A note from Cheryl’s partner

Hey everyone…

It’s hard to believe it’s been not even a year since Cheryl started this blog, since Cheryl was diagnosed. It’s been four months since she died.  I feel like we haven’t even begun to understand what it means to lose Cheryl, or at least I know I haven’t. Every day I am reminded of so many amazing things she did for me, how she encouraged me to be a better person, how she made the world a better place by being–as one friend said at her London memorial–”the patron saint of shy kindness”

Cheryl would probably smack me right upside the head if she knew I just called her a saint on her own blog!

Anyway, I will try to continue to update here as much as possible, and will continue to maintain the domain and the redirect. Sometimes  I do forget to post updates here though, so it’s best to keep an eye on Cheryl’s facebook page.  Although I don’t have access to her account and therefore can’t accept friend requests, you can subscribe to her feed, since all the posts are public.

There will be more information about the fund we are setting up at Astrea to honor Cheryl, as well exciting news about her work here soon. In the meantime, I will be posting a little bit about Cheryl and our live and love together at Grief Sucks.

Thanks so much to each of you who have loved and continued to love Cheryl, and by extension, me.  One of those the last times Cheryl spoke she said “I’m sorry about all this. You didn’t deserve any of it.” and I said “no honey, but I deserved you, and life with you has been amazing”

Life without Cheryl is rather horrific, but I’ve been so lucky to have the continued support of all the amazing people in Cheryl’s life. Thank you so much.

Kelli

The Cheryl B Fund at Astrea

Astraea is in collaboration with Kelli Dunham & Community to establish a fund in Cheryl B’s memory. Your contribution can be mailed to 116 E. 16th Street, 7th Floor, NY, NY 10003. If mailing a check please be sure to indicate “In Honor of Cheryl B” in the memo section. If interested in making your gift online,  visit Astrea online and please indicate that the gift is in honor of Cheryl B in the notes field.

ABOUT ASTRAEA

The Astraea Foundation is a dynamic global foundation providing critically needed financial support to lesbian-led, trans, LGBTI and progressive organizations. Astraea staff, board, members and grantees all share a deep commitment to feminist principles, racial and economic justice and human rights.

What an amazing afternoon….

That was one helluva afternoon, wasn’t it?

For context reminder, a little excerpt from Cheryl’s memoir:

“While many of my peers frolicked on the Jersey Shore in beaded half-shirts, I spent much of my teen years in my room listening to Pink Floyd albums on cassette, rereading Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton and filling sheets of loose leaf with stream of consciousness prose.

I often fantasized in front of my mirror, heavy on the blue eyeliner, as I accepted imaginary literary awards and ran with a crowd I had painted as my own personal Warhol factory (a scenario in which I was the Warhol).

In my make believe multi- disciplinary art world
I was understood,
I was part of the scene.
(It would be) A place where I was awesome”

Cheryl found/created the place where she was understood/part of the scene/awesome.  As Sarah Schulman observed on Sunday “The memorial itself proved that Cheryl’s life was a success”

Thanks so much for being present and for all who shared in all the different ways.

I am especially grateful to Genne Murphy and Sinclair Sexsmith for taking care of the majority of the details as well as Dixon Place for donating the space.

We’ll be linking below to the texts of what various people  shared at the Memorial. If you weren’t a part of the official presentation but would like to add your comments we’d love it if you did it below.  Comments will be moderated because that’s the default for the blog, but I will approve them as quickly as possible.

With so much love, respect and gratitude for this amazing community,

Kelli Dunham (Cheryl’s girlfriend/partner)

Here’s what was shared at the Memorial by:

Ducky Doolittle

Sinclair Sexsmith

Kelli Dunham

Derrick Kardos

Truly WTF news

Cheryl died in the early morning hours of Saturday, June 18th. The details of her memorial follows. We will be adding links to press and blog posts here, so if you’ve written something you’d like to be included, email cherylblegacy at gmail dot com) with the link and we’ll include it.

If you are interested in publishing Cheryl’s work, those requests are being handled by Sarah Schulman, she can be reached in care of the legacy address as well.

If you’d like to remember Cheryl with a donation, we are in the process of negotiating with an LGBT arts organization to provide a writers’ scholarship in Cheryl’s name. The details of this should be settled in the next few weeks, so please keep checking back. If you’d like to financially help out Cheryl’s partner Kelli, who lived at the hospital and rehab 24/7 from April 5 until the time of Cheryl’s death, you can do so here.

You can also RSVP to the facebook event for the memorial service here.

 

Late, brief, update

Trying to get my thoughts and experiences together about the last few bizarre weeks here in WTF land for a longer post, but for now, here’s a few sweet things to share.

WTF Cancer Pie has returned as (heart) for your lungs pie:

I also missed Sideshow’s One Year Anniversary Show on Tuesday night, but I got a little present from the audience and my co-host Sinclair Sexsmith:

And there’s nothing like a homemade card from your 6-year old nephew:

The more surreal stuff TK.

And now for a little poem

I’ve decided to participate in NaPoWriMo, 30 poem drafts in 30 days, for National Poetry Month this year. I originally set out to keep my cancer blogging and my NaPo stuff separate, but it was probably silly to think that I would.

So, I may cross-post some of the cancer-related draft poems here as well. The rest are on my Tumblr.

NaPoWriMo Day 3

Saturday Morning

The anvil on my chest won’t move

Crowds work their way through Times Square, through me, around me

Stopping every ten paces to catch my breath

My wig and sunglasses seem a disguise: weird tourist lady with a pissed off local look

In Port Authority I sit on a stairwell looking like a heart attack

A homeless man checks on me

He’s the only one

I can’t say thank you but look at him and nod my shaded eyes

Storefront reflections used to measure the size of my abdomen, the fit of my pants

Now there is a meltdown on display, a picture of everything running together yet unable to walk

*cross-posted with cherylb.tumblr.com

Unremarkable Organs

From a recent scan report:

“The liver, spleen, adrenal glands, pancreas and the kidneys are unremarkable.”

Don’t worry guys, you’re not unremarkable to me. Thanks for keeping it simple.

Poked

11/11/10*

The phrase “bone marrow biopsy” immediately brought to my mind a choir of my older male relatives chanting, “yagaddabefugginkiddinme.” At the very least, it was the most ominous-sounding procedure on the menu the week before I started chemo.

The pleasant young female doctor, who had previously professed an affinity for such deep extractions, would do the honors right in the office.

K and I arrived early for the appointment, eager to get it over with. As soon as we entered the examination room, we were privy to various sharp objects lying in wait on a tray. This has happened to me before, while anticipating gynecological procedures, but these tools seemed even more spectacularly medieval than the ones at the gyno. These bitches will cut your bones, I thought.

As the doc explained in horrifying detail what would be done, I zoned out. Please, just like put me in a K hole and do whatever you need to do, I thought. I’d never done the drug K, but had been around others in its depressing, zombified state, that seemed about right for this procedure. After the tutorial, I laid down on my left side, where Kelli sat looking into my eyes as the doctor found a good spot on my right pelvic bone (i.e. my butt) to take the plunge. Needle pricks, local anesthetic, so far so good.

“I’m going to go into the bone now with some anesthetic. Believe me, you’re going to want this,” the doc said as if from a distance.

I winced.

K offered, “You’re doing great honey. I love you so much.”

WOW. THAT HURTS. ARE YOU F***ING SERIOUS!
I gasped, followed by tears.

“I’m sorry about this. You’re doing great,” the doc said. There was a short break, before she came at me with another implement.

“Now I’m getting the marrow sample, going into the bone.”

Less pain, thanks to the anesthesia, but incredible discomfort. More tears. K kissed my forehead and the doc delved deeper into my bone.

“You’re doing fantastic,” both women said.

“I love you so much,” Kelli added. “You’re so beautiful.”

An uncomfortable intimacy took over the situation, as if we were participating in a surprise three-way: My girlfriend caressing my face as the doc worked up a rhythm, her tool thrusting in and out of my backside.

Finally, she got what she was after, placed it in a specimen jar, where it formed a red globule, not unlike those in a lava lamp.

“Got it. Beautiful!” The doc said, holding it up. “Now I just need to get a tiny piece of bone…”

*Previous entries leading up to this post:
TGI Hodgkin’s
2010 Space Biopsy
The Longest Weekend
Last Call at the Radiology Lab

WTF Loves: Gorgeous Ladies of Comedy

I’m extremely proud that WTF Cancer Diaries is listed among the many fabulous links on the G.L.O.C. (Gorgeous Ladies of Comedy) website, which features interviews with and articles by smart, funny, creative ladies from all over.

Tonight, the Gorgeous Ladies are having a launch party at the 92nd Street Y in NYC. Check out the party info. here.

Public Transportation*

I know you’re a very important person that’s gotta get somewhere to do important things with other VIPs and the slack subway stair climb of my healthy-seeming body reminds you of human limitations and you don’t like to be reminded of limits so you sigh, under your breath wondering, “what’s wrong with this bitch?”

If I could I would look at myself sideways as well, holding onto the rail pulling myself up one stair, then another, as my chest seems to explode from within, toxic lung from chemo, my heart overcompensates for my defects, again.

A woman, I apologize too much. Say I’m sorry to inanimate objects and the dimwits behind me. Sometimes I hate this city.

In the morning, a girl rocks back and forth on the train, cool sneakers, blue nail color applied by an expert. I wonder about her condition. Could be a hangover or maybe a chronic illness. She walks from one pole to another, touching each one, perhaps OCD or staving off the spins. It all looks the same to me now. She still has on her a jacket and a cell phone, I’m glad to see. Let’s hope her keys are in her pocket and she’ll be all right.

*A Prose Experiment