. Not to even mention laundry or cleaning. Constant pain is awful and leads to depression and hopelessness. It is very isolating because you cannot participate in life with others. I cannot work now. 

My latest new pain came with a right shoulder rotator cuff tear from lifting a full carton of almond milk from my top shelf in refrigerator. YES!! I tore my rotator from lifting a carton of milk. RA is wreaking havoc on my shoulders and the whole joints are affected and predisposed to rotator cuff injury. Now, I cannot lift or use my right arm. Cannot carry any weight while lifting arm outward and do not have full range of motion. My insurance denied the necessary treatment.  So I am just left with a gimpy arm. My other shoulder had three partial rotator cuff tears and and I had to shell out-of-pocket $1200 for two PRP injections (which greatly helped) and had cortisone. It still hurts but is way better. Now my right shoulder. But no pain medication. Just heat and cold, rest and Tylenol. It throbs with stabbing pain all day. My fingers are numb. This new pain is added to my  daily pain in spine, neck, knee, hands. So I am eager to see my pain doctor today. 

Dr K, my pain guy, specializes in spines. I have gotten relief from terrible cervical nerve pain with two epidurals and we will address lower back nerve pain upon insurance authorization. Since I had to be taken off my DMARD methotrexate due to risk of intestinal perforation (I was SO sick for 6 weeks) , my RA flares have fully blossomed. I am now starting on biologic Enbrel. But the affordability of that medicine is a problem. With assistance and insurance, my co-pay is over $1800 a month for four injections! See separate posts about US laws that let pharmaceuticals patent life saving medications, resulting in diabetics and other illness patients not able to afford their life saving medication!!

When I see my pain doctor, I have to be drug tested each visit to ensure I am not overusing or doing drug no-nos. You are treated like an addict. The medical mantra is that pain management does not take away all your pain but rather the aim is to "help". They do not even aim to take it away. They will not prescribe potent painkillers ongoing. Each month I try to get  12-21 Tylenol with codeine. It is not enough at all but I dole them out with care and try to make it last for that month. It is like squeezing blood from a rock, lol. Frankly, I am at the point in my life that I do not even care if I become a functional pain med addict as long as I can resume some basic life activities. Really. But no, they won't let you. So, I am off to see Dr K and do our dance. I appreciate him and need him. 

I hate posting downers and complaining posts. But I need support and want to hear from or reach other chronic pain sufferers and our/my supporters. I know that most people are ignorant about chronic illnesses and RA in particular and we are invisible sufferers. So much change needs to happen for healthcare accessibility. Capitalist profits-over-people business model has hijacked the insurance, pharmaceutical and hospital systems. Good doctors cannot provide the care they know their patients need. 

I publicize my predicament to put a face to this political travesty. It is not a sexy issue like war and climate change, but it affects such a huge swath of people across the country and we are literally dying from greed. I urge activists to take on healthcare accessibility issues and I urge friends and loved ones to not turn a blind eye to the needs and predicament of their friends and comrades.

Dreamtime animals

I am blessed with the gift of dreams. I dream long, colorful, interesting stories. While most dreams are just regular dreams; some are very powerful and seem to be actual visions and messages. The characters are more significant and the message or story depicted more profound and meaningful. Even the colors are amplified and magic is afoot. Common themes are dreams with significant people, mainly family, and dreams with animals, often set in far away or long ago places. 

Let me tell you about my dream animals. As a child, I often dreamed, drew pictures of and imagined adventures of my young self living in the Amazon jungle. I carried a spear and had a raccoon by my heels. We were both scrappy and looked for ruins and adventures. I am sure my Peruvian family and relatives made the Amazon a real fantasy adventure land for me. I remember my grandfather calling me "princesa Inca" (Incan princess).  This fueled my fantasy of jungle and Andean adventures. I still dream about jungles and wild places. And I still have a soft spot for raccoons and like to photograph them and feed them in parks. They represent a fiesty side that is not afraid of anything. Of course, I have a soft raccoon puppet.

Another animal that has visited my dreams all my life is the bear. Big brown bears coming at me, frightening me, but not killing me. I am always alone in remote wilderness and surrounded by bear (s) who decide to play roughly with me, pawing me and rolling me around with their strong paws. I play dead or go limp and wait out their play-time with me. They are ferocious and large but I always escape by being passive and quiet. I smell them, feel their fur and hear them but stay still. They eventually move on.

The most significant appearance of an animal came in a visionary dream that seemed to take place in a deep jungle. I came upon a ferocious looking, huge,  long white snake with an eloquent, decorated,  tribal looking woman. She imparts wisdom to me and in the end, the white snake leaves her side and becomes my companion and protector.  This animal came so strongly that I got a glass snake to keep near me. I could not find a white snake.

This past year, I had another visionary dream with my mother, who has passed on. In the dream, I am on a quest/job she sends me on  and out of the thick bushes/trees in her backyard spring out four animals. All powerful and dangerous animals; and I have to be careful to avoid or make a truce with each one, all while completing the task my mother sent me on.

The first to jump out or rather pounce forward is a black panther. She is followed by an alligator. Then my old friend the big brown bear and lastly an elephant. 

The dream had such an impact on me that I want to bring forth those animals in my everyday life. I am eying a cellphone case with a black panther, a pair of gloves with a cute elephant image on them and I am making art with bear imagery. I have not decided how to bring the alligator into my life. Maybe living so close to the Everglades is enough. I actually took the picture of this one here. 

I welcome feedback on meanings or messages you think these animals may be imparting to me. Or ways you work with animals in your waking and dream life. 

People will surprise you... you just never know

My bff DL recently relocated to Ft Lauderdale from another state. I am so happy to have him near me and we spend much of our time and lives together. We are companions, going through life together. I helped him find his apartment and I have gotten to see how he transformed a barren space to a cozy, warm home. I do remember his former house being full of curios and momentos from times long past. It invited guests to linger and spend time on one shelf here, one corner there, looking at and hearing stories about the many items he memorialized. But lately, I have seen another side of my friend's home decor and love to tease him about it. I lovingly call his apartment the Ft Lauderdale Erotic Museum.

DL is a quiet, thoughtful man. His gift is being able to digest complex intellectual subjects (often theoretical in nature) and expound upon them to others. He is a sensitive man who feels his emotions in his core. He is so compassionate and gentle in his interactions with people, animals and the earth. That is one reason why I love him.  Sometimes, this author struggles to keep up with what I consider a deep dive into emotional depths that I term touchy feely. I am also versed and able to understand and express my emotions, but I do not like to, to the extent that he does. Luckily, DL is a patient forgiving soul and forgives my impatience (one of my biggest character flaws).

Now, the Goddess gave us this highly sensitive and expressive soul, but she threw in a quirky twist in his makeup. DL, who aches to express and share his emotions is not comfortable expressing nor talking about sex. 

When we tried to court and be a "couple", this led to many misunderstandings and barriers for me. I interpreted his lack of overt sexual interactions as a lack of interest. (Granted, we were long distance, but I was used to romantic interests still engaging sexually across the miles.) And my attempts to bring out sexual flirting and seduction was met with silence/discomfort on his part. In our in-person relating, DL holds his particular sexual traumas (that we all have) central in his body and mind. He is beautifully in touch with his tender side. But his lust is shy and secret.

So, imagine my surprise when I visit his new apartment and see an ever increasing amount of erotic and sensual art and imagery! Actually, some are downright lusty and sexual, lol. His art on walls, table tops and everywhere, consists of sensual depictions of naked women and more explicit sexual imagery of men. This is from the man I cannot even get to talk openly of what type of person turns him on or does he like porn or masturbation. 

But I delight in looking at his erotic displays around his home. They are so much and everywhere that I laugh and refer to his pad as an erotic museum. I tease him that we need to get it listed on the guides for 'sites to visit' in Ft Lauderdale. He has a healthy sense humor and takes it jokingly.

This dichotomy just drives home the fact that you can never really make any kind of assumption about another person. They can, and probably will, always surprise you. And isn't that one of life's delights?

Scary monsters

 Boo! Sorry for my absence, but I have been a sick kitty. I have been struggling with severe gastrointestinal issues since Sept 28th. Primarily the result of my RA DMARD medications methotrexate and hydroxychloroquin. DMARDS affect people with nasty side effects but for me who already has super fragile GI health, this was second time this year it laid me out. (And before you ask why I take them, despite their nasty side effects, they have given me my life back as far as allowing pain/fever relief and more daily mobility.) This month has been filled with hospitals, inability to work or resume basic activities like eating and moving around. I'll spare you the details but ... whew! I have missed three weeks of work and hope to return in one more week; that is if my job still awaits me. 

Now that I am a bit better, I invited my bff DL to come over and do an art project for halloween with me. We let our inner child out and the theme was spooky ghosts and ghouls. We used a challenge prompt from  a You Tube art journaling guru. I usually do not create such child like and literal imagery but I felt that Halloween brought out a simpler child like style.We made the project our own through our interpretation of what was scary and ghoulish. So, instead of traditional spookies, I portrayed what is scaring me most intimately in my life: the inaccessibility of the medications I need to live. And the monsters in this scenario are the F-ing greedy, pharmaceutical companies and insurance industry. 

You see, cheaper DMARD medications like methotrexate are making me too sick; so I need to transition to biologics for my treatment. But biologics are sooo expensive. The latest biologics that boasts all the bells and whistles; the ones you see on commercials, can be up to several thousand dollars per injection. I need weekly injections. My doctor has applied for authorization and been denied by my insurance. Now he is going to apply for an older (not cutting edge) biologic called Enbrel. It is $1700+ per injection; again I need weekly injections. The methotrexate is really making me seriously ill so I need to transition to these biologics; but methotrexate (a popular chemotherapy drug for cancer) is so cheap, that is what insurance companies keep tell us to keep trying. 

So many hurdles to clear. First, I have to get my request for Enbrel approved by my insurance. Then I have to try to find a way to afford the weekly co-payment which is many hundreds of dollars per week. My only hope is to get an affordable patient co-pay assistance from the pharmaceutical company that makes Enbrel. I hope I qualify. So I began researching who makes Enbrel and how to ask for financial assistance.

And low and behold, I see both Pfizer and Amgen are both attached to the drug. Two pharmaceutical companies put out my drug? Then I came upon this article explaining how they joined forces to "rake in BILLIONS" in what was referred to as their "golden age" of biosimilars. Now, I know that pharmaceuticals give us life saving drugs. I know they have to recoup their money spent on R & D. But does anyone really think that they spent billions? The profit margin is so obscene, it is immoral! They know most cannot afford this medication they need, but they will help a select few (for public image) and screw the rest. Profits over people.

This is the rawest example of capitalist greed gone evil. It makes me sick, quite literally.

So, this halloween, my scary ghouls are pharmaceutical and insurance companies. In my drawing I fancied the pharmaceutical man in a fancy top hat, a la Monopoly money guy and the rich tycoons of past years. He carries a money bag and has vampire fangs because they bleed us deadly. The floating medical insignia is bleeding out, failing to live up to it's oath. And there are the poor patients. Ghostly and crying tears of blood as they succumb to their illnesses. Yes, yes, no masterpiece. But it felt good and I enjoyed making this reality tangible on a child like level. 

This halloween, may you acknowledge your ghouls and monsters and most importantly may you find collective ways to exorcise these monsters out of existence. It is long fight, but hey I do love me a good vampire slayer story! 

A room of my own

 

Published in 1929, Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One's Own is a important work of feminist writing. Woolf’s essay examines the educational, social and financial disadvantages women have faced throughout history.  It contains Woolf’s famous argument that, ‘A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction’. I have a fondness for this book because my college boyfriend, P, gave it to me when I moved into the university dormitory. I was 'officially' starting out on my own; well sort of,  as my parents paid my way in college. But I was taking an important step in my development into a grown woman.

Four decades later, I still am drawing lessons from this book. 

Recently, I have gone through a creative blossoming; reclaiming my love of painting. But I was trying to work with paints, etc on my cramped desk space. I was making a mess of my computer and desk and I did not have space for my tools. This is not how an artist works. And I am an artist. I needed a real studio space. 

Now, I had a dining area that was mainly being used for coffee, morning internet scrolling, mail and medication/supplement storage. I had wanted to make that space an art corner for myself ever since I moved here 21 years ago. But my mom insisted that I needed a proper dining table, however small. Where would I serve guests at dinner parties? Where would I eat? It is the civilized thing to have. So, I caved in to her dictate of how a proper adult woman should live. But the truth is, I have never thrown a dinner party here, nor do I want to. And I eat all over the house, lol. That is not important to me.

So, I got rid of my table area and got a six foot utility table and I created an art space. It is rudimentary at this point. I use my parent's china cabinet to store art supplies. (Sorry mom) I have an easel and I invested in paints, canvases and paper. This is an unglamorous photo of the space I have carved out for myself. I am still working on it.  Like Virginia Woolf, I too believe a woman needs money and space to practice her art. I do believe my mom forgives my etiquette lapse and that she is happy for me. Now that she is in the spirit realm, I think she sees the bigger picture and  just wants me to live my own version of an authentic life. Her 'hija' makes art, not dinner parties. And I am thrilled with my uncivilized home that lacks a dining area. 

This is a detail of a larger self portrait. It captures the shy, self conscious baby lesbian I was in the mid 1980's, spending the night in a tent with her crush, CW. We snapped pictures of each other and I found this one of me she took. I look back at my younger self with tenderness and acceptance. It was included in an exhibition put on by the Broward County Art Guild.