My book


“We need a few more images” the female technician with the body of an athlete and hair as
becoming as Farrah Fawcett.   Back into the room that you can tell, is purposely decorated to feel like anything but a mechanical mammography room where some will walk out happy and others will be
referred to an oncologist.

Her heart beat faster as she sat in the small lobby where the only positive thing was the two windows that the sun shown in on beautiful blue sky days and the water pounded against during rainstorms.  Today was a sunny day, but somehow her attention could not go beyond the string of beads which varied from small to large, each representing the size of tumors, and stages typically of such.  As she stood up to follow the technician back into the room she felt light headed, ill…What are the chances that a woman carrying a gene mutation that put her at high risk of breast, ovarian, pancreatic and melanoma have that “the extra images” would reveal a healthy breast or breasts?  (age 47)


As she signed the papers signifying her commitment to a 30 year mortgage to the house that she and her ex-husband had lived together for 5 years, and coexisted for 2.  Her thoughts slipped back to childhood, to the fairytale in her head that she would marry, have children, and she and her handsome husband would live happily, safely in the home surrounded with the perfect white picket fence. Having grown up in a home where she was told and believed, if you want to own a house, you will need a man to do so, a man who you would marry, surrender to”.

She walked out of the bank feeling both nervous and elated.  The fear that there would be a wrench thrown into the financing of her buying the home from her ex husband was dissipating, excitement  reigned as she walked out of the bank carrying the papers that she was now the only owner of this single family dwelling.  She didn’t need a man to own a house, in fact, she didn’t need a man for anything, though that differed from her desires.   (age 33)


This would be the last time, she thought.  The last time she would accept the blows that left her physically bruised or broken.  Yet she had said that so many times before.  With her self esteem nonexistent as well as her self worth, she walked to the bathroom with a towel filled with ice to determine on what part of her face she should start to numb first, and how badly she had been hurt this time. If only she hadn’t told him she was unhappy with his drunkenness the night before, this would never have happened.  If only she would learn how to keep her mouth shut.

As she looked at her right eye, swollen shut, and the bruise already bruising on her left cheek, she decided her eye took priority, and carefully placing the ice on that area several times before she found a comfortable position for it.   How long would she live like this?  What was wrong with her?  Was she destined to be his punching bag or would she find the gumption, the nerve to finally leave? (age 19)


The office was very interesting, the energy comforting.  The windows to her left overlooked the West River, the Retreat Meadows that joined with the Connecticut River downstream a bit to the left.   Where would she start?  What questions would she be asked and how would she answer them?  Secrets had been such a part of her life for so long, what would happen if she were to reveal one, two, or god forbid, all of them?   How could this woman, this Mental Social Worker help her solve the unhappiness that now encompassed her heart.  How could this woman help her heal from all the things that kept her chained imprisoned in the sickness of others, in her own sickness?

“My name is Cicely, it is nice to meet you.  Tell me what brought you here and what you expect or would like to accomplish in counseling?”



I have totally changed the manuscript of the book I have been writing.  It is far too daunting, too much for me to write it in the manner I was, at least for my first book!    Now I realize these are all negative, and while all true for me… I am wondering at what point to start my book.  Rest assured its contents will not be all negative, I just do not know at what age to begin, or if any of it is worth writing or hearing…..  What do you think??????  Would love to hear your comments, and if you like none of them, that is okay too.  🙂   Perhaps no one will ever set their sights on the finished product, perhaps it will only be used as a means of self healing,  but what if it could help others????????   The gist is…. we can recover from many things, things that we may feel we cannot…




About anartistslife

Through the many trials, triumphs and tribulations of my life, I share my stories to help others. I share my thoughts to perhaps bring a new point of view to my readers, and I share my opinions because I just have better ideas! ♥♥! Where would we be without humor?

4 responses »

  1. just keep writing.. you can rearrange, edit, if you choose later.. your style of writing makes the reader want to turn the page and see what happens next .. and you share so much of your thoughts and feelings.. I am sure you have helped many people, to cope, hope, continue to hang tough, and to laugh.

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