reassault

July 25, 2017

three months ago i was with a male friend at the pharmacy picking up some meds. i was standing at the counter. he was standing right next to me, shoulder-to-head (i’m a bit shorter). when the pharm tech says, “Sarah” to confirm that the last name matched with the name written on the order, i nodded in my typical i have neither the time nor the energy to engage in the importance of names. my friend’s reaction to the tech completely disregarding my name was to discreetly and very matter-of-fact grab and pinch my ass…i knew that this awkward response was his way of telling me that he wanted me to speak up. but in that instant, i felt anger. it had nothing to do with my name. something sat in my throat. and i couldn’t give it voice.

as we walked through the pharmacy towards the exit, a mixture of emotions resurfaced throughout my body. i didn’t say a word. and he was in his own world. he had no idea what was happening to me. when we got to the car he continued talking about quien-carajo-sabe. i took a deep breath and said, “if you ever grab my ass again, imma’ beat the shit outta’ you.” he laughed lightly and kept talking. completely oblivious to both my body language and my verbal language. i stopped him and said, “no. you really need to listen to me. i mean it. if you ever grab my ass again, imma’ beat the shit outta’ you, Zack” (not his real name).

it landed. i could tell he both listened and saw me. clearly.

in typical victim/survivor behavior i started to explain myself, “it’s not that i think you did it with malice but…” he interrupted me immediately. he was visibly upset with himself and stated that i did not owe him any explanation. instead he apologized for being an “insensitive and privileged-asshole.” he owned his shit. all of it. with every word that came out of his mouth he affirmed what many men ignore and dismiss.

he went on saying that regardless of the fact that he was aware of my sexual abuse history, even if he didn’t know the information he does, his action was completely out of line. i have never given him permission to touch me. i didn’t need to say anything. he was working it out in that very moment. promised to do better every day. he came from his Heart. and a bit of my trust was restored.

last week i went to visit some friends. i have to preface that one of the friends, Carlos (not his real name either) was drunk. upon our arrival the energy was happy. we caught up on how work was going for everyone, how our babies were doing, and the usual talk-time spent with friends to reconnect. we went to spend some time and enjoy a distraction from the intensity that is our current life.

we were discussing breast feeding with another friend who was there. she was sharing her experience with us about breastfeeding her children. when a bursts from Carlos screaming, “teta!” with a ridiculous degree of volume, interrupted our conversation. he decided that he wants to focus his attention on women’s breasts. it was beyond the annoying drunk. and we tried to ignore Carlos until he decided it was ok to touch my partner’s breasts. she immediately responded by saying that if it happened again he would get kicked in the balls.

the energy has shifted significantly. and quickly.

i looked at my wife and said, “let’s go.” our other friend stood up quickly, told him to shut up and invited us to come in to the kitchen to see what he is cooking. we spent some time in there speaking about something he wanted to share regarding his health and we all went back out to the yard. as we stood outside, Carlos comes from behind and grabs my breasts. i turned around, with all the anger and fear that i experience every. fucking. time. someone touches me without consent running through my skin. and said, “every time you do that, you trigger me. you trigger every sexual assault i have experienced. from being molested to being raped. you bring it all to the surface.”

he paused, perplexed in a noticeably sober moment, and says something to the effect of how he can’t understand how he, a person of “confianza” would trigger that in me. i stopped him real fast, “this is not about you. this is not about you. this is NOT about you.” i repeated it multiple times.

i could tell his head was spinning as he tried to process this out loud. he stated how he also grabs so-and-so’s breasts and so-and-so, as if that shit has anything to do with me. i could only listen for so long before thinking this will not be a conversation that i could engage in real talk given his etoh intake… he paused and realized it wasn’t about him but i could tell that something had not quite connected. and a bit of my trust was lost.

i’ve been sitting with all of this. and a day hasn’t passed that i don’t think about it since it happened. my body is holding all of this shit. when these things resurface i just want to beat the shit outta’ the person who triggered and everyone before him. and there are days that i hate that my initial reaction is always to talk and not just go fucking violent. it’s like my need to keep things “peaceful” gets in the way of a more complete expression of my feelings. like fucking him up.

but my body, it just holds on tight. pero algun día voa’ reventar. i have no idea what that looks like. and that is very frightening to me. for now, i hold. and continue to digest what i should immediately vomit.

in what world can anyone think that just because it’s person of “confianza,” it’s ok to touch another body? every male who violated my body was always a person of “confianza.” the majority of the perpetrators are. this world chooses to ignore that fact repeatedly. they don’t respect female bodies. they don’t care to respect female bodies.

women and girls experience sexual assault every day. multiple times a day.
your daughter.

women and girls experience sexual assault every day. multiple times a day.
tu madre.

women and girls experience sexual assault every day. multiple times a day.
your sister.

women and girls experience sexual assault every day. multiple times a day. in the language used to speak to them or about them. we experience assault in the wandering eyes of someone who looks to undress. we experience assault in the “casual” grabbing of our body parts. we are assaulted with every cat call that makes us lengthen our steps and increase our pace.

i have two baby boys to raise now…they will know their Mamá’s story one day.  They will write a new narrative where informed consent is always a given and bodies are respected.

#52essays2017

whatever you’d like

May 25, 2017

we always thought we were gonna’ have a girl. La Nena. we had picked her name out much quicker than the boys’. so when we learned that we were having two boys something shifted. there was a sadness. i can’t deny that. not that i wasn’t happy to have whatever we were getting, just that i wanted a girl because well, i’m a girl. and i wanted to raise a strong girl. independent. luchadora. bad ass. rockstar. queen. bruja. that was gonna’ be our girl, Luna was her name…

“it’s two boys,” said the radiologist as she pointed to it’s genitals and typed the word “boy” with an arrow pointing directly at its penis. that was when i had “that” moment. the one where shit gets real real. we have to raise two boys… two boys. who have two moms. who happen to be Latinxs. who happen to be queer. in a world that seems to be tearing at the seams. in a world that just on your genitals alone have placed an exaggerated, ridiculous amount of expectations on you that are unrealistic and just dumb. fucking stoopid’.

i’ve been guilty of some of those expectations. it’s the environment i grew up in. that “boys will be boys” bullshit. i’m working on changing that every day. so i am already thinking about a few things. if you are indeed cisgendered males, know that i have no clue whatsoever about your body parts except what i know from my education as a nurse and the few, often negative encounters with male bodies i may have had. but i trust that you are here to teach me a thing or two. i also believe you’re here to heal me around some of those not-so-pleasant experiences.

it’s not at all about your body but, because of your body society will make you think you have to “act a certain way.” please pay no attention to the distractors from Self Love. your body is simply your vessel. the temple in which your soul resides in this time and space.

discover the many parts of you. pink is for everyone. you can play with dolls. you can dance. you can cry. you can have long hair. you can paint your nails. you can wear whatever you’d like (though trust that i will check you before you walk out the door and make adjustments if needed. porque utede’ no pueden ta’ andando’ por ahi como loco tampoco). you don’t have to be strong. you don’t have to know about cars or sports. you can throw out the trash AND you can do the dishes.

you have brown skin. your names will be mispronounced. this has so many implications, most of them terrifying, so please be mindful of all of your actions because even your inactions are bound to set something in motion. usually, that motion is against you. stand firm in who you are. especially in moments of injustice.

you have two moms. so you also got that. which we think is pretty cool. and someone may have a thing to say about that. pero tu los mandas pal’ carajo and keep it moving. do not waste your time arguing with mojones que no cojen cabeza. i do promise you that you will have very positive male role models around you. and you will know that it takes a village and Our Village is beautiful and big and strong and they Love you.

we have so much to learn from each other. and i will do my best to be my best self for you both. and i promise you that i will honor and respect whatever you discover about yourself along the way,  i will encourage and provide all the support i can. and my only expectation of you is that you be your genuine Selves, wherever you may stand. there will be no boxes to put you in. you are perfectly made.

still, imma’ raise two bad asses. two brujos. two conjurers of justice. two respectful humans. two luchadores.

you are the painters of your canvass. i will be your easel.

#52weeks2017

paper clips

May 12, 2017

i’m thinking in numbers every day. which is saying a lot because i’ve had a very difficult relationship with numbers my entire life. but numbers now have taken the place of words. it’s day 15. they’re hovering around 740g. yes, that’s grams. to give you an idea, one gram is about the weight of a paper clip. my babies weigh about 740 paper clips. the next time you’re in your place of work find a box of them. they usually come in quantities of 100. hold eight of those boxes in your hand… there, you just held my babies.

they are both eating 9mls every two hours. the breast milk is now fortified and they have added some calories to assist with weight gain. one of them had 3 spit ups but nothing major. he just prefers breastmilk alone. but we need more grams on them. they need to grow.

they had a mother’s day tea group talk at the NICU yesterday. most of us look like zombies. we all look like we’re staring into something somewhere between a fog and sand storm. i felt that particular way about us for sure. it was nice to meet other folks who are experiencing similar circumstances. today, a volunteer photographer took pictures of us with the boys. we should be getting them soon. soon… that’s another interesting word. that place makes a mockery of time. you don’t even feel it when you’re there. time stops in that place.

they are just over two weeks old. 15 days and almost 8 hours exactly. they’ve had their share of moments where they forget to breathe. but they get nudged gently and get reminders from the nurses. hey you, you gotta’ inhale or exhale. but one has to follow the other, i imagine them saying. when they get “nudged” they call it “stim,” short for stimulation. they’ll tap the bottom of their feet with their hands. move them a bit. they explain that the babies forget because of their prematurity.

doctor neonatologist also reminds us that the babies are doing what they should be doing… if, they were still in utero. they wouldn’t have to necessarily breathe because it was being done for them. so we’re really at 28 weeks and 1 day, gestational. many things are still waiting to develop or are developing slowly. their brain circuits are not yet sending the messages because they haven’t matured. it’s mostly neurological. something about the myelin sheath (if you can recall A&P).

they have me thinking a lot about breathing. how often do we live holding in our breaths? for me, these days feel like that is all i’m doing. i’m in a constant inhale. sometimes during the day, to let out some of the air, i find myself putting my feet to the ground. when i need to feel that moment, i literally make a conscious decision to focus on my feet and how they feel beneath me. i need to Live those few seconds. i become aware of place and pay attention to my breaths. i inhale deeply and imagine alveolis expanding in their tiny lungs, branches filling up, expansion. i exhale and imagine their lungs doing the work smoothly. breathe in the good, breathe out the bad.

the normal respiratory rate for newborns is 30-50 times per minute. the normal breathing rate for you and i is about 12-20 per minute. so my babies have to breathe a lot. and that’s a lot of work for a preemie. it’s hard to take deeper breaths too. it’s no different for me either. i find  myself living outside that normal rate when matters of the heart are raw. and this is the most i’ve ever felt rawness like i do in this moment. i feel so fucking vulnerable. it’s like i am walking with my skin inside out.

my biggest exhale comes that moment i get to the NICU and see my Sons. the second i can touch them. and read to them. or sing some silly made up song Mami and i come up with because our canciones de cuna list is super short. that instant when the nurses let them out of the isolettes and onto the center of my chest, i exhale from the depths of my fears.

breathing is so basic, isn’t it?

#52essays2017

day 5

May 1, 2017

we were discharged from the hospital yesterday. it was a very long day. we left our hearts on a NNICU unit. i’m trying to wrap my head around the next few months. adjusting to this sort of in-between worlds. i find myself trying to create a balance between all the emotions my body is experiencing. the mind is a traitor when the heart feels weak. but you already make me stronger.

i am learning to navigate a life that feels like i walk on a tight-rope daily, no net or catch ropes. the core of me must strengthen in this new role.

walking out of here without you is the hardest walk i have ever had to take. but you have so much growing to do my little big Loves. and so i need you to know and understand two very important lessons right now.

first, you have each other. you are just a few feet away. let that Love that is inherently yours and yours only through your shared experience be a guiding Light, especially when your Mommas are not present. feel each other’s energies and know that life has blessed you with a first mate. that is a beautiful thing.

second, you will always be protected by our Love. this means that our Love for you is so immense that it will keep you safe. Mami and i are standing firm in our Faith that your stay there will be one of the smoothest, most amazing and speedy growth in premature babies that place has ever witnessed. remember that you are Miracles. you are divine intervention. you are wonderful. you are my children and have by nature inherited a protective order.

i am always thinking of you. i wear wristbands that state that i am a newborn guardian. and guard you i will. even when you cannot see me, you can always feel my Love. listen to and pay attention to your heart beats closely. it is there that you will find the Love your Mami and i have for each other. a Love that is gentle but strong. a Love that is patient. that Love will be the one you carry for your lifetime. in your hearts you will also find the Love we have for you. this new Love transcends all the others. this Love required expansion. it required a stretching of heart muscles and an increase in blood flow. my heart strings are pulled towards you constantly.

we will be there every day to remind you that you are not alone. we will call your nurses to check in often throughout the day. candles have been lit in so many places around the world for you. the village is praying, chanting, meditating, and sending positive thoughts to each of you constantly. you have so many people who Love you that have never met you. but that’s the thing with Love, it doesn’t need to know to feel. Love is a constant action. Love like breath is always moving in and out. in and out. Love, like breath oxygenates cells.

inhale and exhale my beautiful children. grow and strengthen in Love and courage.

and while we are apart, let my Love hold you close. your beautiful Lights are shining in this world and the clarity of each of you is radiant.

i Love you deeply Diego y Andrés.

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#52essays2017

first letter

April 29, 2017

Diego y Andrés,

you decided to arrive swiftly and gently. you were letting us know pretty early on that you were going to get here a little sooner than expected. and while your Mami and i were looking forward to meeting you, we wanted you to stay in a little longer because well… the longer you stayed in there, the better your chances of surviving this crazy world out here.

but you had other plans. and decided to come in on the 26th day of April in a taurus moon, en caul…

when the doctor said your Mami was dilated to 4cm and that we would be doing a cesarean section, i felt a rush of anxiety and complete fear take over every part of my body. in Mami’s belly you were completed protected. but outside of her body, things would look a lot different for you at this point in your gestational age.

originally they had told us everything was stable… and in the span of three hours, everything shifted. they started telling us all this information about what they were going to do and the resuscitation room and the NICU and all the things that could go in every direction… i couldn’t grasp the information much less process it because in that moment the fear of loosing you was exponential. my ears shut down. every cell in my body was on edge.

they took your Mami to the OR and left me in a room with this paper suit to go over my clothes, a mask and some footsies over my sneakers. i have never perspired more than i have in that outfit. i don’t think more than ten minutes passed between the time they took Mami and the time the nurse came to get me, but i felt like at least three hours had gone by and they hadn’t come to get me. a knock at the door startles me, the nurse says follow me and proceeds to give me all these instructions about sterility and hands at my sides. i entered this sterile, cold room (which i appreciated in that outfit), and Mami was already on the OR table. i sat on a silver stool right behind the curtain and at her head.

she was struggling with anesthetics because they made her awfully nauseous. once that settled, she was a Warrior. she meditated while everything was happening. she took deep breaths and surrendered to trusting that God was present. i know she could sense my anxiety. she looked at me and with complete ease in her voice said, “God didn’t bring us this far to abandon us now. all is well.”

the doctor asked me to stand up and look over the curtain. and there was Diego squirmy and beautiful inside your amniotic sac… you were pure perfection. and then Andrés, two minutes later, same as your brother in your amniotic sac… you were pure perfection (i’ll write to each of you later how rare your births are and their meaning). each of you were taken to the resuscitation room. a nurse came around and said she was ready to escort me into the room. i kissed your mom on the forehead and she said, “go be with our babies.”

when i went into that room, the energy rushed in my body sat in my knees. i bent them a bit and allowed myself to feel the ground beneath me. i felt shaky but sturdy. i took a deep breath and found myself looking at Baby A, mi Diego. as an entire NICU team worked to intubate you and stabilize your very tiny 1 lb 12oz body, you were fearless. and your cry was soft but strong. i turned around to see Baby B, mi Andrés, weighing in at 1 lb 14oz, your cry was musical, a lullaby… and your entire team went through the same motions. i was in awe of your absolute perfection in such small bodies.

you stole my heart in each of your first breaths.

as i write this, i count… you have been alive for approximately 60 hours. we have been Mami and Mamá to two amazing Guerreros. such courage you two have shown already.

this Love i feel for you is unlike any Love i have ever experienced -and this Mamá Loves hard and deep. you fill the spaces were hurt resided. in the miracle of both of you, my heart is healed from any hurt i have ever been exposed to. you are the tiniest biggest Loves of my life.

I Love you. I Love you.

#52essays2017

reflection: year five

November 29, 2012

in a week it will be five years since my hysterectomy.

fact: i haven’t healed.

accepted truth: it will be a lifelong process.

renewed hope: i will still be a Mami.

the following is a part of a much longer monologue. i’ve learned that i can “give birth” in so many other ways. i write to heal myself and others who can connect to my story. this is my medicine. here’s to continued healing.

My Uterus used to live here.

Right around here.

The uterus is the major female reproductive organ.  The main function of the uterus is to accept a fertilized ovum which becomes implanted into the endometrium.  The fertilized ovum becomes an embryo, develops into a fetus and gestates until childbirth.

I miss my uterus.

I DO NOT miss my periods… but I do miss my uterus.

You see I had plans for it.  It was going to be the proud womb of two beautiful children.  Who already had names and would one day become artist, activists and writers.  And my womb was going to be a vehicle for change.

My girl was going to be named Sarahí Elis.

My boy, Diego Rafael.

I like strong Latino names.

They were both carried out full-term.  Fairly uncomplicated pregnancies; with the exception of morning sickness the first two months and my enormously huge breasts.  Sarahí Elis was tiny at birth.  She weighed almost 6 lbs.  But she was healthy.  And she slept soundly.  She loved to sleep on my chest.  We would fall asleep on the couch together watching Yankee games on mute.

She would be lulled by the rise and fall of my chest.  And I would sing to her, “Contigo Aprendí, a ver la luz del otro lado de la luna.  Contigo aprendí, que tu presencia no la cambio por ninguna.”  She loved when I sang to her.

Diego was strong on his way out.  The little guy was not so little.  He had a big head.  And he put me through some hours.  And when he came out, he came out roaring.  Screaming and yelling like he was mad at the world.  At home, he would only go to sleep if he was between both of his moms.

They would learn to speak Spanish first.  They would know their history and their herstory.   They would be culturally conscious humans.  My little boy was going to look just like his father (my friend Hamlet had already volunteered to help the cause) AND Diego would have my father’s heart: BIG with unconditional love pouring out of him.  My little girl was going to be JUST like me, in every single possible way.

And I was going to nurture their every minute-lasting dream of being a famous singer in the morning and changing that to a veterinarian by mid-day.

I had already seen their first Christmas.  I hoped Los Reyes were able to get them all the toys on their wish list.  I saw them open Tio David’s gift and say, “What the hell is this?”  I was their first kiss on New Year’s Day, their first hug on Valentines; they loved Easter chocolate bunnies but didn’t care much for egg hunts.  They made the BEST mother’s day cards.  They never forgot our anniversary or our birthdays.

I washed their little clothes in the gentle cycle.  I stood in awe when they grew two shoe sizes in less than 3-months.  I helped them clean their rooms, do their homework and tie their shoe laces.  We went on walks together.  We talked about everything.  We played hide-and-seek every day.

I wondered what our house would look like with their smiling faces hanging from picture frames in our living room and their report cards on the refrigerator with that oddly gigantic magnet they made for us in pre-school.  They loved when I made my famous Dominican chicken.  I saw them in their favorite torn-up sweatshirts and those tired jeans -that on their own could make it all the way home.

I told them to get off the phone ‘cause it was too late.  I told them to call their grandma every day.  I taught them about family; about keeping in touch and never forgetting to call each other.

I talked to Sarahi Elis’ teacher about her chattiness in class.  “She’s just very excited about life,” I would say in her defense.  I never got complaints about Diego; as much noise as he made on the way out, he was pretty quiet growing up.  I attended all of their activities.  Diego was into martial arts and playing the bass and Sarahi Elis was all about softball and writing poetry.

I wondered what their moods would be like… I could see them playing with each other one minute and then fighting the next.  I saw them play with our old dog and get excited about the new puppy.  I saw them with their cousins on vacations.  And listened to their countless stories about eve-ry-thing-they-did.

Diego was going to be strong …but gentle.  I was going to teach him how to be a true gentleman.  And Sarahi Elis, well… she was going to be very much like me. Stubbornness included. That is how life was going to show me what it was like to raise me.

I saw them off to their first day of school and cried with them.  I cried with them when they scraped their knees.  I cried with them when they fell off the monkey bars.  I cried with them when they lost their first tooth …when they lost their first love.

I tucked them in… snugged like little bugs in rugs. They jumped into our bed when it thundered.  We hung dream catchers on their windows to keep the nightmares away and left a night light on to keep “el cuco” out of the closet (yes, he too is gay).

I took them everywhere.  We did museums, amusement parks, beach trips, baseball games and movies.  I flew them to Dominican Republic to meet Papote.  I took them to Puerto Rico to meet abuela.  My mother was crazy about them… especially about Sarahi Elis.  And Diego was my sister’s favorite nephew.  My brothers were going to take them on the weekends to play with their kids (who am I kidding; I’d probably end up with all of them).

I saw them graduate from high school.

I helped them with their college applications and got excited with them when they were accepted to their first choice.  I balled my eyes out every time I brought them to their dorms.  We went to visit them when they studied abroad.

I knew they would grow up to want to save the world.  I saw them graduate college.  I saw them fall in love and surely one of them would make an abuela out of me.

I wanted to see my children grow up to be just like me.  I wanted them to be warriors.

…because only a warrior survives a hysterectomy at the age of 29.

On December 7th, 2007 between the hours of 8am and 3pm, Sarahí and Diego’s crib was removed.

The surgery took about seven hours.

They removed my uterus, my cervix and my ovaries.

Once the gynecologist was done… the urologist came in and reimplanted my ureters which had been damaged… he had to cut my bladder, extend it to the top part of the ureters and reconnect them.

I woke up around 4:30pm.

I remember waking up, moving my hands to touch my stomach.  And I felt the gauze pad covering my entire pelvic area.  And I asked if everything went ok and if I could see my gynecologist (who was also a friend of the family); but she had already left.

And I couldn’t see my family yet… so I was alone with an empty crib, thinking about Sarahí Elis and Diego Rafael and with a million questions for God or anyone who could answer them.

I rubbed my abdomen gently… and I talked to them as if they were there.  And I apologized,

I am sorry.  I am so sorry. 

I am sorry I didn’t have you sooner.  I am sorry I had set a date for your arrival.  I am sorry I was so selfish when I was younger and thought that waiting might have helped me provide a better life for you both.  I am sorry we never had the chance to meet, to play… to laugh.

I am sorry I won’t make it to your karate tournament or your softball game.  Sorry that I couldn’t make your recital, that I had to cancel the trip to DR, that the movie is sold out.  Sorry that your Christmas stockings won’t hang from our fireplace and that I am left with a memory that never took place.

But what I am most sorry for… is that I never got to hold you in my arms.

And still, you weigh so heavy in my heart.

The nurse walked in and saw me crying.  She asked on a scale of 1 to 10 (1 meaning no pain, 10 meaning it’s unbearable) how much pain are you in?  I looked at her and said, “100.”  She looked at me and said, “All you have to do is hit this button.  You can hit it every five minutes and it will give you a dose of morphine.  This will alleviate your pain.

I hit the button… and drifted.  Hoping I would forget everything… hoping this was all a dream.  The pain of not being able to see Sarahí Elis and Diego did not go away with Morphine.  In fact, five years later, time hasn’t healed it either… it is something that will be A PART of me and APART from me, for my lifetime.

And so all I can do now, is give birth to these words…

reflection: dreams delayed

November 22, 2011

i have been thinking about this coming holiday.

i am having a hard time this year with it. i read somewhere that mercury is in retrograde and things might be a bit off. and the news always tell of stats that remind us how this is a really depressing time for many people. in trying to make sense of my current emotional state, i seek answers.  this has nothing to do with the holiday or mercury’s position. i am just missing one thing:

my very own family.

i have family. my siblings. my parents. cousins. aunts and uncles. we are thousands of miles apart. still, we are family. and the memories we made years ago are still with me.

but i want my own family. i want to build a home. create memories. hang them on picture frames. make traditions that my kids will talk about…

i’ve been sitting with this. writing about it in my journal. talked about it with some friends over dinner tonight. and then i came across a blog where the blogger was expressing a similar sentiment.

i suppose a good number of us get to that point in our lives. that place where we realize we want our own family. it is easy to feel at a lost.  or like we haven’t done something right if what we want hasn’t yet arrived.

but instead of questioning what i might be doing wrong… i allowed my self to feel and listen. and i learned something and made peace with it rather quickly: it is not yet time.

i am thankful for dreams delayed. it will be that much sweeter. i will be that much stronger.

c-section

September 22, 2011

women-health-info.comi miss my uterus.

the crib
that had the potential
to give life to another life
is gone.

its been gone
for about four years now.

still, i miss it.

they say the first organ
to develop is the heart.
i’ve always wondered what
rhythm it would’ve taken
with mine. what sound
would it have made?

i thought i’d healed
from this experience.
only to be reminded
of where i am in the process
when the questions are asked,
“do you have children?,
any potential you might be pregnant?”
(i wished they read the chart)

“no.”

i drift in thought
stare distantly
………….

wondering what i would’ve looked
like with a belly. i stand infront
of the mirror and push my belly
out as far as it can go…
hold the belly with my hands
and ask, “would she have looked
like me? what traits of mine
would she have inherited? would she
have freckles? thick dark hair? would her toes
be as long as mine? what about her voice?
what kinda’ things would she have
liked? softball? ballet? (just life’s way of laughing at me)
would she enjoy my father’s music the way i do? would she be
healthy? like to cuddle the way i do? cookies and milk?
poetry? i wonder if she’d be as patient as i am.
or as stubborn.”

my mom would’ve been crazy about her.
my dad would’ve been gentle.
my brothers would’ve been sweet… ’til she got to about five-years-old.
then they’d play these little “tricks” on her.
and my sister… well,  she’s always wanted me to make her an aunt.

adjusting the sails to the realities of life
is often times difficult.
and when you think you’re at peace
with something, one simple question
can throw you right back to
december 7, 2007.

i know that there are other ways to be a parent.
but it was the life to life process i wanted
to experience.
i wanted to feel her heart’s beat inside my body.
watch hands and legs stretch out. fingers and toes curl.
kicks and movement.

labor pains? contractions? i’d taken ’em.

i wanted to know what the soul feels
when you hold her for the first time.
that “glow” women get after giving birth
is the very light of new life shining through.

…….

but even if the questions aren’t asked,
i am reminded every time i look in the mirror
and see the scar that runs across my abdomen
like a c-section.

c for castration.
c for change of plans.

~Sarahí Yajaira, 2011

Writer’s Note:
Consider taking the time to learn about Endometriosis at www.endometriosis.org. Like many other women-only related diseases, endometriosis receives little attention and research.  The causes of the disease are all theories. And most women, including myself, end up having to have a hysterectomy (I was just 29).
I still have stage 4 endometriosis. And it can come back any time. It has affected more than just my reproductive system; compromising other organs significantly.  Start early with the females in your life; if they’re experiencing certain symptons DO NOT assume “it’s normal pains for being a female.”

*Image Copied from women-health-info.com

i won’t tell

December 10, 2010

it’s ok if you don’t ask… ‘cause i won’t tell.
you’ll figure it out when you find my body
in the estuary of the east river.
(my spirit died long before
i leapt off that bridge).

see, you’ve been legislating hatred
for centuries.

the women. the blacks.
the poor. the latino. the disadvantaged.
the queers.

you’ve been proclaiming the land of the free.
a democracy. with liberty and justice for all.

while you imprison
your people
under the stars
and behind the bars
of your flag.

i could never break
your glass ceiling
cause my hands
are busy trying
to hold myself
together.

“from California to the New York Islands
this land was made for…” no one
who is different from you.

“tyranny of the majority,” said your James Madison.
–you were warned years ago.
you fight against extremism when it’s used against you,
yet you’ve wagered an extreme war against those who are different.

the message you send is hypocrisy.

but please don’t ask… ‘cause i won’t tell.
let the bully in class, beat it out of me.
let my pastor in church, pray it away.
let my mother at home, cuss’ it out.

‘cause at the end of this day
i will just be another headline that reads,
“queer youth commits suicide.”

and they will wear their purple shirts.
and candles will be lit to remember me…

but i will soon be forgotten.
because the real problem
isn’t just the bully, my pastor and my mother…

the real problem is when you continue to create laws
that deny me my very basic right to be protected.

so please don’t ask… trust me, i won’t tell.
silence has always equaled death.
and in death i am free from your hatred.

~Sarahí Yajaira, 2010 ©

writer’s note: dedicated to all young queer youth. you are so much light to the infinite power. remain strong. there are many of us who are here for you… just reach out.