My Journey

My Health Journey: A Cautionary Tale

I'm sharing my personal story with you today in the hopes that it might encourage you to prioritize your own health. For a while, I struggled with persistent problems speaking, feeling like something was cutting my tongue way in the back. I also experienced constant neck pains, earaches, and headaches that were incredibly frustrating. My primary doctor would often tell me I didn't have an ear infection and would give me a shot for the headache and neck pain. But the pain wouldn't go away. I even noticed that my left tonsil was swollen to the size of a gumball and was almost touching my right tonsil. The Uvula resting on my tonsils made it difficult to speak without feeling like I was choking. The pain was so severe that I had to call out from work. 

Finally, I decided to see an ENT specialist. Luckily, I was able to get an appointment quickly, and the doctor's physician examined me. She was concerned about a mass in my neck and something on my left tonsil, so she sent me for X-rays and a CT scan. The following week, I saw the surgeon and was scheduled for surgery to remove my tonsils and the tumor. The recovery was painful, but I was relieved to have the surgery behind me.

 However, on November 21, 2024, I received the shocking news that I have cancer. I was in shock, as I had only expected to have my tonsils and the mass removed. Now, I'm facing a long journey ahead, with 35 treatments of radiation and chemotherapy. But I'm determined to stay positive and focus on my recovery. A Message to You Please take my story as a cautionary tale. Don't neglect your health, and if you notice something abnormal, address it with your doctor. If you're not satisfied with your diagnosis or treatment plan, don't hesitate to seek a second opinion. Remember, your health is your most valuable asset. Take care of it, and don't wait until it's too late.

 Thank you for reading my story. I hope it inspires you to prioritize your own health and well-being.

Looking back

As I sit on the stairs, looking back on time, I'm struck by how fast life has passed. At 57, I wonder where the years went. I remember being 35, full of hopes and dreams for my future. I thought I'd have someone to share my life with, but that's a dream I've had to let go of.

After working since I was 14, I've reached retirement age. I would have loved a retirement party with colleagues, sharing laughter and memories. Unfortunately, that didn't happen.

Now, I work from home out of necessity, not choice. My knees and back ache, and some nights, like at 4 am, I'm wide awake despite exhaustion. Losing my son has changed me profoundly. There are days I reach for my phone to call him, only to be hit with the painful reality that he's gone.

In meetings, I sometimes excuse myself, pretending to have a cold, but it's really tears streaming down my face. My heart yearns to hear his voice say, "Mami, I love you." But that's a comfort I'll never have again.

Attending a three-week training has been bittersweet. One of the new hires resembles my son – same beard, hair and build. Seeing him online brings back memories, and the pain feels overwhelming. The clock ticks, and tears follow.

 My fear

It is going to be three years since my Johnnie passed, before the passing of my Johnnie I was taking medications for depression but since his passing my doctor has increased my antidepressants and anxiety pills to the maximum dosage with the hope that it will help me have some peace. I have also been taking therapy and finally, I joined two chat groups online for Mothers who have lost a child.  In that chat, I am surrounded by females now I call my sisters.  We don’t share the same blood but we all share the same pain; the loss of a child. We understand each other pain.

 Every day I wake up with the hope that I will not feel this pain in my heart. I wake up with the fear that my Johnnie will be forgotten, in my head, I can hear him saying “Mami please don’t forget me”. My head is a can of spaghetti so many things go through my head. I have failed to give my other two children the love and attention they deserve, but I can’t control my emotions.  I had three children and I never thought that the number three would become number two. I hope they find in their hearts to understand that I have not stopped loving them nor that I loved their brother more than them, It’s that I am broken, my heart aches every single day. My sister who has become a widow, I hope she can understand that I truly wish from the bottom of my heart that I could give her emotional support but I  can’t because I can’t even help myself. I feel lost and I can’t find my way back. I am drowning.

Around two months ago I was watching John Wick, my Johnnie used to love that movie.  Every time he would watch a movie that he thought was good we would talk about it. Sometimes he would call me when he was on the John and tell me “Mami you got to watch this movie” and I would, then I would call him and we would become critics of the movie.  After I saw the last chapter of John Wick I found myself looking for his number on my phone to call him and talk about the movie.  I looked at my phone in my hand I became full of rage, and pain in my heart I wanted to scream Johnnie where are you? Come back, please. So I did what I always do when I feel desperate, I locked myself in the bathroom and shower to cry my eyes out.

Until the day I exhale my last breath of air I will always tell the world “I had a son called Johnnie”.

 Spotted Love

 

Dry cleaning can be expensive, when living on a budget.

My son John's dream was to become a chef. When he was just a little boy, he would be in the kitchen with me, helping me peel garlic, grind them in the Mandel, or go outside to pick cilantro. He loved the kitchen. As he grew, the kitchen became his passion, so I enrolled him in a culinary school when he was seventeen. We couldn't afford it, but with the student grant and two student loans, we were able to pay the course. The course included a culinary knife kit, his chef hat, his uniform, two black pants, and two white chef coats with the school's emblem.

The course was for two years, consisting of constant washing and wearing his two chef coats. He was excelling in the classes. The proof was on his chef coat. Every day he would bring home something he had made at school. I could see the happiness in his eyes; he was genuinely enjoying the culinary arts. He was so excited when the internship time came. He was finally going to feel the live experience of working in the kitchen of a restaurant. The fast pace would motivate him to become better at what he had learned at school.

Finally, the big day was approaching; Graduation Day!. He was excited, and so was I. At the time of the graduation, things were not the best at home; there were rent arrears, utilities were unpaid, and we were struggling. The graduates to be were all purchasing new chef coats for the graduation, but I couldn't afford one at the moment. Humble as always, my son told me not to worry that he would wear his chef coat.

I was heartbroken; what could I do? His chef coat had so many spots of food. Two days away from the graduation. I took a deep breath. I went to his room and got the chef coat. I looked at it; so many stains of oil, frosting, and other things on it; how can I get this all out? So I went to the kitchen and grabbed a can of Easy-off Oven cleaner; the can said it removed tough grease. So I sprayed it on every spot and let it sit for a while; then, I put the coat in a bucket with hot water, Tide, and Clorox, not any bleach. I used Clorox. I left it overnight in the bucket. The following day, I put it in the washer. Once washed, I aired dried the coat and ironed it with starch. My son was amazed at the results. He thanked me so many times and kissed me. He even offered to promote my cleaning services as a specialist in cleaning chef jackets to his classmates.

My chest was complete with pride; there was my Johnnie dressed as a chef on the stage among the other graduates; he had accomplished his dream. I felt comfortable to see that you could not distinguish his jacket was a two-year-old chef coat; it looked bright white and new. Sometimes It takes the power of love to make miracles happen.

 Going Back To Work

 

Since I was twelve years of age, I always tried to earn a dollar, regardless it was washing windows, cleaning houses, or helping to babysit. I remember my grandmother giving me five dollars for polishing her furniture; five dollars to me was a lot. So I grew up to like working to earn my own money.

As I grew up, I had the compassion to help other people; sometimes, I could see a senior grabbing dishwashing liquid in the supermarket. I would approach them and show them another dishwashing soap and tell them how good and less expensive than the one they had in their cart. They would smile and change the dishwashing soap to the one I recommended. If I saw someone who didn't understand English, I would translate it to Spanish even though I walked out of the store. And that is how I was at work; I enjoyed helping others, regardless it was my co-workers or the clients, it was a sense of satisfaction to know I helped someone.

I was blessed the day I moved to New York. I arrived in New York on May 17, 2001; I started working on June 27, 2001; by December the same year, I already had my place, Thanks to the Lord.

I have been twenty-one years at my job; the City hired me as a Temp worker, then the City hired me. I received two promotions at my job. It was my ideal job. I was helping others, and as a supervisor, I was able to help the team I oversaw. When someone from my team was going thru rough times, I was there to try to lift them. I recall this young lady named Felicia; she was a lovely young lady. I can't say we interacted a lot, but the day she left the agency, she gave out certificates of recognition to the team at her farewell get-together. Every certificate she handed out, she would recognize the person's strength which I thought was thoughtful. Although I was the last person to receive my certificate, I still have my certificate, and I still remember her words when she gave me my certificate "Darlene, the Momma Bear of the team."

Now present, the joy to go to work is non-existent. The loss of my son Johnnie has changed my whole life, I am lost, and I feel like I will never find the way back to happiness. My baby left this earth on August 7, 2021. Three months later, I went back to work. I thought the drive to work would take me to another state of mind where I would not be hurting, but unfortunately, it didn't. As I drive thru the FDR, memories of my son sitting next to me in the car taking him to work, memories of when I had surgery he got a cab, helped me get in, in the cab he would wrap his arms around me, for I could sleep on his arm. I hear a song play on the radio, and it's one of his favorites. When I reach my desk there, he is smiling on my mouse pad. When I leave my job, I see him outside the building waiting for me. Twenty-one years at my job and now I can't focus, I can't retain or comprehend sometimes.   

The other day one of the team members was having difficulty with a client on the phone. They transferred the call to me to assist the client. The client on the phone was upset; I tried to calm them down. I tried to explain to the person because of COVID; we were short on staff which was the cause of the delays in the unit. Like a slap across my face, she responded, "You guys need to get over COVID; it's been almost two years, lady. Life goes on". As she said those words, I pressed my eyes shut, trying not to cry. I tried to take a deep breath, but I still felt like I couldn't breathe. Between struggling with the knot in my throat, I took down the client's information for further research; I promised her I would get back to her the following day, which I did.

My heart aches for my baby; I miss him so much. Not too long ago, a dear person told me to "Move On Johnnie is not coming back by crying you won't bring him back!". I know my tears won't bring my baby back. But how else can I take this pain out of my chest?

Sometimes I wonder why this happened to me, I prayed for those who asked for prayers, and they were healed, but when I prayed for my baby, the Lord did not hear my prayers.

 

My Name is Steven

 I was sitting on my stairs, taking a break from bringing my luggage up the stairs. I had one more flight to reach my apartment. I was sitting between the second and third floors^. The neighbors on the third floor have teenagers; their son has never spoken to me, not even a Hi or Good morning.

While I was taking the break, he came out of the apartment; when he turned, he looked down; and saw me and said, Hi Neighbor do you need some help? His words were like music to my ears; it seemed the doors of heaven opened. I would appreciate it -I told him. He came down, took my luggage, went up and, placed it in front of my apartment door. He came down and stopped in front of his apartment; I was still catching my breath. He looked at me and asked You don't have anyone to help you? I smiled and said No. Then, with a knot in my throat, I told him, my son, left to be with his family, died of COVID. 

I saw the flyer of your son next to the mailboxes; he was a nice guy. Yea, my baby, was a good kid. He looked at me and said, moms suffer a lot when they lose a child; I can tell you are suffering. I see it In your eyes when you pass by.

Yes, we do suffer, sweety; very much. I got up and started walking up the stairs. How was your Christmas ? he asked. It was pleasant and loving. I was with my children and family in Florida. And yours? I asked. It was ok; things were not like before, he said. By the way, what is your name? -  I asked. My name is Steven, he said. For a minute, my heart wanted to come out of my chest. I felt like I was going to collapse…That was my baby's name. His name was John Steven Ponce, I said. Steven's are good people, he said. They sure are sweety; they are the sweetest people. Thank you, Steven, for your help. I walked into my apartment to sit in my chair, look at Johnnies pictures on the wall, and cry myself to sleep. Waiting to see my Johnnie in my dreams.

My Puzzle is incomplete

 My child, my baby, my son is gone. 

Suppose you have read my blog. I shared that I had birthed three beautiful children. My children all together did a perfect puzzle. But unfortunately, my ideal puzzle is broken; now, it is incomplete.

On August 7, 2021, I lost my youngest child to COVID. My Son John Steven Ponce earned his wings.

John was humorous and a loveable person.  He was 32, married, and a father of an 8-year-old boy. My son, John, was a good loving son. His heart was full of love and kindness; so many people loved him.

I never thought this could happen to me. But then, my worst nightmare came true. I have lost a child.

COVID is the cruelest disease… while hospitalized for COVID; John could not have visitors.  Still, thanks to the technology, we could speak via video chat.  But chatting through a camera is never the same then holding your child's hand, kissing his forehead, or being by his side to comfort him.

That is the cruelty of COVID besides the physical pain the person undergoes! He was thirty-two of age, a big teddy bear. To my eyes, I saw him small and defenseless.  I needed to be by his side, but it was impossible.  I know COVID is contagious, but I wouldn’t care. I just wished I could have been with him in his last moments.  I cry every night, thinking, "did my baby suffer" or "was he scared?"  “Did he die knowing how much I loved him?”, Did he know had I been given a chance to exchange places with him, I gladly would have done it. Oh, Lord! My heart is hurting so much.

I carried my baby for nine months; he was half an ounce away from being ten pounds. Such a beautiful baby he was.  Not too long ago, I carried a portion of his ashes with me from Florida to New York. A part of his ashes are with his widow in Florida, and an amount is back home with me. I wish I could have had a locket of his hair, but again, because the cause of death was  COVID, I was denied a locket of his hair.

Days after he died, I would go to bed wishing I would wake up, and it was all a bad dream; now I go to bed hoping he will visit me in my dreams.

 

Mommy misses you

Rest In peace, my baby.