Category: Taboo Topics


Transracial Adoption pic

Adin and Rita with the beautiful Alou

This blog post is based on a status update I made recently on Facebook. I have adapted it for this blog. Thanks, Brett, for giving me a place to share my voice on this topic.

Over the years I have been quite active with blogging, sharing my colourful thoughts about everything from the opening act at the U2 concert to my opinion on Apple vs Android. However, since becoming an adoptive parent 3 years ago I slowly became less vocal. I am not 100% sure why, but I chalk it up to the fact that I have learnt that pointless and uneducated opinions simply clutter up the world. Continue reading

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hands

I never fully realised what an impact one little girl could have on a community, just by being herself.

Adoption has always been on my heart. I can remember asking my parents, repeatedly, for years, for a baby sister for Christmas. Preferably adopted. It’s obviously something that I’m meant to be involved in. I got my baby sister when I was thirteen. And then a baby brother when I was nineteen. And there have been a string of safety placement babies through my parents house ever since. Continue reading

sonja

I am a mother of three beautiful children.

But I am not a birth mum. Continue reading

hand

i have been looking forward to this series for a while.

A while back a number of my friends shared some of their stories relating to Adoption which you can read over here, which is already in some ways a topic that is rarely spoken about. But when it comes to adopting a child from a race or culture group different to yours, then i imagine there are a whole lot of other factors that can also come into play.

In South Africa, there are so many babies that are born into the world without parents, or perhaps without parents who have the resources to raise them well, and so adoption feels like such an important opportunity. i have asked a number of people who have gone through the process to share some of their stories with us. i imagine there will be a whole lot of similarities to any regular adoption story, but also that there will be some nuances and specifically different aspects. i look forward to hearing these stories and getting to share them with you.

Meet Sonja Meyer – The wonder of adoption is that this little one that I have never met before is instantly connected to me.

Meet Abi and babygirl – I have had people of every race tell me it warms their heart to see an interracial family.

Meet Adin and Rita – We all have some bias in the way we were raised and the norms we are accustomed to.

Aaron Fullerton pic

Continuing to share some of Aaron’s story of his journey with and away from testicular cancer which you can find in full over here, i decided to grab three sections from three longer posts to share some of the insights he gained along the way as well as some of the challenges he faced and encouragements he received along the way. There is something for us all to learn here:

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With no power comes much less responsibility [which is nice]

Mind over matter extends to attitude and optimism, and I still feel very optimistic about this whole cancer thing. But mind over matter isn’t about control, and it’s been truly humbling to learn that. Cancer and chemo are going to battle inside my body for awhile – that’s the deal. I can view it through whatever-colored lenses I choose, but I can’t control the process. I can’t make the pain submit to my will. I’m not an Expendable.

I’ve touched on this before, but recognizing how little you’re in control? It’s a valuable experience. More than ever, I have to accept that I’m not in charge. I’m not God and my plans may not be His.

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It’s cancer but you can call it “Terriballs” if you want to

“Cancer’s not the bad word it used to be.” That’s what one of the lab technicians told me as I had to do insane breathing exercises that simulated blowing up balloons underwater or something. “Yes,” I told her, “you can even say it on network television now.” We went on to discuss health care, our faith lives, and how much she loves Bones, but I keep thinking about how she casually downgraded the word “cancer”… and how badly I needed to hear it.

Cancer. That dang word has been one of my biggest obstacles. I fear pity and I hate worry, so I want to distance myself from a word that carries such weight and stigma. I wish I could call my condition something like testiculitis, or terriballs, or a bad case of the nutz. (Probably the first one.) Most of the time, when you drop the word cancer, it lands on the floor with a shatter, sending shock waves of seriousness through the conversation. It hints at mortality and suffering. It turns goofy laughter into tight, serious smiles with sympathetic eyes. That never happens when you just have terriballs.

Chemo, too. The moment I name drop “chemo,” I know people are trying to imagine me 20 pounds lighter and minus a head of hair. In movies, characters who go through chemo almost always die at the end, especially if Abigail Breslin won’t give them her bone marrow. American vernacular has given the word a ring of hopelessness.

I’m not trying to say chemo and cancer aren’t serious or difficult. They are. But they’re large, encompassing words that include a variety of experiences. I’ve been feeling owned by these words, by their ability to put me in a box, to define me in the eyes of others.

But now I’m realizing: I’m the one with the mouth. I’m the one with the pen, the keyboard. I get to define cancer as it applies to me. I don’t have to write “cancer” or “chemo” apologetically. I don’t have to say them carefully, with a wince. They’re my words now and I will use them in whatever flippant fashion I SO PLEASE. “Yeah, dude, just zippin’ on over to chemo to do a little cancer blastin’, then we can ron-day at Chili’s and watch the sports contest.” I don’t really talk like that, but I think you get the idea. Cancer? Chemo? You guys are mere nouns to me right now.

Maybe it’ll still stop others in their tracks. Maybe the words will grow heavier on me as time passes. I’m not sure yet. But if I precede those nouns with odd, pregnant pauses, then I’m giving power to something that doesn’t deserve it. For now, the only time I’ll say “cancer” with a somber tone is if I’m trying to get a free appetizer at Chili’s.

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Hairless & Magically Healing like E.T.

I’ve spent most of 2013 either in bed or in a medically reclining chair. Chemo, especially as you get deeper into your cycles, zaps you of energy. And when you’re lacking energy, you start to feel like you’re lacking your own personhood. Narcissism creeps in and you start to believe that the world won’t really keep going while you’re down. Nothing all that important will happen without you – you write topical tweets about the news, for Pete’s sake! But the world forgets and the days fall by the wayside and when time passes without you and you’ve contributed nothing to the world, you feel like the disease is stealing some of your personality. (I mean, looking through these tumblr posts chronologically, I can see my joke-to-paragraph ratio fall to a point where I worry if solemnity is becoming me.)

But then, like E.T., something comes along with a magical healing touch (and bald head) and helps remind you who you are. As you may have seen in my twitter feed, my co-workers made the incredibly touching decisions of shaving their heads. It’s a tried-and-true move of solidarity, but it still feels (and is) incredibly personal. As they sent me pictures of their half-shorn heads through the evening, a tear may have formed in the crinkle of my eye. It’s not just that it was for me – it’s that it had the goofiness, whimsy, and, yes, ballsiness I would have wanted it to have. It reminded me of who I am day-to-day, when I’m not stuck in a bed. It was a welcome jolt, a refreshing laugh. It was a deeply felt and appreciated act. It made me feel like maybe the world is spinning without me, but damn it there are people who are determined to make sure my mark on it doesn’t easily disappear. Somehow, I keep getting luckier.

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You can follow Aaron Fullerton on the Twitterer at @AaronFullerton

[To read some more of the posts i have shared from Aaron’s blog, click here]

[For other Taboo Topic stories of people struggling with cancer, click here]

Continuing to share some of the stories from the archives of Aaron Fullerton to be found in full on his blog, Aaron Laughs With Cancer, and in this one Aaron takes some time during the chemo, to mention some things he is appreciative of during what is a tough and scary journey:

Aaron Fullerton pic

THE COOLER SIDE OF CHEMO

I’m typing with my left hand because my right is hooked up to an IV that’s pumping me full of supercool chemical solutions. So far, chemo has simply been drinking through Krazy Straws through my arm, but I know I’m at the beginning of this crazy ride and it’s easy to feel like the safety bar is still in the locked position. That bar may come loose and this coaster may get rickety, but I know it pulls into the station at the end.

When things get rickety, though, I may need to remind myself that, besides CURING MY BODY OF CANCER, chemo has some sweet benefits. I’ve compiled a definitive list, both for my future-self and those who may worry about me.

First, there’s the snacks. Fun size candy bars? I’m tossing ‘em back like shots. Soft cheeses? More like yes-pleases. (Wow, sorry.) I’m munching on trail mixes you’ve never even heard of. These are not just oncologist-approved, but oncologist-encouraged. Kindergarten me would be so jealous.

I’m also a book nut, although that’s waned in recent years. But now I’m getting an opportunity to dive back into the stacks on my shelf. I’ve lined up a mix of fiction and non-fiction to attack over the next twelve weeks and I can’t wait. Creatively, nothing inspires me more than great writing. Bossypants, Fault in our Stars, Gone Girl… you’re finally gettin’ read!

It’s also given me hours to delve deep into writing; at Graceland, we’re currently breaking story on the episode I’ll write. This quiet, focused time in the morning has allowed me to let my synapses crackle with ideas about our wonderful characters and storylines. I began this dream job in August and chemo, of all things, has strengthened my passions about it even more deeply.

Control can also be an, um, issue for me. For example, I have strict rules about which foods should go on which shelves in my fridge. (Juice on top! Hummus in the middle! That’s just food logic!!) Chemo is reminding me, though, how helpless I am sometimes… and that there’s actually a lot of freedom in that. I just sit back and let fluids work their miracles. It’s refreshingly peaceful to not be able to do more.

Last and most importantly, there’s the people. The nurses, the doctors, and the little old lady next to me carrying a dog named Cinderella – remember, I’m in LA – have all been warm, open-hearted, and good-humored. Everyone online, too: you guys add so much to the chorus of encouragement everyday that it sounds like a down-home gospel choir. (I’m so glad they let me tweet during chemo.) And Sarah, who’s beside me everyday, committed to this adventure with her whole heart. Her laughs undo any pain from the needles, her concerns cut through my bravado, her presence is a joy. Plus, she’s the one who brings the snacks.

I may get mad at chemo later. I’ll yell at it resentfully, like Dana Brody after spilled milk. So you guys will have to forward me this link. Remind me of my good luck. Just don’t mention that, without my right hand, this took me five hours to type.

[For the next part which looks at encouragements, challenges and insights, click here]

Aaron Fullerton pic

The first of our Aaron Fullerton journey stories was published two years ago and is reblogged with permission:

The original title: Laughing With Cancer, Not At It:

When Lance Armstrong fell from grace a few weeks ago, I didn’t really care. I’ve always appreciated him for the icon he is, for the modern miracle of his health and success, but when I think of Lance Armstrong, I think of three things: bracelets, Michelob Ultra, and high-fiving Matthew McConaughey. But now that there’s an odd, shameful shadow looming over his legacy, a void has been created. Who will be the new face of kicking testicular cancer’s ass? I’d like to nominate myself. Because, you see, I have testicular cancer and we’re going to make this fun.

I know people are going to bristle at the words “cancer” and “fun” so close together in a sentence, but that’s my personality and this is my story. A couple weeks ago, I was annoying my co-workers by blatantly trying to massage my own back in the middle of the writers’ room; I had what I believed was a knot in a muscle and it was aggravating me endlessly. That night, I visited my girlfriend, Sarah, and, before I knew what was happening, I was on the floor, crippled with back pain. She took me to the ER – my first time ever – and after a seven hour wait, I finally saw a doctor. They ruled out muscle issues. They ruled out kidney stones. They gave me morphine and I started talking like a Daily Show correspondent. They did a scan and found a mass which, after some laparoscopic surgery to get a tissue sample, they determined was a germ cell tumor. As the one in pain, I didn’t really care what they called it – I just wanted them to make my back feel like Thor’s hammer WASN’T being whipped against it.

After one week of painkillers, my back felt great and I haven’t needed to take another pill. (But if anyone wants a cupcake with lots of extra sprinkles, let me know.) Considering the tumor is still there, this new pain-free Aaron is a miracle. But the miracle was accompanied by the official diagnosis: testicular cancer.

Let me note, for the record: I am not used to talking about my balls. My general rule is to avoid bringing them up in conversation. When people ask how my balls are doing, I usually just say “fine” and then change the topic to this week’s episode of Homeland. But I guess God needs me to break my rule, because my balls have been front and center (yes, also literally) in my life these last few days. Here’s the deal: this morning, at 7AM, I had the offending testicle removed. (And for the curious among you, let me just say that yes, I’m still symmetrical.) That was the first part of my treatment; the second part will be a few rounds of chemotherapy that zap the tumor in my abdomen. I’ll be rocking the Bruce Willis haircut for awhile, but I can always ask my co-workers to steal me some hats from the White Collar set. If you’re gonna wear a hat, go big, right?

My real treatment, though, is going to be writing. Because no matter what I’m doing, what I’m living, what I’m feeling… writing about it makes it better. Even when it’s about my balls. I’ve been beyond lucky to make my living as a writer and I truly believe that if I’ve been given cancer, it’s because I’m supposed to write about it. (My surgeon was named Dr. Fallas and my urologist is Dr. Sacks, so clearly this all a grand comedy.) Assigning the cancer a purpose may seem self-deluding from the outside, but I believe with total conviction that a whole crapload of good can come out of a little bit of bad. So if the cancer’s going to use me, I’m going to use it right back. Sorry, cancerous cells, but now you’re “material.” Get used to it.

The fact of the matter, too, is that every statistic is completely in my favor. Ninety-five to ninety-eight percent of testicular cancer patients end up completely cured. Like, back-to-normal-in-every-way (yes-even-that-way) cured. If my experience was a Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Seth Rogen movie, it would be called “98/2” and the stakes would be incredibly low (and the humor would be even more genitalia-based.) All signs point to this being nothing more than a speed bump. I still get to work with people I love on a show I love (Graceland coming to USA in June 2013!). I still get to live in a city I love with a girlfriend, friends, and a family that I love. I get to write, I get to joke, I get to laugh, I get to tell the story.

I know there’s a comfort in shaping personal experiences into a narrative. When we give our lives the shape of a “story,” we turn ourselves into heroes; our point of view becomes something like narrator-ly omniscience, everything we do and feel is validated by context. But I think the greatest comfort comes from choosing the ending; we pick the happily ever after, or the thematic beat that defines our moralities. Me? I’m going to try to always end it on the punchline.

You don’t need to wear a rubber bracelet for me. Just wear a smile. Or, even better: laugh. Because we’ll be talking about balls, whether I like it or not.

[For the next part titled ‘The Cooler Part of Chemo, click here] 

[You can follow more of Aaron’s Journey at his blog over here]

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