Pages

Monday, March 4, 2024

The Chase

With all the health stuff I have been dealing with, I have found myself reaching out to my friends for support. And the truth of the matter is, some of them are not interested in being present. It just is what it is. Yet, on the other hand, my church family has been consistent, checking in on me and sending me prayers and well wishes. So, the other night while I sat in the dark groaning, I asked myself why I am chasing friends that aren't interested when there are people proving that they want to be a part of my life? Why is my default always trying to cling to the unavailable? Talk about trauma and damage! These and other questions to be answered as I try to navigate life. Stay tuned.

Hysterectomy/Mysterectomy

I called the doctor's office as soon as I got an alert that my test results came back from my biopsy. I don't even think that they were aware that they had come in yet. I was really high strung, seeing that I am not a medical professional and had just been forwarded a couple of pages of things that might as well have been written in Spanish. The doctor went over my results with me, it was good news, but an eye now has to be kept on my jay-jay. He said later on, if there is still an issue, I may have to get a hysterectomy. Of course, this sent me into a spiral. 

In the past, I have said that I wanted one because I could not deal with the stress of worrying about my lady parts. But when I heard the doctor say that word out of his mouth, I lost it. And unbelievably, I was not worried about my body or possibly having to have another surgery. I was not even worried about my ability to have kids, for I have never wanted to be a mom. What I was worried about (embarrassingly) is if a man would want me with half of my plumbing gone. This would make me an old lady! Would I even still be a girl? Would this make my insides feel like razor blades and bottle caps?

Child, do you know what is even more stressful than worrying about your 'gina? Worrying about a man and what men want and never having one and blah, blah, blah. Along time ago, I figured that I was fat and that finding a man that would really, truly love me may be a long shot. And as much as I would like to be partnered, I thought that I was clear with myself about how my 50/50 chance was more like slim to none. Yet, when he said the 'h' word, everything came bubbling up to the surface and guys, I was so, so sad. I have had a minute to sit with this. Now I am mad. 

I am mad that at almost 40 I have not been able to shake off this "What about men?" mentality. It's like a second skin! Whether I want to admit it or not, my whole life has been a serious of failed attempts to paint the peacock to get a guy's attention which is a real waste! I could have spent that time with loved ones, doing something I really enjoy. Or spent that time getting preventative vaginal exams! The other day, I was talking to a doctor about my health, and all I could think about was this hypothetical, may never arrive man. 

I know. Pathetic. 

Thursday, February 29, 2024

Dr. Hottie and the Biopsy

I'm not going to lie: when I was dropped off early at the hospital for my procedure, I stood on the steps and cried. I was scared, overwhelmed, and alone. I knew that I was going to cry, but I didn't think it would be that early. 

"Are you okay?" the security guard asked. I nodded, but he walked over to me anyway. I rolled my eyes. If men aren't ignoring me, they are bothering me when I am trying to have a private moment. I wiped my eyes and followed him inside where a man with a crutch was already waiting. We were the early birds, waiting for 6am to go up to get prepped for our surgeries. I sat there listening to Glorilla, praying that things would go my way. I had never had any type of surgery or anesthesia, and I was mortified of not waking up. My fears were not calmed when I was told I was sent to the wrong area and that I had not paid money I had a receipt for paying. By this time, my mind was all over the place. If one more oopsie was made, I was going to make a run for it! 

By the time I was checked into preop, I looked a hot mess! Sadness and worry was graffitied all over my face. I looked tired and upset. Looking in the mirror after giving my urine sample, it dawned on me that I looked the worst that I had ever seen myself! But the party was just beginning. I got changed into the backless gown that no one likes and sat still while a woman rubbed by back and butt down with antiseptic wipes. Then Nurse Heavy Hand rubbed my right arm down so hard with an alcohol cotton ball that she bruised me. How hard to you have to be rubbing me to bruise me with a piece of cotton? She couldn't find my vein. My left arm looked like a pin cushion, only for Nurse Tiny Little to find my vein on the right arm and get me with one prick. Thank. God. 

Once my doctor arrived, I was relieved and ready to rock. She came with the resident I had been seeing during my visits, which made me more comfortable. I almost allowed my shoulders to relax a little before a tall, brown brotha with beautiful eyebrows and lashes showed up at the foot of my bed. He was introduced as Dr. Hottie, another resident that would be helping out with the surgery. 

Oh no, I thought to myself. I looked like SH&T! Of course I did. When I was in high school and had bad asthma attacks where I couldn't breathe, my respiratory therapists always looked like they had hopped out of an Abercrombie ad. I was beyond embarrassed. 

However, the humiliation didn't come until I got into the operating room and needed help getting on the operating table with Dr. Hottie right there. I could have died! My butt cheeks were exposed and ashy. They don't allow you to wear lotion on the day of a surgery! I would have done anything for just a squirt of Nivea. 

Once I was in recovery, I looked over at the nurse's station and he was sitting there, working, looking good. I could tell he was fine, even with his face mask on. He even looked like he smelled good. I could feel myself smiling goofily at him and then it dawned on me: THIS FINE MAN HAS SEEN MY VAGINA! If I wasn't completely out of it, I would have screamed!

However, once everything did wear off and I was getting ready to go home, I thanked Dr. Hottie and told him I was sorry if I was acting weird. I just wasn't expecting a man in the surgery. He said it was okay and smiled. I have to tell you, I felt something in that moment. But I cannot be sure if it was a sensual connection or post-surgical vaginal pain. All I know is that next time, if there has to be a next time, I am sneaking a travel container of lotion into preop in my bra. 

Skeez Louise pt 2: Chocolate Chuck and the Hypothetical D Pic

You may or may not know this about me, but I LOVE a good mystery; a good who done it and why. I like to swish the puzzle pieces of a situation around and study them until they all fit and make sense. I gobble up mystery novels like kitty nip. For me, there is mystery in everything, even in the lives of people I know. Scrolling through Instagram, the mysteries fly through my timeline and slap me in the face. How can a guy from my old neighborhood drive a Tesla, but need to create a GoFundMe fundraiser to bury his dad? How can a very petite girl I knew from my elementary school after school program be shapeless her whole life yet, after a trip to the Dominican Republic, now have a behind the size of Texas? And how can Chocolate Chuck's wife, Nerdy Nadine vanish? She's been scrubbed from his IG, along with any tangible proof that he ever had kids. Even the picks of his international vacations, that he never went on with Nadine, have been trashed, and replaced with promos for his business. Could Purple Reign have been right? Could their union, which once sprang from the springs of love at Xavier University, have decayed and fallen from the vine? And if it has, what is the most appropriate, sensitive, considerate, respectful way to see what that D do? 

Let's rewind back to about 2006, back when my sweet, fun, yet loopy and dopey friend Ditzy Diane had engaged in some XXX activities with Chuck. I mean she went on and on about it. Titanic didn't get as many rave reviews as she gave that D! She was literally clapping her hands and laughing as she told me about it. If her goal was to make me jealous, she had achieved it. I remember looking over my shoulder at Chuck and Nadine on the other side of the cafeteria. I thought to myself that if I ever got skinny and pretty (because I am NOT Chuck's type) and if he wasn't with a woman who could crack my neck with her bare hands, I would shoot my shot. And I wouldn't need to go all-the-way like Ditzy Diane. A little peek would do it for me. Okay, so I am in no way skinny, but my spirit is telling me that this may be the best time. He obviously is in some type of a midlife transition, and I am suffering from medical related dehydration.

"Oh yeah, you can get a pic, no problem," Risky Business assured me. I tell you, it is truly dangerous to have a friend that will support you completely, even when you are being crazy. "And it won't be as hard as you think it is." But you see, Risky thinks that we should wait until homecoming when folks are feeling frisky and walk away with a bunch of D picks, not just the one. I'm good with just the one though. 

If I am being honest, it wasn't just Diana's review that has me curious. I slipped up and saw him shirtless on another friend's InstaLive which is what I think really kicked things in gear a couple of years ago. And now that I have been OnlyFans tricked and am scared of my test results, this desire to see D has taken over me! It's embarrassing and ridiculous...but nice work if I can get it. 

My anxiety can sometimes cause me to act impulsively and stupidly, so I am going to sit on this deep, jaw-flexing desire until I know what move to make. Plus, can't be all hoochy like in this. Where would the mystery be in that?

Mean Girls

My nephew is the coolest little dude I know. I am not just saying this because I love him. He is funny and creative. But I was just as perplexed as he was when he walked in my room moping because his friend in his kindergarten class, we will call her G1, called him ugly! My heart sank. He looked so sad, and I was furious. First of all, he is not ugly! Second of all, I was triggered. I had the same face all the way through high school when my peers would say something mean about me. He then said he didn't want to go to school because of it which really pissed me off! We all know the stats: if little Black boys don't develop a love for school early, they will probably drop out before finishing. I couldn't stand the thought of it! 

"You are not ugly," I assured him. He looked like he believed me about as much as I believed my grandma when she would tell me I wasn't ugly. He probably was thinking what I used to think which was, "If I am not ugly, why would they say I am?" I explained to him that some people say mean things and that he should not let what they say get to him because what they say isn't true. I could tell he wasn't buying it. 

Then, just yesterday morning, I put out his new outfit for him to wear to school that he was excited about. Yet, after he put his pants on, he was not happy. 

"I don't want to wear these," he complained. 

"Why not? They are new!"

"G2 made fun of my other pants," he said, shoulders slumped. 

All of a sudden, it was 1992 again, and I was sitting in class trying not to hear the kids laughing at the clothes that I had on and again, I was furious!

"No one is going to like my pants!" he whined. 

"It is not about if everyone else likes your clothes, it is about if you like your clothes," I told him, stuffing him into his coat to go to the bus stop. Wow. That one was one of my grandma's greatest hits. 

Then I thought about my mother. She was always encouraging me to be tough and stand up for myself, and I just wasn't. Eventually, as much as I loved school, I hated to go. Hated the way I looked. Hated being seen. And when that got overwhelming, I became just as mean as everyone else.

As dramatic as it may sound, bullying is a big reason why I didn't want kids. I didn't want to have a kid that would just be a punching bag for the other kids, or worse, be the kid that was doing the punching. Bullying was a HUGE part of my childhood that I didn't want my kid to experience to the point that I didn't want one at all. Now here is my 5-year-old nephew, learning about the sting of cruelty as we have raised him with love and kindness. It's not fair!

"Tell him, 'F$ck dem kids!" P suggested. As crazy as that would be for a child to say to another child, it was honestly what I was thinking and what I have gone back and told childhood me as she got roasted on the playground by obnoxious little a-holes. 

I think that I am going to call his teacher. This is something that neither my grandma nor mother would have done. But there has to be a middle ground between being too passive and being too harsh. For me, I feel like that is adult intervention. I'm not going to let the kids burn my nephew's self-esteem as they did mine so many years ago. 

Monday, February 26, 2024

Skeez Louise pt. 1: The Story of Holls and OnlyFans

Tomorrow, I have my medical procedure and I am really, really, really scared. I think that this may be the most scared that I have been, ever. I have told my friends this, and they have given me the typical "Oh Holly is being dramatic again," response, which has made my fear and anxiety skyrocket to new heights. And I find that when I am scared, I default to my old reliable coping mechanisms: eating nonsense and looking at hunky guys on Instagram. So, the night before last, as I ate some gummy bears, I allowed myself to go down an Instahole, looking at every post of a man that we will call DreadHunk. Child...when I tell you that I was invested! If you have never seen him on IG, you have seen men like him. He's a tall, dark-skinned man with dreadlocks that likes to cook and clean his apartment baby oiled and wearing a towel. He is a total tease, and just like the thurstbots in his comments, I needed to see more. So, high on horny and fructose corn syrup, I went to his linktr.ee page and found that he has an OnlyFans page. I know. The story only gets worse from here. 

I am aware that I may be the only person on earth that had never been on OnlyFans. As the good Christian I tell myself that I am, I recognized this site for what it is: the devil's playground. Yet the other night, chewing a fist full of gummy bears and hypnotized by DreadHunk, this didn't seem to matter. Guys, I was saturated in adrenalin. Like a skeez, I sat in my room in the dark, my face illuminated by my cellphone light, trying to start an account. I comfortably slid into the sexual underbelly, putting my card information in, literally thirsty to see DreadHunk's content. Long story short, my phone glitched, the info didn't go through, I got spooked and deleted my account. I had an OnlyFans profile for 15 minutes. Scared at how far I had slid down the pike, I put my phone down and went to sleep. I was done with the nasty stuff...until the next day, which was yesterday. 

Yesterday, my anxiety was even higher than it was the day before, which I didn't think was possible. I cried on and off all day, and I could feel God telling me to turn to Him for comfort and relief. Yet, after coming across DreadHunk's latest post, I slid on sin right back to his OnlyFans. This time I subscribed, paid, and went to DreadHunk's page. Confused, I looked at his uploaded content. It was even more PG than what was on IG. What? I asked myself. Then I looked at the comments on his profile of women letting him know that they had sent him a "tip" and were excited to receive their pic or video or whatever. A tip? A. Tip? A tip? A TIP?! I swear, audacity must be on sale someplace! Have single women driven to OnlyFans for action not already paid the price?! For the second time in less than 48 hours, I deleted my account. As a punishment, I now have to wear the scarlet letter of OnlyFans being on my banking statement. 

So, I got duped. Looking back on OnlyFans, I figured I got what I got for being gross and thirsty. It was then that I saw Chocolate Chuck's page and realized that I am not thirsty. I am, in fact, dehydrated. 

Scared Stiff

So, what we know for sure is that God doesn't put us through anything we can't handle. I then deduce from this that there is a reason for everything we endure. I am choosing to believe that God is going to petrify me so thoroughly with life stuff that at some point I won't be able to be scared ever again. That day, however, was not the other day.


Sitting in the doctor's office waiting room, I am scared. Very scared. I'm so scared that I was not even having my usual pity party I'm-so-alone-in-this thoughts. I'm was just sitting here calmly, scared.

Waiting to be called for my appointment, I thought about a big museum, the types they show in movies. I envisioned children on a field trip being led through a dinosaur exhibit until they make it to me. I am frozen, immortalized in a maxi dress and ballet flats, sitting against a piece of wall from my room. 

"This is Holly Clay from 2024. As you can see, she has been fully preserved. The pressures of going through life a lone and panicked literally left her scared stiff. Her family donated her body to science as a warning to future generations about going into middle age un-partnered."

The kids and their teachers would take pictures before moving on to a display called "Obsolete", where they would get to play in a pool of old phone books. 

At some point once I got home after my visit, I found myself hysterical. What else is new? I called my doctor, some friends, my mentor. Just when I thought I couldn't feel more alone, another situation proves me wrong. I didn't feel like I had anyone in the world. After three hours of tears, I finally went to sleep. My headache was splitting. I can't say I'm trying to be strong because I don't think I have any strength left. I'm totally pooped. As my medical team told me, I need to pray. More shit storms are on the way; this is the dinosaur in the room.