There is not much to know about me. I will be 60 years old shortly, I have two severely disabled biological children (one lives with me currently) and one severely disabled step-daughter. I have been a college professor (engineering), owned a successful high tech company for over 20 years, I am a special education advocate, and I have stage 3 rectal cancer. I live in a major US city, have fantastic doctors, and hope to get to the other side of this mess. I can also be cranky.
This blog hides both my identity and that of the hospital I am using. I hide mine because I found in the blog about me and my daughter that it is easier for me to say exactly what I am thinking knowing there won’t be any push back from those I know. It is true that some who read this do know my identity and you know, at this point in my life and seeing that it does not involve my daughter, I don’t really care if those who know me know my nuts hurt or whatever I may say. If you don’t like it or feel uncomfortable, read a different blog.
I don’t identify the hospital for a couple of reasons. First, they hold my life in their hands, probably not a good idea to have them not like something I say. Second, it is not my intent to call them out on anything. There are some people at the hospital who know who I am and that is fine, if someone wants to reach out, great. If not, also great. I will respond to any emails I receive from the form on the right hand side of every page.
I write because it is cathartic. I write in the hopes it will help someone else.
Why am I compelled to write? Because the writing saves me from this complacency I fear. Because I have no choice. Because I must keep the spirit of my revolt and myself alive. Because the world I create in the writing compensates for what the real world does not give me. By writing I put order in the world, give it a handle so I can grasp it. I write because life does not appease my appetites and hunger. I write to record what others erase when I speak, to rewrite the stories others have miswritten about me, about you. To become more intimate with myself and you. To discover myself, to preserve myself, to make myself, to achieve self-autonomy. To dispel the myths that I am a mad prophet or a poor suffering soul. To convince myself that I am worthy and that what I have to say is not a pile of shit. To show that I can and that I will write, never mind their admonitions to the contrary. And I will write about the unmentionables, never mind the outraged gasp of the censor and the audience. Finally I write because I’m scared of writing but I’m more scared of not writing.~Gloria Evangelina Anzaldúa, American scholar of Chicana cultural theory, feminist theory, and queer theory