Blood and Guts: Helena Lazaro

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Where the hell I’ve been

November 30, 2007 at 11:11 pm | In misc | 8 Comments

Hi everybody! First off, I want to say thank you for the inquiries you’ve made as to my presence–both privately, and right here on the site. It means a lot to me to know that there ARE people who would notice if I fell off the face of the earth. Here is the answer to all your questions, and more!

Remember that thing about the fibroids not being there? Well, there was good news and bad news. The good news; I definitely don’t have fibroids! The bad news? I have a huge (and I mean huge) ovarian cyst. The kind that could win me a prize if it were a pig at a county fair.

It was about the size of a grapefruit in June. Tumor markers looked good (meaning it didn’t seem like cancer based on blood tests). Surgery was initially scheduled scheduled for July, but because I had to fight with my insurance (another nightmare altogether, but one that I won!) it was rescheduled to February, when my freelance work at Rob and Big would be complete and I would have time to recover. Then in late October I went in to see my doctor because the level of discomfort I was experiencing increased to a point I couldn’t ignore. The cyst had grown dramatically–almost doubled in size. It is, in its largest dimension, 18cm. That is just one dimension, it’s also pretty wide and deep. Go grab a ruler and get an idea of what I mean. I’ll wait.

Fucking creepy, right? I feel like I am hosting some kind of aggressive alien spore.

ANYway, my doc took me off work and I had a CT scan of my abdomen and pelvis, then followed up with an oncologist. On closer inspection, it looks like this is what they call a “borderline” cyst, meaning there is a relatively small (but not negligibly small) chance that it could be cancer. About 10%. At the moment, I am definitely going to have to have the right ovary (where they think the cyst is originating from) removed. Depending on what they find when they open me up, further treatment may be required. Oh, I’m sorry, were you having dinner?

My surgery is scheduled for Tuesday, December 3rd. I’ll be at Cedars Sinai, in the hands of very good doctors. Actually, my OB is also Angelina Jolie’s doctor–he delivered Shiloh! So I’m like two degrees away from Brangelina’s cooter! Pretty neat, huh?

Recovery may take anywhere from two to six weeks. During that time I’ll be pretty much trapped in my house at the top of the giant staircase in Eagle Rock. If you like, you can bring me flowers, movies, vintage fabric, or chocolate to cheer me up.

I really didn’t have the heart to explain this over and over again to explain why I haven’t returned phone calls, or come to your parties, or answered your emails. But I did want you to know that it isn’t personal, or because I think you’re annoying and crazy (except for YOU–and YOU know who you are). You’re my friends and I value you very much. I just haven’t felt up to much socializing as of late, which I hope you’ll understand now.

I’ll update just as soon as I’m conscious again! Thanks again for all your kind remarks and letters.

Where the hell I’ve been

November 30, 2007 at 11:11 pm | In misc | 3 Comments

Fucking creepy, right? I feel like I am hosting some kind of aggressive alien spore.

I’ll update just as soon as I’m conscious again! Thanks again for all your kind remarks and letters.

Where the hell I’ve been

November 30, 2007 at 11:11 pm | In misc | 8 Comments

Fucking creepy, right? I feel like I am hosting some kind of aggressive alien spore.

I’ll update just as soon as I’m conscious again! Thanks again for all your kind remarks and letters.

A foulmouthed tart

October 2, 2007 at 11:19 pm | In poetry | Comments Off

bait and switch

it’s a carnival game
that i keep sinking money into
for a prize that’s worth
sixty-five cents
you were never really here
at all
but hiding behind
a veil of vodka
manipulating the mirrors
and blowing rings
of smoke

you lose some

the worst part is
you’ve ruined my black dress
every time i wear it
i’ll remember pulling you
into the closet
at your birthday party
and hiking it up
to give you a gift

it wasn’t that long ago

too bad i didn’t keep the receipt
and you couldn’t have one
i feel at least one of us
should have their money
back

The Devil I Know

So it’s me and you
again,
talking about
the same old shit,
drinking the same wine
until we’re numb enough
to fuck.

Welcome back.

Waving the Red Flag

September 27, 2007 at 3:45 pm | In poetry | 4 Comments

Definitely Not Shinola

You know those times you said
I was too good for you
and I said
No,
not at all?
I was wrong.
You couldn’t possibly deserve me
any less.
It was a charity case
at best,
but without
that rewarding feeling
or even a fucking
tax write-off.
A starving man
who shits on your shoes
every time you feed him.
That’s what you are.

And the truth is
I just don’t have that kind of
dignity to give away.
I don’t have the heart
anymore.

Like they say
Charity begins at home,
and I can’t think
of a worthier cause.
You just have to shit
on someone else’s shoes.

two tears in a bucket

in the car
on the way
to another man’s home
i realize
you’re a footnote
to a footnote
in a book that never ends

Same shit, different day

August 30, 2007 at 3:06 pm | In poetry | Comments Off

all the whiskey in the world
won’t make you any more impervious
you’re down here in the shit
with the rest of us
with your guts spilling out of your stomach
while you try to push them back in
and it doesn’t matter
that you pretend
not to notice
it’s still just as messy
to get along in this place
it still stinks
and people are vicious
you’d think that finding
someone who knows how to put in stitches
might count for something
but you’d be wrong
the needle prick scares them more
than the gaping hole i might shut
if they’d only let me
get close enough

Ovary Overload.

July 20, 2007 at 5:52 pm | In familia | 1 Comment

I was just thinking about the women in my life. I’ve never really had lots of girl friends. In the last two years of high school there was a little pack I ran with. But aside from that, I usually keep just a very few, very close friends. They are all women I admire. And I think that has to do with my family. From childhood, I have been surrounded by women who are doers. They are not weak, they are not incapable, they are not delicate. They are women who solve problems, thrive in the most adverse conditions, face challenges without even imagining the possibility of failure.

I am so happy for that. I have never thought that there was something I needed a man to do for me (well, aside from the obvious). In fact, I think that for the most part, I’ve been more of a “man” than lots of the guys I’ve been with. I don’t balk at heavy lifting, the usage of power tools, or spiders. Not even really big spiders.

My grandmother, mother, and aunt gave me a wonderful start–as a result, I’ve been able to do countless things I would never have dared to before. I would never have been the only woman on a rowdy fifteen person crew for a two-week shoot…and returned with my sanity intact. I would never have felt able to hold my own in a male-dominated industry. I would never have been able to celebrate my independence, want for nothing, be self-sufficient. I take a great deal of pride in doing things myself, and knowing that I can do anything I want to–and I know this is because they made me.

Yes, it’s a pretty sappy post. But its purpose is to congratulate the women in my life and thank them. For my friends, know that I chose you because I admire you. For my family, know that you’ve given me everything I have, because I wouldn’t have it at all without you! You are all amazing women.

Another uplifting verse

July 3, 2007 at 8:47 pm | In poetry | 2 Comments

T-shirt like the Shroud of Turin

Our history
of days spent
doing ordinary things
has become
extraordinary
because it’s ended.

I never thought
that it would be the last time
I served our meal,
the last time
you used this towel,
the last time
we rode in a car
together.

There isn’t that much
left of you,
maybe a few albums,
a cup you drank from
next to the bed.

Ordinary things
that now require
preservation.
Relics from an age
when life was easy
and good.

In the end
all we have
are memories
and even those
will be stolen
one day.

Hello-o-o? Anybody there-ere-ere?

June 12, 2007 at 7:01 pm | In poetry | 25 Comments

It’s been a million years since I looked at this thing. After getting out of the habit, it’s really tough to get back in. But I’m going to give it a shot. If for no other reason than to keep ex-boyfriends (and current ones!) on their toes.

Here’s the Reader’s Digest version of what’s happened since I last updated. I had my life consumed by the show, was told I had uterine fibroids, got a boyfriend, finished working on the show, decided to take time off, painted my apartment, got three kittens, gave one away, had a small breakdown, found out the boyfriend can’t breathe around cats, gave the other two away, was told I didn’t have uterine fibroids, started a diet (again), realized I am going to have to go back to work soon, decided to use the remaining days to be productive. It’s been over a month and, as usual, I have utilized most of my time for the purpose of sleeping. Why is it that I get ten million times more done when I’m pressed for time, than when I have loads of it just lying around? I’m going to try and clear out the cobwebs in a few areas of my life that have been neglected and get on top of things, instead of feeling like I’m buried beneath them. Here are some poems that have been drafted for weeks and never edited.

Baby Bear

You’re in my chair.
Every time I look over,
there you are.
With your bare feet on the cushions
and a book in your hands.

Watching my television,
drinking my wine.
You’re a guest I can’t get rid of
in a home that isn’t mine.

You go to all my parties,
all my restaurants
and bars.
You wear a dress
just like my dress
and sleep in my man’s arms.

I don’t know why
I feel evicted –
when I left those things behind,
when he asked me back
and I wouldn’t come,
why it should sting
after so much time.

Maybe because no chair
has been quite as good.
Every one felt
too soft
or too hard.
He’s the only
that ever seemed
just right,
but just right just isn’t
in my cards.

Static

Tonight
I was reminded of you
by the womanizing
alcoholic character
Jack Nicholson played
in Terms of Endearment.
I felt like you’d almost
patterned yourself after him–
except at the end
he turns out to be a nice guy,
and you’ll never stop being
a prick.

something blue

i always cry at weddings.
but not for the reasons
you might think.
sure i cry
because she looks exquisite,
because their parents are bursting pride,
because they’re pledging their lives to each other.
of course i do.
but mostly i cry
because when i see those two people up there
i can’t,
no matter how hard i try,
i can’t imagine
standing at an altar
and saying those words.

they dance their dance.
people tell stories and laugh.
there’s cake
and champagne,
it’s a joyous event.

all i can do
is make it out in one piece.
then fall apart on the drive home,
screaming at the top of my lungs,
fuck.