WUNDERGLO

Gloria Borges aka WUNDERGLO

Every day is not a challenge

 Every day is a CHANCE

to get better

  stronger

to learn

to live

to love

to embrace the world and be embraced

and to prepare for another day

should we be lucky enough to

receive it

Every day is NOT a challenge

Every day is a CHANCE

WUNDERGLO's final blog post

It's hard to bitch about doing 8 rounds of chemo when Gloria completed 60. She was more than a warrior, she was the kick-ass cancer queen. And then she died. Three years after her diagnosis of stage 4 colon cancer.

Fucking Cancer.

I can't spend a lot of time on facebook or twitter because most of you are projecting yourselves as living carefree. Instead, most of the time I'm on the colorectal cancer boards and following blogs of my fellow cancer warriors. Here is where I get the real information, not the speculation. Here is where I get the hard facts - what works, what doesn't, and our overall survival rates. Missing is the hype, the corporate bullshit, and the alternative and often dangerous "holistic" scams.

But when you lose one of your warriors, especially one as powerful as Gloria, it makes you question everything you are doing and why you are here. 

All I know for certain is that I'm not doing enough.

Fucking Cancer.

Sail on sweet sister. Sail onward and upward. Don't think for a minute that I believe you are gone. You are way too powerful of a force.  

Gloria's first post - October 10, 2010

From the first moment I found out the news that I had been diagnosed with Stage 4 colon cancer -- news delivered to me post-surgery by my parents and hubby -- I felt a charge in me. An excitement, if you will. Excitement is probably one of the last things you'd think I'd feel after realizing the very tough road I have ahead of me, and that life as I knew it was changing radically. But yes, excitement.

You see, dear readers -- and you probably know this already -- I love a good challenge. And I love achieving goals, especially huge, sometimes improbable ones. The challenge is throughly beating down cancer, and the goal is not only survival, but survival with gusto. I am unwaveringly confident that I will succeed, not just because of my inner strength and toughness, but because of the love and support of family and friends -- the wonderful people reading this very blog entry. Your positivity and belief in my ability to overcome any challenge will buoy me on those days when my spirits need a lift. Together, we will win.

This blog represents to me something I've always tried to do throughout these past 28 fabulous years -- to live openly, honestly, and to share my life and experiences with the people I love. As I keep you in the loop via this blog, I'm planning on being brutally honest, pretty damn funny, and hopefully quite entertaining. Because honestly, if I'm going to have to beat down cancer with chemo and a super major surgery followed by some more chemo, I'm going to have a good time doing it and I hope you'll have a good time watching me do it and reading about me doing it.

Much love,

GloBo

Real Men Don't Let Friends Fuck Frogs

"It's the quiet ones that are the most fucked up."

"You can't fix a psychopath."

"Has there ever been a man in your life that hasn't disappointed you?"


These are a few examples of why, after only two months, I dumped my therapist. He is way too profound.

But the main reason I dumped my therapist is because he's a man.

Historically, I go to therapy to entertain because I'm complex and a fucking mess. And, I get a kick out of watching their wide-eyed reaction to the twisted tangles of my life.

But I don't go to therapy to do any actual work. I do that by myself - a restorative, psychological masturbation of sorts.

So I lied to my therapist, told him I wasn't dumping him, that I was simply taking a break so that I could focus on my physical ailments by attending weekly acupuncture sessions.

In essence, it wasn't HIM it was ME. But I wonder if he could see right through me?

Especially difficult to hear this man say were words of praise and admiration with regard to my strength and resilience.

A women could have said that and I'd think, "Yep, that's right bitch, I'm tough as nails!"

But when a man says it... I'm not sure I trust him.

I'm not accustom to a man expressing himself with a concoction of words that, when placed together in a sentence, are insightful and charitable.

I have so many bad choice stories - one disastrous dating debacle after another. One sad sap of a man lied and told me his wife was dead when in reality she was a PR executive for Aerosmith and on tour with the band. Hell, I probably would have fucked him if he had promised me front row tickets.

Another dumped me because I attempted to leave a blow-dryer at his apartment. And another blamed his penile rash on me when it turned out he had masturbated with lemon juice on his hands.

Maybe this should be the premise of my memoir. Call it... Why I Fucked Frogs or Just Say No To Frogs or Caution, Frogs Cause Cancer.

There were so many obvious warning signs when I started dating my husband but instead of focusing on the obvious, I focused on an original piece of art that he owned and hung on a wall in the basement of his mothers home, where he - at the not so tender age of 38 - still lived.

Forget the fact that he slept in a bed that had a wagon wheel for a headboard, this man had an appreciation for the arts and that was enough for me.

How ridiculous is that.

Later, I discovered a darkness about him that was disturbing, dysfunctional and deceitful. But despite all that, I was convinced I could change him.

How ridiculous is that.

The details of his behavior doesn't matter, but what it says about me does.

Clearly, I didn't think I deserved anyone better. My mind told me I wasn't smart enough, or pretty enough, or good enough. And my mind is very powerful. One could argue that this was the poison that fed my cancer.

One thing I know for certain, all we have control over in our life is our thoughts and I am in the process of reprogramming mine.

I asked my husband to leave fifteen days after major surgery and two weeks before starting chemotherapy. I am so fucking proud of myself.

I am not bitter. I am thankful because the loss cracked me wide open. It left a void that I know the universe will fill with an abundance of joy and love.

It doesn't matter that my breasts are gone, that my crap seeps into a pouch, that I have more scars on my body than a convicted felon.

It doesn't matter that I'm old now, that chemo has pushed me into menopause.

It doesn't matter that my skin has lost its elasticity or that my hair has lost its shine.

What does matter is that I have found my SHINE.


But, back to the original question asked of my now, X-therapist ...

"Has there ever been a man in your life that hasn't disappointed you?" 

My original answer was no, and then I burst into tears. But on the way home I realized I was wrong. 

There is Jay, my freakishly tall friend and there is Jesse, my shiny, silver friend. These two men have never disappointed me. True, they are friends not lovers. True, they are closer to my son's age than my own. But they have aligned themselves with me and they are kind, and generous, and truthful, and good. They are supportive, and nurturing, and giving of their time and heart. 

Together, they guide me and remind me of what a real man is - something every woman deserves.

Jay

Jesse

With Love and Gratitude, MonkeyME