A One Sided Conversation

“I need to tell you something. Something you might like to hear.  You know how we’ve been spending a lot of time together lately?.... 

Don’t be like that, I know I’ve been taking up a lot of her time,  I apologised for it already....

Ok. So what I wanted to tell you. .....

Yes. You can tell the others but it might not mean as much to them as it may to you....

You see I heard about what happened when you two met and spent all that time together.....

I know that She felt like the Most Perfect Ballerina and I know that you feel bad that you couldn’t protect Her from the hooks and barbs and the things that woman said...

That they said to Her....

How long did it take before she stopped looking in the mirror? ...

Why did She stop?..... 

Do you think it was from then? .....

Could something from that long ago stop Her eyes from really seeing? Is that why Her eyes just slide away to the left when She looks at herself before we leave to go out?.....

How could those women not know.... 

Or was it not that bad?....

Was it just a childhood twisted memory?.....

Oh...perhaps....

Anyway.... I wanted to tell you that the other day we were running on the treadmill, She wouldn’t call it running but it was...

Yes I know, I wish She would too....

So we were running and she looked up and across from us was a mirror. And She looked.At first Her eyes did the slide but then after a while I felt a change in Her....

Yes, maybe something from when you guys were together....

I don’t know.I think Her body remembered what it was like to feel strong and fast and lean and supple...

It was like something in Her just clicked....and She looked up. She saw herself in the mirror....

I mean She really saw herself. She looked...

Yes! And Her eyes didn't slide away.I saw Her stride get longer and Her arms get looser....

Yes!....

She watched herself run....

I couldn’t believe it either...

I really wish you could have seen Her eyes light up and....

Yes!...

How did you know that She smiled like THAT!?....

She did?....

She did?.Huh!....

Well.....um...wow...yeah...

So...do you think between the two of us She might one day feel like an athlete?...

Maybe we need to encourage Her to start dancing again? ..

Yes I am well aware it’s going to take a bit of convincing...

Ok...We’ll work on it together....”

Speedy Asics  in conversation with Size 3 Bloch Ballet Shoes

Apparently this conversation happened the other day between Speedy Asics and Size 3 Bloch Ballet Shoes. You can read Speedy Asics apology letter for us spending so much time at the gym lately and Size 3 Bloch Ballet Shoes story explaining how I once felt like the perfect ballerina. 

Edit :  I did my first Bellydancing class on 1st November. I felt like a dancer again in some small, random way...Zumba doesn't make me feel like that but Bellydancing did. 

I think this conversation somehow had a bit of an influence on me ;)

Some people consider themselves athletes. Others do not.  Write a piece of fiction or creative non-fiction in which athleticism features prominently.

http://writeonedge.com/2011/10/red-writing-hood-athleticism-2/

An Invisible Pink Bruise

The first time we were only 21. The second time we were 29. You would think it would have been easier the second time being older but it hit harder. 

It's like when you get hit by a ball that has has been hurtled at you unexpectedly from somewhere just out of your vision. It leaves a bruise. 

Over time bruise may disappear but if you press hard enough, in just the right place, even though it seems to have healed - it is still tender.

That's how it felt the second time.

Except for us, instead of someone pressing with their fingers into that hidden, tender spot - it was like a black, gloved hand was twisting and turning and pressing down and at first making it hard to breathe. 

But then, after time, after just living our life,  we got used to that tender spot hurting again, shed our tears and lived it. 

We shut the voice down in our head both times that tried to signal that this may be the end, it was going to get worse, that this was in our future, that nothing was ever going to be the same. That voice that tried to silence our Hope and Faith.

The first time there were other most loved that were going through their own similar battles and we became the band-aid, the one who would look after the ones She could not. The ones She also loved. We didn't mind but looking back now we didn't think about what She was going through much at all. It wasn't that we didn't care. We cared too much. We just did what She couldn't do while She was in Hospital.

Except for that one day when the world did slow down enough for us to go with Her. To be with Her while she sat in that leather ezy-chair and ponder the irony and swallow back the unhelpful tears while trying to ignore the needle and drip in Her arm and pray that this "medicine" that was so toxic would do it's job. That there would be days with her to talk about this and thank Him for more days that were nothing like this. 

But almost 8 years later it happened again. We remember the day we got the phone call. We remember leaving work. We remember driving straight to Her house and sitting on Their bed and talking and praying and wondering how it could strike again. Same thing. Different side. Different type. Another Hospital operation. 

This time there were no distractions. This time we could focus on Her. We kept our Faith and Hope. We were sadly more prepared. I think this time we faced it as a Family. The four of us. 

And when the operation was done, the next day She and I sat on the Hospital balcony, we stood up to a scary Matron on Her behalf and ate fresh Egg & Bacon rolls for breakfast. 

The sun shone brightly on our faces that day. 

Her adjustments began again and life changed but Hope and Faith never wavered. 

No matter how hard it was. We were blessed.

xx The soles of my shoeless feet.

Mum & I in the mid 1970's

As you may be aware it is Pink Ribbon Day today to raise awareness for Breast Cancer. The Cancer Council tell us that " ....one in every nine Australian women will be diagnosed with breast cancer by the age of 85". 

One. In. Nine.

In 1995 my Mum was diagnosed with Breast cancer in her left breast. She had all her lymph nodes removed, a full mastectomy and chemotherapy. At around the same time my Grandfather, her Father was also battling his own illness, my Grandmother didn't, couldn't cope and my feet learned the feel of three different Hospitals in Sydney in those months. Just not often the one that my Mum was most familiar with.Mum got through her treatment, sadly we said goodbye to my Grandfather and life continued on.

But almost 8 years later during her one of her regular follow ups she was eventually diagnosed with cancer a second time. This time in her right breast. Totally unrelated. Tubular cancer "One of the better cancers to get".Yes this was a statement from her Specialist. Possibly true but what a statement! She chose a full mastectomy without a second thought and again all lymph nodes were removed. No chemotherapy or radiation was required. The removal of her breast was enough.

I have no idea what shoes I wore during that time but the soles of my feet remember every single moment of both those years even if my brain refuses to and my heart has buried most of the emotion. Two more Polaroid Moments fused into my sole forever. 

Nearly everyone I know has a story of how they have been touched by cancer in some way. Just look at those statistics. We know in our heads it's important to financially support the research and yet how many of us do? 

I'm buying my Pink Ribbon. I'm buying as many Pink endorsed products as I can - even though I know how little some of the profits of individual items are, it all adds up. I'll be going to a Pink Ribbon afternoon tea and I'll be keeping my Faith and Hope.

You see, even with those statistics on paper I know that my statistics are higher that it's possible that it's in my future now. My doctor keeps reminding me.

However I have a trust in the One who is above statistics but even if I do have to face what my Mum has fought twice now I will be fine. I already have that tender spot. And if ever have to wear "that scar" on my own body, I'll wear it as a badge of honour because I have the most wonderful example of strong, amazing, real, fragile, faithful, hopeful, courageous women to draw on. 

And there are those that I treasure as close friends who have walked similar walks that I have as daughters (and sons) that haven't had the same outcome, that faced a very different type of pain and their bruise bears a different mark. I almost have "Surviour Mum" guilt in a way and I know that they would want to bop me on the head right now reading that! - but I understand their tender spot as I know they understand mine.

So my tender spot? It will be like a invisible, pink bruise in the shape of a ribbon to remind me of what strength is. Just like those amazingly women who have already fought that battle. I think of those that have both won and lost and the ways in which your fight has impacted my life as a woman. I'm stronger for it.

And to all of you ( you know who you are! ) I....we....say "Thank you!"

Do you have a pink bruise or a tender spot ? Been strengthened by someone else's journey? I'd love to hear about it. Leave me a comment below. 

An Open Apology

Dear Readers of She Has Cute Shoes,

I'm sorry for being so darn persistent that Vikki spend time with me these past 6 weeks. I  know that I have some issues to work out but I'm sorry to tell you that they are not going to go away any time soon. 

You see I have a problem. 

I have far too much energy and I can't handle being cooped up in this flat all day with the other shoes. They are so whiny and prissy about not loosing their glitter or their pretty satiny sheen and all they can talk about is who is going on the next "adventure". And just between you and me it seems that Glitter Ballet Flats get more than their fair share....but it's not up to me to make judgments on that.....right?

To make matters worse it seems that all eyes are now being turned my way as the sole reason as to why she is neglecting to write intelligent and thoughtful blog posts on several of her blogs lately. *sigh* Would you point fingers at someone who was suffering from a serious disease? No. You would not. 

In my defense I do say that we will only go to the gym for about an hour. It's her listening to that watch of hers that tells her how many calories ( I have no idea what they are but apparently they are important ) she has just melted off and she chooses to stay for sometimes more than two hours. I don't mind really. It works in my favour. 

I'm a tad worried though. Apparently there is some fun run she has signed up for in a month or so where they run through mud and....more mud....she better NOT be taking me to that one!

Well. There's my "apology" letter. As you can see I was made to write this.

So.....I'm sorry. There I said it. 

But like I said things might not change for a while. She may still be a bit erratic with her posts because we are spending so much time at the gym.

Ok. I've got to write this again on her other blog...think I might just copy and paste ;)

Speedy Asics.