lornagrl

shelteredinbklyn

I moved to NYC on December 18th 1996.  I had a $3,000 worth of palimony, a car I had left behind in Orlando and a black cat.  I had a bunch of other shit too but that's not whats important here. 

I had arranged to take over an apartment share in Sheepshead Bay.  SHEEPSHEAD BAY.  Little did I know that how disconnected living there would be.  Seriously - I should have moved to Siberia..

But that's not what's important here.

Long story short.. and you can read some the the story here.  I had to move out suddenly.   I answered an ad in the Village Voice for a one room apartment in Downtown Brooklyn.  The rent was $140 a week. Now that may not sound like too much money to YOU living in Brooklyn now in almost 2010.  But I was a 28 year old aspiring ACTRESS from Florida.  And $400 a month was more rent than I had ever paid in my life. 

I always heard that apartments were small in NYC, but I never really believed it.  Not that I thought people were lying when they were telling me that they had to pay $450 to sleep in closet and that it was literally a closet - and their feet were hanging out in the hallway - I just thought they were exaggerating.  At least that's what I thought until I saw this apartment... if that's what you would call it. 

I met my new landlord on a very cold December night outside a brownstone in Brooklyn.  Someone was with me but he refused to show the apartment to anyone else but me.  We walked up the creaky stairs on the second floor.  It was one small room and to give you an idea of how small it was, I could stand in the center of the room, open my arms and rest each palm on either side of the wall.  There was a single bed, a small refrigerator and an ar moire.  There was not enough floor space to put down a litter box. 

The bathroom was in the hall. 

The landlord told me I was very lucky to have this apartment. 

I don't remember much about my first night in this place.  Only that it was very quiet, and I was pretty sure Rodney Dangerfield was living up the hall.  I saw him walk to the bathroom in his bathrobe a few times.

I moved out the very next day. 

Since then, I have lived in ten different apartments/shares mostly in Brooklyn.  Rent has become the bane of my existence and stories about tenants rights, nyc landlords, housing laws all fascinate me.  So as a side project.  (and Lord knows I need a side project) I will be posting stories here. 

Let's see how long this lasts. 

shelteredinbrklyn

Laundromat - East 4th & Cortelyou - Brooklyn, NY

Two year anniversary....

Two years ago today, I had a double mastectomy with a tram flap reconstruction.  It's sometimes hard for me to believe.  The reconstruction is complete now, I just did the finishing touches last week. 

I haven't written much about that day.  My brother had flown up to stay with me for two weeks while I recovered.  It was just a few days past his birthday, and just one month to the day past my final chemo. Four weeks was the minimum wait time for surgery after chemo.  Gosh, I'm sitting at the keyboard now trying to remember the details about that day but I just don't remember much.  I know my surgery was in the morning, and I'm pretty sure we took the subway to St. Vincent's hospital.  I remember it was misting outside, and we had to walk a bit to get to the hospital (we must have taken the subway).  I remember walking with my brother and he pointed out these flowering cabbages on the sidewalk.  

After registering at the hospital, my brother and I played hangman on a piece of notebook paper.  Then of course, there was a delay in the surgery, so we had to wait for about an hour. I think people expected me to be depressed but I was totally prepared for this.  In fact, when I first got the diagnosis, I wanted to go straight in and get it over with.  But the doctors had convinced me that I should have chemo first.  I had even planned on having my friends sign my breasts with a sharpie marker.  I pictured the surgeon opening my gown on the operating room and seeing "Nice knowing ya boobies" or "gee we had some good times".   But that wouldn't have worked, because about ten minutes before I was to go in the operating room I was standing, with my brother, the surgeon and a surgical assistant, with nothing on from the waist up, arms akimbo while the surgeon and her assistant drew all over me with a sharpie pen. 

I had chosen the most invasive reconstruction surgery.  The tram flap reconstruction.  I chose this because while it was the most invasive, it also gave me the option of not having implants.  I did not want implants.  I would rather have no breasts at all than implants.  Tram flaps are your own tissue, your own skin. 

The recovery time is a lot longer with this type of reconstruction.  They essentially re-route the muscles and tissue from your stomach and up to your chest.  It was three days before I could get out of bed, and weeks before I could stand up straight.  The muscles in my stomach have never been the same.  When I got home, I couldn't get out of bed by myself and even today - I often need to use my legs to get up from a prone position. 

The weirdest part was the phantom itch.  For months I kept feeling this intense itching on my breasts, and I would scratch and scratch - but it did no good.  It took me months to realize that it wasn't the trams that were itching, but my amputated breasts.  

Now four surgeries and two tattoos later...I'm done. 

Small price to pay....

I'm standing at a party trying to have a conversation when it happens.  First, my core begins to get warm, then warmer, and then warmer still.  Even though I'm well aware of this, I keep speaking as though everything was normal, as if there was not an inferno burning inside me.  Usually at this point, the person I'm speaking to is unaware of what's going on.  But this is temporary, because now my face is turning red, and the sweat is about to pour and not  little cute beads of sweat -  rivers of sweat - and not just on my forehead.  I will sweat from every pore in my body.  EVERY PORE.  Like Nixon. 

Are you alright? 

I never know what to say at this point.  Do I explain?  Do I tell the whole sordid story of why this happens if I drink wine or coffee, or it's  warmer than 32 degrees outside, or the heat is on, or most often - for no reason at all.  I often explain "it's hot in here" and wipe the sweat from each brow, with both hands.  And when I pull my hands away they are both very wet and I look around me - everyone is in heavy sweaters while I'm wearing a light blouse.  If the person I'm speaking to doesn't know me well, this usually ends the conversation.  I wonder if there thinking "Is she having a heart attack?  She looks too young to have a heart attack."  I excuse myself.

I go outside where it's cooler and although I can feel the cold on my skin, and my clothes are wet, I'm still burning up inside.  I wait for it to pass.  And wonder how long before the next attack?  Five hours?  Five minutes?

I went to the Brooklyn Museum of Art to see the Who Shot Rock & Roll exhibit.  I was relieved that the exhibit was air conditioned .   But after five minutes, I could feel myself warming up.  I had walked from Park Slope to the museum.  And a brisk walk, will often spur an attack when I stop, often when I arrive to a meeting, or a party.  I remember the first day of my new job.  My new boss was trying to greet me welcome me to the team and I was dripping. 

I sit down on a bench in the middle of the exhibit and wait for it to pass.  I contemplate taking off my clothes, but that probably wouldn't go over well.  I envision jumping, fully clothed into an ice cold pool.  I swear...one of these days..

I never used to sweat much, unless I was running.  I remember once, a few years ago I was meeting a Match.com date at a coffee shop.  He was sweating, and for the entire forty-minutes, while going over where are you froms and what do you dos I couldn't help but notice a tiny drop of sweat dangling from his left ear lobe.  It dangled the entire time was still there as we said our good-byes and he went his own way down Lexington Avenue. I remember nothing about this guy..but I remember the bead of sweat. 

So here I am now.  This is what I live with.  I've told this to my doctor.  It's unbearable, I tell her.  She offers me prozac, which is her way of telling me.. there's nothing we can do, it's part of the treatment..it's better than the alternative.

B Train running local for two years.

A moment of reflection on the B
Originally uploaded by dM.nyc™.

How could I have missed this? The MTA announced this in July and it's a darn good thing I didn't hear about it. Because I'm sure I would have blown a gasket.

Turns out the B train is running local until 2012. The whole reason I moved out to Brighton Beach was because of the B Train. When it runs properly, you can get to mid-town in 45 minutes. But unfortunately the train never ran properly. Especially on the trip home.

The MTA is doing track work so the B Train is running on the local track. In other words SHARING It with the Q train ... which we all know means more delays. This must be making the commute a nightmare. And when did this start? In September. Just when I moved back to Kensington.

Talk about timing.

Happy Halloween

I debated on weather or not to get Halloween candy this year.  When I've bought candy in years past, I never get any trick-o-treaters.  So this year, even though I am now living in a new building I took a bit of a risk and didn't buy any candy.  Sure enough, I did get one visit around 6pm.

Now when I was kid, the tradition was you either got candy - or sometimes money (usually pennies).  So when the door bell rang I ran to get a mason jar I have full of change.  But for some reason this was rejected.  It felt a little weird like I had done something wrong.  Like I was giving them apples with razor blades or something.  

Did someone lose some money on Ocean Parkway and Avenue C?

I saw this on my way to work this morning. I wonder how much money it is? I gotta be frank, if I found $20 heck if I found a $100 I would put it in my pocket and sing "Cha Ching".

Old Whalers Church, Sag Harbor, New York

DSC_0017
Originally uploaded by lornagrl.

You! Co-Worker...

Okay...

Which one of you co-workers are reading my blog.  Don't you know I can tell by the stat reports? 

Get back to work.

Booked...

Going back to Cancun ... I didn't want to spend the money, but I got a great deal.  I'll eat peanut butter and jelly for awhile if I have to. I booked at the same resort I stayed in five years ago..and I can't believe it's been five years.

Vacation...

I have not had a real vacation in almost five years.  For the last three years, vacation time has been spent in chemo wards, surgeries or moving.  I've taken a few trips back to Nashville to visit family that was relaxing - bust aside from that -  I haven't had a decent spate of R & R for years.  

In 2004 I spent four very relaxing days in Cancun.  When I got back, my friends and co-workers noted the change.  I tried to book a similar vacation one year later but the cost for the exact same package nearly doubled in price so I skipped it. Then I got burglarized, got sick, then started a new job where I hit the ground running and taking time off was very difficult. 

Well here we are at the end of the calendar year and I have use it or lose it vacation days to take.  A few weeks ago, I booked a few days at an Inn in Mystic.  I didn't even bother to check Orbitz for vacation deals..

Well I took another look today and found a great package to the same resort I visited nearly five years ago, only this time I'll be able to spend a few more days - and for $200 less. 

...So I think I'll be canceling the Inn in Mystic. 

Closed Laundromat - Brighton Beach, Brooklyn

Weekend in East Hampton

Just got back from a weekend in East Hampton visiting an old friend, who is about to move to Ecuador with to join her husband with new baby.  Her baby was an absolute delight. 

I'm tired..

I know this is a boring post.

Update on the cats..

Right now Zelda is playing with the whirly toy.. she is a bundle of energy when she plays but is otherwise a very calm kitten.  She doesn't seem to be too interested in me, but would like nothing more than to snuggle up and play with Ophelia.  But Ophelia is having none of it. 

Ophelia will watch Zelda play with fascination, will stay in the same room with her, will even sleep on the same bed/couch as her but as soon as Zelda tries to engage her..the hissing starts. 

I have seen Ophelia initiate some games though.  She was swatting at Zelda's tail a few days ago.  Once when I picked Zelda up to give her some medicine, and Zelda hissed and cried..Ophelia came running up to check to see if she was allright.  I brought Zelda up to her nose to show her that everything was fine.  Ophelia took a little sniff...and ran off. 

Lucky

I got my monthly injection today.  It's the one day a month I'm reminded that I had breast cancer.  Because I do it as late on Friday as possible - I have it done in the chemo-ward.  I'm taken to a treatment chair, just like any other cancer patient.  On Fridays there are usually not too many patients.  But today there was someone getting treatment. 

I was asking one of the nurses if the cancer center takes this new insurance I'm getting and this young woman spoke up from one of the chemo chairs.  She looked young and kind of hip.  Sort of an artsy look.  I could tell she was in for the long haul.  She had a medi-port on her chest. 

I asked her what kind of cancer she had.  She told me breast - her second time.  She was originally diagnosed seven years ago, had a recurrence four years later.  I didn't want to press but it was pretty clear she had metastatic disease.  Not because she looked ill.  As a matter of fact she looked healthy and strong.  She had all her hair, which could mean she was taking Herceptin.  Metastatic patients are often treated with Herceptin to control their disease.  It makes you very sick, but you don't lose your hair.  Herceptin is used to treat her2 positive breast cancer.  Her2 expression is very aggressive.  Women who are diagnosed with breast cancer under the age of forty often have this aggressive form of the disease. 

I did not.

That's not to say the cancer I had was not also aggressive, and deadly.  I remember my radiation oncologist telling me how lucky I was, and how unusual it was that I had just plain old garden variety ER positive breast cancer at 38.  The kind that old ladies get.

Before administering treatment, the nurses always ask our birthday before giving us any medication or procedure.  I guess this is to ensure they are giving the right treatment to the right patient.  I heard what her birthday was...

She's five years younger than me.