Bad ass bitch

My former boss called me today. She is someone I admire. I respect her desire and passion to directly impact the lives of thousands of low income children and families throughout Boston. She is the Vice President of Head Start, and someone I aspired to become. 

I haven’t told her that I’m sick. I’m not sure why. Is it because talking about my cancer makes me sad? No, not particularly. Is it because I am worried that it might make her sad? No, not necessarily. Then why? Why have I been seemingly avoiding telling her? 

My decision to leave Head Start came out of necessity. Steve’s health was showing signs of deterioration and I wanted/needed to be more accessible. I also knew that I needed to fill my days with something that fed my soul instead of feeding everyone else’s. It was never my plan to leave my post. My plan was to work towards accepting my boss’s position and I was well on my way. I quickly climbed the ranks from Teacher assistant, to Teacher, to Education Supervisor, to Assistant Director. Next stop the top. And I loved it. I loved giving my all to children and families in need. I loved driving though East Boston on a Saturday and hearing “MISS DANIELLE!!” screamed from three story windows. I loved my 100 employees and the closeness that it brought. 

When I saw my former director’s number flashing on my phone my heart skipped a beat. I didn’t feel “nervous” So what’s with the butterflies?

Although I am proud of who I am, who I have become, seeing her number made me a bit morose. It was my first true connection to being reminded of who I was. The girl before the cancer.

Although it has been a short amount of time since my diagnosis I don’t feel like the girl my former director expects to talk to. I froze. Should I pretend? That wouldn’t make sense. I don’t think I could fake it even if I tried. I feel so far away from that girl I’m not sure I would remember how to act. So I let it go to voicemail. 

Looking at photos taken of me just months before my diagnosis, I hardly recognize her. C’monnnnn stop being so dramatic. It’S YoUUUU. Nah, it ain’t though. That girl is cute, gets shit done but does it with sugar. This bitch knows that some shit needs to be done with a hammer instead of a feather. This bitch knows what it’s like to be the hand that needs to be held instead of the hand holder. 

And that’s when it hit me. The recollection of my former boss, my former career, made me remember the girl that didn’t know what a port was, the girl that didn’t know what chemo consisted of or how her face would look without eyebrows. She made me harken to a time when I consistently battled night sweats and would wake up several times a night shaking because I had sweat so much that my clothes were soaked through. A girl that always wondered how women found their tumors instead of finding her own. Back to a time when my biggest problem was needing to purchase shampoo instead of wondering how long will it take to have nipples tattooed onto my manufactured breasts. 

Am I in the same “place” as I was then? No. Am I where I want to be? Nope. Do I love being able to feel my feelings without feeling like a FaiLUreeee. Yup. Am I excited to combine the girl of the past with this bad bitch? Fuck. Yes. 

Thank god I got this cry out it had been a full 48 hours since my last, I was beginning to get concerned.