Calcium Dust

Posted on May 22, 2022 by mathdreads

When I needed a follow up to my standard mammogram, first thing that crossed my mind was, “Yay! I get to to take some more time off.” Up until that point, I hadn’t taken any time off unless I had a doctor’s appointment. A strong contrast to the days when I was a classroom teacher, which was the most stressful job I’ve ever had and needed the time off for survival, mental/physical health and the such.

With my current full-time job, which I work from home, it’s not that stressful, so my paid time off just accrues without me paying much attention to it. Celebrating time off was more at the forefront of my mind than worrying that something was wrong.

After all, many years ago, I’d had a follow up mammogram because my breasts were “fibrous,” or something like that. It’s apparently common in Black women. I figured the doctor was being cautious since I’d not had a mammogram in a long time. So long in fact, that they couldn’t even use my last one as a baseline. I had no idea that I needed one every year.

After the second mammogram, I became worried when they called me into a consultation room, asking if someone else had accompanied me to the clinic. No health care professional had ever asked me that question before.

The doctor and technician who’d conducted the mammogram explained to me that the results showed calcifications in my right breast. Showing my sheer ignorance about breast cancer, I questioned why I had any calcifications if I’d never breastfed. As a matter of fact, I’d never been pregnant.

The technician answered as if I had not just asked a stupid question, telling me that breastfeeding had nothing to do with it.

She and the doctor led me to another room where we looked at the mammogram images. Even though the images enlarged the 5mm area of my right breast where the calcifications were, they still looked like specks of dust.

As they explained the next step to me, I stared at that suspicious calcium dust with dread. If we hadn’t been in a pandemic caused by something even smaller than the specks that I saw, I would have marveled that something that couldn’t even be detected by a regular breast exam could curtail my life.

We returned to the consultation room where they explained what a stereoscopic biopsy was. I’d lie facedown on a table that had a hole in it where my breast would hang from. They’d apply a local anesthetic, followed by a series of injections of the anesthetic before the removal of the suspicious calcifications. At the end of the procedure, the doctor would leave a metallic maker just so in the future, depending on the results, they can return to the spot and retrieve the rest of the calcifications if they turned out to be cancerous.

Before sending me on my way, they assured me there was only a 20% chance that the calcifications were cancerous. Even with those odds, I don’t gamble because I see myself as having bad luck.

At that point, I moved through a fog of worry. I only told two people about my upcoming procedure: one of my sisters and a good friend. From there on out, the rest of life’s worries washed over me.

One thing that I needed after the biopsy was a tight-fitting bra, so my right breast wouldn’t move around much. Coincidentally, I’d already planned to go bra shopping with that same friend.

A lot of back and forth occurred to get the biopsy scheduled because my primary doctor’s office either left a vital part of the faxed form blank, or what was written couldn’t be clearly read, or there was a missing signature. That was cleared up after nearly a week and three attempts.

The day of my biopsy, I drove there by myself, thinking that I’d get the result before I left. That didn’t happen.

Before I talking to a technician, I checked in with the front desk. Part of the process was to pay for the procedure upfront. I’m not sure what would have happened if I couldn’t have put the charge on my credit card. Would I have been as good as dead at that moment? One thing I noticed was the increasing cost with every procedure.

The initial mammogram was 100% covered by my insurance. The follow up procedure cost $160, which was covered by my HSA card. This latest procedure cost nearly $1000. Since I’d recently used my HSA card, I barely had over $100 on it. At that point, I was still grateful that it lowered the amount going on my credit card.

As the EMT previewed the procedure, I kept thinking I couldn’t literally afford to have breast cancer. No one wants cancer, but to have it and not be able to afford the treatment…would I be yet another sick American with a gofund me page for treatment?

I tried to temper my anxiety. After all, going with the odds, I’d be in the 80% who didn’t have breast cancer. Another cheerful statistic was emblazoned on the side of the bag the tech had given me to put my clothes in: 98% survival rate for women diagnosed with early stage breast cancer by a mammogram.

There should have been an asterisk with that statistic, stating if one could afford the treatment.

If my mind was preoccupied with not being able to afford cancer treatment that vanished once the procedure began. I lay on my stomach with my exposed right breast hanging from a hole in the examination table that had been raised a few feet.

The time between the local anesthetic being applied to my breast and being pierced with a sharp object seemed like a few seconds. As a matter of fact, I’d started quietly crying before being pierced. The position I was lying in, along with my breast being held in place with vise grips was so uncomfortable, I knew the whole contraption had been designed by men.

Yet, I hadn’t screamed in pain until the piercing. From the beginning, the doctor assured me that more anesthetic was being injected. All I could feel was my breast being pinched very hard. At one point, the doctor sounded impatient, stating that noting was being done. I could have slapped him. Despite nothing being done on his part, I still felt a pinching sensation.

Once the procedure was done, I lay on my back, traumatized as the EMT applied pressure to the incision. I took deep breaths to calm myself down, while the EMT and tech talked over me about attending some event. They never specifically stated what they were talking about, but it sounded like some shopping/networking event. Whatever they were talking about, it was completely disconnected from the physical trauma I’d just experienced.

I’d planned in advance to have a mani/pedi afterwards. Fortunately, one of my favorite woman-owned nail shops was still in business. The place looked a little rundown, but considering that she was still in business, that was a miracle. She had only one woman whose nails she was putting the final touches on as I soaked my feet in the whirlpool. Soothing relief I needed after a biopsy.

A few days later, I received an email stating that my results were in. I nervously clicked on the link. Initially, I thought my phone couldn’t handle the amount of data to download the results. I raced to my laptop. Same result.

I called the clinic that performed the biopsy for the results. They informed me that I had to call my primary care physician (PCP) for the results. I called my PCP’s office. The receptionist confirmed that the test results were in, but only the PCP could go over them with me. The best I could do was leave a message. Unfortunately, I was frustrated. My parting words to the PCP front desk was, “You mean I have to wait even longer to find out whether I have breast cancer?”

I spent the weekend, trying to put breast cancer and the impending cost of breast cancer treatment out of my mind.

The following Tuesday, my sister texted me about whether I knew the results. This gave me new motivation to pick up the task again. I did the same dance I’d started on Friday. This time, I knew the name of the employee at the biopsy clinic. I left her a message, then called the PCP office. As luck would have it, I was on hold for the PCP receptionist when the biopsy clinic employee beeped in. I put the receptionist on hold.

The clinic employee apologized for the phone tag over the past couple of days. Just when I thought she was going to give me another runaround, she informed me that my results were benign.

A lightness washed over me. I thanked her, then clicked over to the PCP receptionist, telling her that I’d received my results. I thanked her and hung up.

Next call was to my sister. As we talked, I texted my friend the results. My sister and I talked for over 30 minutes as I continued to work. I was impressed how long I was able to work without having to make an outbound call. Fate was on my side. In more ways than one.

With that burden off my plate, I moved forward with my life as I’d planned to do, regardless of the results. At least this way, I didn’t have to strategize how to pay for cancer treatment.

Categories: Special Events, Writing | Leave a comment

Voting Vultures

Posted on May 15, 2022 by mathdreads

Not only do I believe in voting, but usually on the first day of early voting. I couldn’t do that this time around since I’d moved and my voting activation hadn’t kicked in until May 1st. No problem! That was a lovely way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

When I entered the polling place, I spun around in a circle because I was the only voter present. The number of voting workers usually outnumber voters during these non-presidential elections, but this was extra special. In more ways the one.

I always take a picture after voting.

I use it as a visual reminder for friends to go vote as I point to my “I Voted” or “Yo Voté” sticker. Yet in this case, I directed everyone’s attention to the two vultures over my right shoulder in the background.

They picked at a dead squirrel’s carcass.

I texted the pictures to some friends, inviting them to make whatever voting analogy they could think of. As for me, the political climate often does seem as if we are picking over the leftovers of a dead system. If I were more optimistic, as one friend suggested the analogies should be, I would see the present state of things about to replace what no longer works.

The pessimist in me thinks that the people who benefited, or at least who perceived that they benefited, from the old system will practice a scorched-Earth policy rather than allow something more equitable to flourish in its ashes. As I’ve reminded myself and others, no one embraces a future where they don’t see themselves as a successful part of.

Amazing, my optimism does extend into the future. I wake up every morning feeling that today’s the day wonderful things are going to happen or at least get me closer to that.

Categories: Writing | Leave a comment

Photoshoot Happy Hour

Posted on May 8, 2022 by mathdreads

You can tell by the lipstick that I made an effort.

Of course right after work, I wasn’t in the mood to make a wardrobe change, but I’m glad I did. Not merely because there were two rooms staged to take pictures, but also, I loved putting lipstick on for the occasion. I also had my favorite accessory: a glass of red wine. The necklace/earring set was a nice touch too.

I actually spent most of my time sitting and talking.

So, my “poses” were a creative extension of what I spend most of the evening doing–minus putting my feet up on the table. I befriended a budding podcaster and her brother. As I answered her questions, trying not to go too far off the rails with tangential detalis, she remarked that I just go for it.

That’s the only way to live.

Waiting for everything to align themselves is about the same as sitting back and watching the world pass you by. I’ve always been a firm believer in doing things a little at a time, over a long period of time. At least I’ll wind up somewhere different than where I began. Hopefully in a better place even if it doesn’t seem like it at the time.

I’m pleasantly surprised at other opportunities that present themselves once I say yes to something else. Like my favorite book, The Alchemist, states, the universe conspires with you when you make an effort to pursue your dreams. The key is to keep pursuing them even when you’re temporarily dealt a bad hand.

Categories: Filmmaking, Special Events | Leave a comment

Creative Action Performance

Posted on May 1, 2022 by mathdreads

Four months ago, most of us dancers auditioned for a nonprofit West African dance troupe. This rendition of the group’s debut occurred during Creative Action’s first Creative Sunday since the pandemic.

We’d rehearsed for several months.

This was our first dress rehearsal. The choreographer fussed over our costumes like a mom getting her daughters ready for prom. We wore several layers over our sports bras and dance pants/shorts: a gele (head wrap), shirt, lapa (wraparound skirt), belted “grass” skirt, cowrie shell belt and arm bands, cloth anklets, necklace and earrings.

So of course we had to test everything.

One unwritten rule: never dance in a performance wearing something you haven’t practiced in. I made a point of sharing that little pearl of wisdom with everyone. Then on the day of the performance, I did the very thing I’d warned everyone about. Instead of using one of the masks that I’d practiced with many times before,

I switched out the white mask for a black one.

That bad boy flew off dramatically into the wind the moment I started my interpretative dance for “Why Anansi Has Eight Skinny Legs.”

Our opening dance was called Sinte:

https://vimeo.com/705085322

Here’s the interpretative dance to an African tale, “Why Anansi Has Eight Thin Legs,” where I had my wardrobe malfunction:

https://vimeo.com/704692105

Here’s a video summary of our performance on that hot, humid day!

https://vimeo.com/703442906

Categories: Creative Projects, Special Events | Leave a comment

Easter Eve 2022

Posted on April 24, 2022 by mathdreads

I didn’t intend to have an Easter Eve celebration.

After all, I’m a very secular, nonchurch-going Christian. Nonetheless, by a confluence of events, I ended up scheduling a fabulous, life-affirming day before the celebrated Resurrection Day.

In passing, I mentioned my plan to a friend to order bras online. She immediately pounced on the idea, sharing that her bras had also become very shabby during the plague. Not due to ‘Rona directly, but bra-shopping had been a low priority during the pandemic.

She knew the brick and mortar places where we needed to go. Fortunately, our schedules were free the upcoming Saturday morning.

Normally, I have an early afternoon dance rehearsal, but I’d already cancelled that in order to work a paid volunteer gig with a local festival. That gig paid more than my work compensation rate. l also wanted to network. I got more than I bargained for because of that schedule change.

My friend and I had a luxurious amount of time to catch up with one another as she drove us southward to an outlet strip mall. Again, we got lucky. The first underwear place where we shopped fulfilled our needs, so we crossed off all the other places on her list except the shoe store. Even then, she knew exactly what she wanted.

Just in time for civilized people to have an afternoon margarita, we hit a TexMex restaurant and ordered the special. As far as I could tell, it was a standard marg with the addition of a basil leaf, cut strawberries and garnished with a peep. My friend’s peep, fell into the glass, faced down. I laughed, telling her that she was drinking a crime scene. At least when my peep fell in, it was floating on its back as if enjoying the day.

After my shopping and brunch excursion, all I wanted to do was take a nap. I’d awaken a little earlier than usual to bake, do laundry and clean up before going out. It had caught up with me. Once I came home, I saw that my CPA had messaged me several times. I played phone tag with her for a bit before connecting and answering her questions.

My eyes were closed for about 15 minutes when I heard my phone buzz with incoming texts. Thinking my CPA had more questions, I checked. Turns out, the festival volunteer coordinator had inquired whether I could arrive about four hours earlier.

As soon as I walked into the office, the volunteer coordinator asked if I was security.

Of all the questions, I’d never been asked that one when volunteering for a festival. Apparently some groupies had been entering the building, trying to see the band. What she needed me to do was stand outside on the corner and make sure that groupies couldn’t enter the green room from the street.

Inwardly, I laughed. Of all things…getting paid to stand on the corner! Not nearly as much for people in that profession, but far more than someone just hanging out. One of the best things about standing outside on a beautiful day was seeing random people.

Such as the Easter Bunny.

The head of security had also responded to the text to arrive earlier. He was character: a rancher who broke in horses by day, working security at various festivals around the state at night. For this particular event, since he was caught off guard with the early call, he showered in the horse stable.

We swapped stories as we worked our part of the perimeter. After a few hours, he allowed me to eat first. The festival had sprung for pita sandwiches. I ate outside in the courtyard by myself on one side of the building. Normally, I eat while watching TV. People watching was just as entertaining as I imagined what each cluster of people did for the festival.

As the sun went down, the event came to life. I reposted to the exit to make sure that no one left with an alcoholic drink once they finished looking at the 8 or 10 different artist installations. I also directed incoming people to the entrance to have their bags checked by the real security folks. Confusing enough, the exit was all lit up as if it were the entrance.

Within an hour of showtime, one of festival guys asked if I was security. Throughout the day, various people had asked me that. By this time, I was ready. “No,” I said, “I’m just a bossy Black woman who volunteered for this festival.” The guy flashed a nervous grin like, oh no, you just mentioned race. In the meantime, the head of security exclaimed, “I didn’t know you were Black!” He said to me. “Did you know?” He looked at the festival guy, who remained speechless.

Teresa the incog-negro strikes again!

The real security team got into position for the band.

I’d never heard of “Princess Goes to the Butterfly Museum,” but I knew of the front man, who also plays the title character in the Netflix series, “Dexter.”

The crowd was just as entertaining as the band.

At one point, the band played a song similar to a U2 song and some drunk guys started singing the chorus to “All I Want Is You.” Another drunk guy screamed, “Kill someone!”

I’m happy to report that, as far as I know, no one died as a result of that event.

Categories: Holidays, Special Events | Leave a comment

Creature Comforts

Posted on April 17, 2022 by mathdreads

There’re several little things that make one feel at home.

With my recent move, I donated some things, threw away others, but I packed up the majority. Many of my possessions are creature comforts. My entire collection of costumes and accessories, for example. I don’t bother asking when, during this pandemic, I’m ever going to costume myself for an event. That has already happened several times because the plague doesn’t stop cosplay.

It’s probably one of the healthier ways of dealing with reality–escaping from reality for a minute. All the doom and gloom will still be there once I’m finished dressing up as the Mad Hatter, Anubis or Ms Information.

On the other hand, I found a place for the things one thinks makes a civilized dwelling: furniture to sit upon and sleep on, cookware, regular clothes and the such. Even the decorative red throw pillows found a home, much to the delight of the fur baby who gave them the nap test.

Upon the foundation of all the material things being in place, I’ve resumed a productive routine. On the other hand, I’m using this foundation to dream about other things. I have to first visualize myself as doing something else before I take the leap.

Categories: Writing | Leave a comment

Benign Invader

Posted on April 10, 2022 by mathdreads

I put on my big girl britches on moving day.

Embracing my nervousness, I hopped into my Honda Fit and drove over to pick up the moving truck. I’d planned nearly everything except the route to get the truck to the apartment complex. I took the scenic route to the complex since that behemoth couldn’t make a U-turn.

My biggest reward was backing that monstrosity into a parking space.

Added bonus: the adjacent parking spaces were empty as well. Not that I needed the extra room. Made me feel better though.

No moving job’s complete without at least one friend.

Technically, I hired him months prior to the move. I’ve always been an organized person, but this particular move, partly because it was during a pandemic and partly because I was being priced out, seemed extra stressful. I’d started packing a little every day, beginning on March 1st just to keep the anxiety at bay. When the official day arrived, I’d already taken four Honda Fit loads of stuff over to the new place. The rest conveniently packed away in the truck.

One of the benefits of the new place was a wonderful fur baby, Buddy.

“Baby” was more a term of endearment since this little ol’ man is 13. Still energetic and curious, but without all the extra puppy energy. We met months prior to me moving in. He immediately took to me.

Moving day was a flurry of activity.

As the day progressed, I knew the next time I moved, I’d hire at least two friends to do all the heavy lifting. I’d done that years ago when I’d first moved back to the States and had more money saved under my belt. As a matter of fact, the move itself isn’t what cost the most. The overlap in rent between the old place and the new place turned out to be the biggest expense.

I was dog tired at the end of the day.

Down to the bone. Even before sunset, all I wanted to do was unpack enough to take a shower then eat. In that order because once I sat down to eat and drink, there was no getting up to do much else.

Everything took much longer, so it seemed.

I went to a recommended location of my usual grocery store. That place was so “sexy,” I felt like Pigpen walking around there. Nonetheless, all the employees greeted me as if my deodorant hadn’t expired. At one point, I chose a checkout line since, with my usual luck, any line I entered would turn into the slowest one. Yet, one employee spoke into a walkie-talkie to another to find me a shorter line and then directed me to that line. As if I didn’t stink.

I was so excited to shower, eat then sleep.

I had everything except the decorations unpacked by the time I logged onto work on Monday. Somehow, unpacking all the dizzying array of accumulated emails in my absence would take much longer.

Categories: Special Events | Leave a comment

Just Chilling

Posted on April 3, 2022 by mathdreads

Talk about timing. I’d just put the last item into my shopping cart when an urgent announcement came over the PA system. A tornado watch. The grocery store asked us to leave our carts, and report to the back.

I joined other customers and employees in the walk-in dairy freezer, behind the milk case.

Normally cold-natured, I credited my irritation for keeping me warm. For the first time, being pissed off worked in my favor since I didn’t have a coat or jacket. Another thing that kept me warm was fuming about whether anyone was taking things out of my basket.

Even though we sheltered in the diary freezer for over an hour, I remained standing rather than sit on an empty milk crate.

Milk crates are better suited for holding milk and other inanimate objects.

Contrary to popular belief, a well-rounded butt like mine doesn’t render uncomfortable things more comfortable to sit on.

By the time I exited the freezer, paid for my groceries (which were still all there!) and went outside, the sky was a vibrant, crisp blue. Unbelievable.

We don’t normally get tornadoes in Austin, so I thought my sheltering among the milks (which can be from a mammal, a nut or legume) would be my only interesting story for the week.

Three days later, my usual African dance practice, due to a scheduling conflict, had to be held outside rather than in our usual trapezoidal-shaped dance studio. After surveying the surroundings, our choreographer asked if we could dance in the drained swimming pool.

Unlike synchronized swimming, we danced in the pool without water. Normally, African dance is performed barefoot, but only a few dancers chose to do that inside the pool. No space is perfect, but despite the intentional incline, the cracks and rocks, I loved dancing maskless in the fresh air. Here’s the thing: I danced with my mouth wide open as if I were trying to breath through a mask while dancing. Once I realized what I was doing, I copped a more attractive “dance smile.”

See if you can spot the change in this “summarized” version of our practice below.

Categories: Special Events | Leave a comment

Buh Guh Money

Posted on March 27, 2022 by mathdreads

At the beginning of this year, the leasing agent emailed my roommate and I a notice about what our rent would be if we renewed our lease. They’d unwittingly crossed into the “ya’ll niggahs must be crazy” realm. As if we’d pay nearly $500 more.

When one of my nephews was a little kid, he’d race to the brightly colored shiny bubble gum machines and ask one of us adults for some “buh guh money.” He wasn’t much of a gum chewer. It was more about the entertainment of watching the colorful piece of gum travel through its dispenser.

I don’t know at what age the magic waned from watching bubble gum dispensers or when he started referring to “buh guh money” as “quarters,” but I thought of my nephew when I saw my pay raise. Buh Guh Money.

I couldn’t muster my nephew’s young childhood enthusiasm for twenty-five cents, especially when the cost of practically everything had increased way beyond my raise.

Even the cost of gas, which I don’t often have to buy, thanks to working from home, shot up as soon as Putin invaded Ukraine. These assholes couldn’t wait for any excuse to jack up the prices, which caused some people to jack up their fellow citizens for gas. As soon as I’d paid Putin prices for my gas, the cost started to lower. Much better to stretch my buh guh money.

Categories: Writing | Leave a comment

π Day

Posted on March 20, 2022 by mathdreads

The irony of my π Day observation is that I never observed it when I was a Math teacher. As a matter of fact, if it hadn’t landed on a Monday this year, my current grocery shopping day, I may not have bothered with it at all.

Yet since we’ve passed the 2-year mark for this roller coaster pandemic, I bought a celebratory, individual-sized spinach and cheese quiche. My quiches taste better, but this was pretty good in a pinch.

In my younger days, I would’ve opted for a sweet pie, but now that I’m convinced that too much sugar makes my left knee hurt, I opted for a pain-free celebration. (Hey, some people can tell the weather with their knee. Mine lets me know when I’ve consumed too much sugar!)

Another reason I like this observation is that π is the most famous irrational number. “Irrational” being the M.O. of the US dominant narrative for the past couple of years. In a way, being sequestered has been nice because I don’t have to surround myself by irrational people in real life. We are comfortably separated by distance and social media.

As a matter of fact, I messaged people as a reminder to eat a sweet or savory pie in observance. Not a soul complained about how much they hated math because everyone found a type of pie that they liked without too much grief.

As a counterpoint to my belief that my country currently runs on irrationality, the US Senate UNANIMOUSLY voted to end Daylight Savings on March 15th. Could that have been the result of too much π the day before? I’m mostly sure that had nothing to do with it.

More than likely, they were all blurry-eyed from springing forward an hour on the 13th. Either way, it’s refreshing Congress can actually get some shit done. One Republican even made a big deal about how “the science” backs up the decision to end Daylight Savings.

I just thought, “Oh, you son of bitch, a vast universe of logical decisions await when you choose to embrace “the science.”

Nonetheless, I’m not going to be teased into a false sense of optimism that this occurrence has ushered in a new era of logical reasoning and innovative science. At least I enjoyed my pie.

Categories: Holidays, Writing | Leave a comment