This is Tuesday
so far
Today is a writing day.
For some reason, this morning, the solid inclination to watch Come See Me In The Good Light landed firmly in my brain head. It’s the 2025 documentary chronicling spoken word artist Andrea Gibson and their partner, writer Megan Falley’s love and life during Andrea’s treatment for ovarian cancer.
I had been meaning to watch it since it was released. Or should I say, came out. You know. Utilize our queer language.
But I hadn’t watched it yet. Because I know how it ends. And I feel the storm of my own story rising in my gut.
As my spouse was leaving for work, literally coat and hat on, front door open to her busy day, I shared from the couch, what I was doing.
“Should I wait and watch it with you?” I ask.
“It’s up to you, Love.”
She left and I kept watching. I needed to. This morning. I just did. No need to search for any rationalization. A waste of time.
I owe it toAndrea’s artistry, their love, their life on this planet, to hit play and sit. (Ok, I had to pause twice to pee).
There’s 11 minutes left. And I’ll pause ( I already peed) to just start writing. Because I know how it will end and I don’t know if I’ll be able to start writing after the credits are roll.
But I do know, I would continue.
So, here I am. Starting. My salty 60 year old nonbinary queer self (I sure ain’t no poet - for real). Who as of this past Friday, allowed my medical oncologist to tell me, to assure me, to send me off, without an other appointment on the books, that I didn’t need to come back.
I am, as far as any human can say (the mysteries beyond the physical world have their own rules, if they even have rules?) done with ovarian cancer. Invisible but whole body felt, diploma in my hand. Letting go, just outside the suite of exam rooms, a few feet away from exiting the waiting room. Letting the tears just run down my face. The powerful puff of air out of my lungs. Gratitude in its fullness.
Here is where I’m going to pause and watch the last 11 minutes. Because I’m still here. I can. I want to honor and hold Andrea and Meg’s story, at least in the context of this documentary, in my heart before I write another word.
I’m back. (yes, I peed again. I’m a big hydrator - if you’ve had hot flashes for over fifteen years, you sure as shit would be too.)
I am absorbing some of the parallels with Andrea and Meg’s story. BTW, if you’ve read my ramblings before now, you know my spouse’s name is Meg. Also, like Andrea’s partner Meg, my Meg is a writer, and her writing makes this world a better place too.
Look up Meg Stone, author.
Like Andrea, I grew up in a time, the 70’s and 80’s, trying hard to figure out how to possibly be me, when nothing around me, was even close. And I know much of the depression, sadness, creativity and depth of my humor are all solely products of living in a reality that was vacant of my queerness. Survival by any means necessary, which for me was my humor and big heart. And my wild imagination. I also played hoops throughout my childhood, and shooting hoops now, not very often, but definitely brings me joy and allows me to feel grounded.
Ovarian cancer announced itself at 43, after my hysterectomy (which I was so fucking excited about because it meant that every month I wouldn’t have to leave my body for the 4-5 days. I wouldn’t have make Meg go to the store for “products” anymore.)
But within the ten days of recovery, as I sat in the exam room for my post surgery appointment, the words “ovarian cancer” came out of doc’s mouth and landed in my post surgical lap. I almost turned around as if she was talking to someone else. I was like, what? But I just had this surgery so I could feel more like me.
I went to the appointment alone. I sat in the car for a while afterwards, knowing I had to go tell Meg. I couldn’t do it over the phone. I have no memory of driving to her office. But I do remember sitting there. We called my Mom together.
2009, the year of the bird. Meaning, my middle finger feverishly waving in the air at my Stage 3C diagnosis.
But I hadn’t watch Come See Me in the Good Light, until just this morning.
I’ve been cancer free since, well, my last chemo, December 7, 2009. I’ll never forget that date. I don’t want to. Because how I thought about my life was never the same afterwards.
I have many friends, family members, and kiddos from my 25+ years of play as a healthcare clown, that are no longer on this planet. They are existing in another realm, including the realm of the chambers of my heart. They are alive and I talk to them. Why wouldn’t I? They existed in the world and they are still here because I know they were. I have friends who have died of ovarian cancer. Who have had recurrences.
But putting off watching the documentary - was also the realm of what has been termed, “survivor’s guilt.”
A term I do not want to uplift. But the emotions that bump around in me still being here in the flesh, are fucking messy. I don’t like them. But this is where art comes in and saves me from an unforgiving spiral. I’m hitting these keys. And I’m finding and flying and not giving up on a theater piece, about my adventures with ovarian cancer and healthcare from the nonbinary queer Mal angle. Refusing to just make do with our patriarchal broken healthcare system.
My purpose for this performance piece, to create a space of belonging, healing, raucous out loud laughter and empowerment for others to be their radiant full selves in their own healthcare adventures.
I never saw Andrea Gibson perform live. I’ve only seen videos, listened to podcasts, read their words in their books and on Substack. Which their partner Megan keeps going, it’s such a gift.
This video of Andrea's poem, Maga hat in the chemo room is what gives me such clarity about how to live. Every time I watch it. Boom. LOVE.
So, do I shrink in my life because the emotional life of having been through ovarian cancer treatment (and surgical menopause that keeps on keeping on) is at times, a shit show?
Nope. I can’t. I have to be here. I have to show up. I have to breathe this life, because for whatever reason, beyond my capacity to even begin to understand, if that is even a good use of time - I have LOVE to give. Kindness to offer. Humor to connect. Dog noses to boop.
I can continue shedding the empty habitual linear march of time that has been drilled into my little kid self by good ol’ New England cruel colonization and capitalism.
Be present to all the wonder around me. I too listen to the Mourning Dove. It’s both a call to all my memories of how I came to be me, and a lesson to be alive, right now. Who do I want to be in this crazy world?
I want to offer more Love, more Kindness, more Listening to the truth of what it means to be human.
That is my offering. I will fuck this up. I know it. But I am always going to try again.
I’ll leave you Andrea Gibson’s words that make my heart soar -
“Nothing hurts more than living someone else’s life.”
“What I want most is to live the rest of my life desperately wanting to live it. I want to give that to you. I want you to believe it is something. When I say I want something of my life, that’s what I mean.”
I say this out loud, well, when I record this fucker, I promise myself and my person, Meg, that I will keep showing up for this life. For myself, for her, for all those I love now and for all those I will love as soon as I meet you. So, get ready. I will do my best to listen to your life as deeply as I listen to mine, because that is the life I want.
Andrea and Meg's substack, latest post.
Thank you for being here. Go stretch and hydrate. Yes and…
L'chaim! <3 <3 <3
With you, as forever.