A long, long time ago

David's Curls
I remember them
bristle-stiff and blonde,
tiny corkscrews
framing a heart-shaped face.

He was a panflute player.
An effervescent fuck
smelling of soap and musk.
From his roof downtown
I could see the back side
of a beaten down marquis,
The Million Dollar Hotel.
He would play records,
bands I'd never heard of,
while we drank cheap sangria
out of big plastic cups.

Most of the time
he made me feel stupid
and unwelcome.
It wasn't his fault.
He was a different person
when he drank
(though that was often).

But there was one day
a long sober Saturday--
leisurely breakfast,
people watching,
summer shiftlessness--
that ended with a nap at sunset
together on his beat-up couch.
For a moment it felt as if
I might be able to trust
and fall into him.

Of course,
that wasn't the case.

And nine years later
I'm still waiting
for that man.

It is never a good idea to give your phone number to someone you meet in the waiting room of a psychiatric facility.

(Present company excluded)

(No, included)

because i have
a tiny moth brain
i keep coming back
to you

the hotter
and meaner
and more cruel
you become
the harder i try
to get in

if you have any mercy at all
please
turn off the light

Sub

I sleep
until the sun goes down
because I'd rather spend my time
in dreams
where I embrace dead relatives and pets,
where I have the ability to fly.

Each time I wake up
and rearrange the pillows,
I rearrange the facts
and return to my private world.
How could rush hour
and laundry
compare to such a thing?
How could liars
and cowards
make for better company?
Everything is as it should be
a happily ever after
looped infinitely.

It's my own fairytale,
where I make believe
we dance at a party.
Where the prettiest jewel
in your heart
is me.

Why would I ever want
to wake up
in a world where you've forgotten
my name?

It's all good. I'm not sure what additional superfluous internal organs I could get rid of at this point, but I'm not going to ask. Appendix pathology is great, no signs of malignancy. So that means that I can start to finally get over this whole experience and move on with my life. After one teensy weensy colonoscopy. I knew it couldn't be that easy!!

Because my cyst was "borderline," and cancer runs in my family, I'll have to keep a close eye on things from now on. But I can't say how relieved I am that, for now, my health is 100%. I've lost over 20 pounds (and counting), had loads of time to sleep in, and enjoyed countless episodes of Law and Order. Toxic people have gone out of my life, nurturing ones have come in. Overall, I'd say that I've never been in a better position to establish and continue healthy habits. I know it's sooo cliche, but this has all been a very eye-opening experience.

In summary:
Cystectomy and Right Oopherectomy: $40,000
Appendectomy: $9,000
Painkillers, Antibiotics, and Anxiety Meds: $100

Figuring out that life is too short for bullshit: Priceless

Hello again! Well, aside from the psychological stuff (which I wish I could blame on this whole ordeal, but we both know better than that), I am almost 100% recovered from the surgery, taking care of myself and in only minimal discomfort. I had a follow up with my doc before Christmas and here is what he told me:

Detailed pathology of the cyst has revealed that it is "borderline"--neither benign OR malignant. Based on their findings, they could not determine whether the cyst was ovarian or intestinal in origin--it had both kinds of tissue (thankfully no teeth or hair, because I wouldn't even want to touch myself after something like that). This means they want to do a bunch of tests to make sure I don't have any intestinal cancers or cysts. They also want to remove my appendix (I guess this is something routinely done in women with ovarian cancer during surgery but they didn't do it during mine because they were so sure it was benign at first glance). So I have an appendectomy scheduled January 15th! Yay! Who knew I could achieve my ideal weight simply by having one internal organ removed at a time? I am out of Ativan and have eight more days until the refill is good.

On the upside, this surgery is far less invasive than the previous one, and all of this (as I understand it) is precautionary.

Now here is a hastily-written poem that is about a city. No, it is not actually a thinly veiled boypoem! I am SO sure.

Ok, maybe it is, but it does work both ways. I'm branching out, one shitty metaphor at a time.

Tinsel is a Choking Hazard

Hollywood
I hate you
your heart
is a black eye
caked in makeup
and shielded
by over-sized glasses

Hollywood
I hate your
terrible dialogue
your transparent motivation
your
weak character

It makes me nauseous
just catching a whiff
of your boulevards
and no matter how far I go
I can still smell you
I can still hear you
I can still feel you faking it
and I can still believe you

in spite of everything I know
and knowing better
I still believe you
and sit entranced
popping kernels into my mouth
waiting for a resolution
that never comes

refusing to believe that a Hollywood ending
just means selling out
or
giving up
and moving on
defeated

p.s. I promise it's not as bad as all that, but I haven't written in a while and have a lot of pent-up negativity I've gotta expel. There's like six more from tonight, and this was the LEAST dark.

I figured I should post another entry here since you have been so sweet and concerned and comforting, and since it's only right to push down the horrible cyst-pic (we're all tired of looking at it, I know). I guess I don't need to start with a justification of why I'm posting an entry since this IS a blog, but it's been so long since I treated it as one that I felt I had to (I'm sure you've noticed, poethelena has slipped into something of a coma--twitching only slightly whenever I'd like to passive-aggressively hate on a dude using my poetry).

You might be wondering:

What has Helena has been up to? It's nearly a fortnight since that repugnant quasi-birth of hers, and not a peep. Is she taking Darvocet like big pink tic-tacs to no avail? Is she watching one DVR-ed episode of Law and Order after another? Does she think Vincent D'Onofrio's Hands should have their own title card every time they show up, because they're the only thing she can focus on when they are on the screen?

You probably aren't actually wondering any of those things, but the answers are Yes, Yes, and GOD Yes (isn't he the hottest?) on the off chance that you are.

How am I? Bored, depressed, and antsy. The options for entertainment are pretty much limited to home, since going out is still challenging physically and emotionally. Today, still in denial of that fact, I went to Home Depot to buy a few things for projects around the apartment and wound up crying in a corner (no lie) when I couldn't find the keyless socket I needed to repair a lamp.

It being the case that I have sooo much time here at home, you'd think I'd be good and done making all my crafty X-mas gifts...but you'd be wrong! Just like I was when I thought it would be a good idea to MAKE and not BUY so many of my presents. Next year, shitty popcorn tins and Danish cookies for everyone!

Tomorrow is my post-op appointment. I'm going to ask the doctor a few things like; Will I ever have the stomach of a normal human again? Should there be this shooting pain in/around the incision? Is the fact that I feel as if the world is ending a matter of concern? And could you please please prescribe me some more Ativan because it is the only thing keeping me from constantly weeping?

Well, I guess I should get back to watching L&O. If I hurry, I can squeeze in about three more episodes before my new bedtime of 4am (also known as "Nuts o'clock," or "When Helena Stops Trying to Avoid the Inevitable Nightmares"). Thank you for your wonderful wishes. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for enduring the annoying, self-pitying, droning entry that this has become (ok, always was). Your kindness means a great deal to me. I find it incredibly hard to admit I am feeling defeated and tired, and need help. To the friends and family who have rallied around me during this time, please know that your presence is appreciated. Every day the water feels higher and higher, and your support is the only thing keeping my head above it.

Don't worry--more of the aforementioned poetry, and less of the whining soon.

Many of you may have already found out via my Myspace that the operation was successful. My cyst was ginormous (even bigger than they thought). It weighed almost ten pounds, and was the size of a freakin' watermelon. It was the talk of the whole floor. As I told a friend, I felt kind of like a celebrity. A freakish, sideshow kind of celebrity. There were absolutely no indications that it is cancerous. Official results on that in about a week.

It was a rough couple of nights at the hospital because, as it turns out, I'm pretty much immune to oral painkillers. Once they took me off the morphine drip I was miserable. I've now found the right balance (read: two darvocet every four hours) to keep the pain mostly at bay. I have the attention span of a squirrel and find it difficult to walk a straight line, but I feel fabulous!

Until I can tackle the stairs at home, I'm staying at my mom's house and convalescing. Within my first hour here, both the Beagle and the Burmese Python had both escaped--but since then we've been almost entirely without incident.

One thing I'm super-excited about is the fact that I have instantly lost ten pounds! Man, that was easy. It almost makes me wish that I had some ass and/or thigh cysts.

Thanks to everyone who sent emails, comments, chocolates, flowers, slippers, and hugs. This experience has been surprisingly positive. I've been given a new appreciation for my health, and surprised by the amount of support and affection that has come my way--some of it from the very unlikeliest places! It just proves what I already knew--that those I let into my life are quality people.

I really appreciate everything that you guys have said and done. I feel better now than I have in years. It could be the darvocet, but I'm gonna say it's Love.

(Ok, I couldn't resist at least offering a view of the cyst here on the blog. Be warned, it is repulsive...the kind of face only a mother could love. I called her, Mini)

Hi everybody! First off, I want to say thank you for the inquiries you've made as to my presence--both privately, and right here on the site. It means a lot to me to know that there ARE people who would notice if I fell off the face of the earth. Here is the answer to all your questions, and more!

Remember that thing about the fibroids not being there? Well, there was good news and bad news. The good news; I definitely don't have fibroids! The bad news? I have a huge (and I mean huge) ovarian cyst. The kind that could win me a prize if it were a pig at a county fair.

It was about the size of a grapefruit in June. Tumor markers looked good (meaning it didn't seem like cancer based on blood tests). Surgery was initially scheduled scheduled for July, but because I had to fight with my insurance (another nightmare altogether, but one that I won!) it was rescheduled to February, when my freelance work at Rob and Big would be complete and I would have time to recover. Then in late October I went in to see my doctor because the level of discomfort I was experiencing increased to a point I couldn't ignore. The cyst had grown dramatically--almost doubled in size. It is, in its largest dimension, 18cm. That is just one dimension, it's also pretty wide and deep. Go grab a ruler and get an idea of what I mean. I'll wait.

Fucking creepy, right? I feel like I am hosting some kind of aggressive alien spore.

ANYway, my doc took me off work and I had a CT scan of my abdomen and pelvis, then followed up with an oncologist. On closer inspection, it looks like this is what they call a "borderline" cyst, meaning there is a relatively small (but not negligibly small) chance that it could be cancer. About 10%. At the moment, I am definitely going to have to have the right ovary (where they think the cyst is originating from) removed. Depending on what they find when they open me up, further treatment may be required. Oh, I'm sorry, were you having dinner?

My surgery is scheduled for Tuesday, December 3rd. I'll be at Cedars Sinai, in the hands of very good doctors. Actually, my OB is also Angelina Jolie's doctor--he delivered Shiloh! So I'm like two degrees away from Brangelina's cooter! Pretty neat, huh?

Recovery may take anywhere from two to six weeks. During that time I'll be pretty much trapped in my house at the top of the giant staircase in Eagle Rock. If you like, you can bring me flowers, movies, vintage fabric, or chocolate to cheer me up.

I really didn't have the heart to explain this over and over again to explain why I haven't returned phone calls, or come to your parties, or answered your emails. But I did want you to know that it isn't personal, or because I think you're annoying and crazy (except for YOU--and YOU know who you are). You're my friends and I value you very much. I just haven't felt up to much socializing as of late, which I hope you'll understand now.

I'll update just as soon as I'm conscious again! Thanks again for all your kind remarks and letters.

bait and switch

it's a carnival game
that i keep sinking money into
for a prize that's worth
sixty-five cents
you were never really here
at all
but hiding behind
a veil of vodka
manipulating the mirrors
and blowing rings
of smoke

you lose some

the worst part is
you've ruined my black dress
every time i wear it
i'll remember pulling you
into the closet
at your birthday party
and hiking it up
to give you a gift

it wasn't that long ago

too bad i didn't keep the receipt
and you couldn't have one
i feel at least one of us
should have their money
back

The Devil I Know

So it's me and you
again,
talking about
the same old shit,
drinking the same wine
until we're numb enough
to fuck.

Welcome back.