About

There’s a lot of pressure that comes with being a good student, a good journalist, a good employee, a good role model for God knows who’s watching…

But of all the areas in my life, the most pressure I feel is the one that comes with being a cancer survivor. Holy fuck. The things that people expect from you. Ugh.

I’ve done my share of public speaking. I’ve shared my story with audiences all over my little ‘hood. And it really sucks when I look back and realize how dishonest I was when I spoke. I was advised constantly to be “inspirational” and “make them cry” “MOVE them.”

So…I can’t say cancer was a “fucking nightmare” and that I tried to let IT beat ME? Really?

No, Wendy. Stick to what you know will get you the standing ovation.

I always got the standing ovation. I always moved rich people to donate to a “worthy cause” I was volunteering for. I always “inspired” people to volunteer. I felt like such a tool at times.

I said things like, “I fought back!” and “together, we can beat cancer!”

Lies. Well, I guess I did fight… I fought a nurse once for being a bitch and wearing a ton of perfume when I was in the hospital getting chemo. I fought with my mother for insisting I say hello to the Wayans Bros. that one day near the Beverly Center. I fought off anyone trying to visit or bring gifts. I fought off everything that involved me having to be awake.

That’s not fighting back against a disease. That’s being a little brat who just wanted it ALL to end. (But I just really am not a fan of the Wayans Bros. anyway.)

However, I feel everyone else fought harder than I did sometimes. By the end of 2004, I was so strung out on medication I couldn’t even speak for myself anymore. (Probably a good thing. Every time a nurse woke me up to check my vitals, I’d think of the most evil shit to say to her.) My family and friends had to do almost everything for me. I was a bald, dying, mute little vegetable.

Eventually, I chose life. I chose to live. Might as well. I heard I was going to get great parking after the amputation. (In your face, Los Angeles.)

It’s just so strange how people change their opinion of you, the minute you decide you don’t want to tell YOUR story for THEM anymore. I made the choice to stop “fighting” for a “cause” I didn’t feel was worthy of what I had endured.

The things I heard people say about me…yikes. It was insane how a group of people would get together on a monthly basis to antagonize me. (None of them ever having cancer themselves, of course. Thank goodness…but still, shut up.)

I guess the bottom line is, if you didn’t fight this shit yourself, are you really entitled to an opinion of what I should do with this new life? I’m still unsure of what to do with it at times, but I’m content just knowing that I DON’T KNOW what the hell I’m doing. This is all just one big Plan B. (Plan A was to be a girl in a Whitesnake video. Duh.)

One thing I am sure of now, is that bone cancer was my fight. Mine, and nobody else’s. It’s mine to do whatever I want with it. (A moment to rejoice in my decision to not be a bum or a stripper,yes?)

Bitch is my new black. Honesty is the new inspiration. Love is still something I’m trying to use on a daily basis.

But I, Wendy Solorio, will never be Diane Sawyer. (Or someone you consider to be perfect.)

Contact:
wsolo85@hotmail.com