It never fails that at least once every Christmas holiday season I encounter an ugly parking lot “situation.” One with an angry driver or stressed out shopper just looking to vent at the most unsuspecting of person. That unfortunately would be me today.

This is how it went. I was trying to find a parking spot in the madness and mayhem of the Boxing Day shopping mall parking lot. I happened to take a little wider turn around the bend as I made my way from one aisle to the next; eyes wide open in search of a free parking spot. This man came around the bend like a bat out of hell and was quite visibly cursing me in anger with his eyes piercing through me like daggers while he yelled obscenities into his glass window. Wife beside him as his audience, apparently unbothered by his likely usual behaviour.

A little perturbed but not shocked, I was thinking ‘relax buddy it’s not that serious.’ I mean, I do drive a big truck but there was enough room for both of our vehicles. Finally I found a spot, parked and got out. As I’m walking towards the mall, who did I see? None other, than the angry man. Stomping as if with each step he was looking to crush some tiny soul. My little inner overruled me and I couldn’t help myself but to say “Really now, it wasn’t that serious. How about a little holiday spirit?” He turned around to face me and went off…continuing his angry tirade and responded with “Well you shouldn’t be driving a big f’n truck if you don’t know how to handle it.  Before I could respond he spat out the most disturbing thing I’ve ever heard in my entire 45 years…he called me a “NIGGER BITCH”! But wait, it gets better…he was a BLACK man, with his Caucasian wife in tow. I was dumbfounded, and almost speechless and that doesn’t happen often with me. He proceeded to call me ugly and decided I needed his beauty advice. He suggested I get my face sandblasted! Huh? What does that even mean? Now that one made me laugh. Woke me up out of my shock.

I could have gone off on him and spewed off at the mouth, taking various angles, but instead I played a different angle. I did however, leave him with a few choice comments hoping to get him thinking about his words and actions today. I told his wife that I felt sad and sorry for her if that’s how he speaks to her, but she of course blindly defended him saying “he’s actually a really nice guy.” I left her to believe what she may. Ordinarily, I’d give people the benefit of the doubt or just write such actions off as them having a bad day, but this one was different.  His ready anger was not due to simply a bad day.  There was a lot to uncover and fix with this man. He needed divine intervention. 

Feeling pity that he is clearly in denial about his race, and has this great and apparent hate towards his own people, I suggested to him that he needs help and to seek “guidance.” I retreated and took another entrance into the mall. I did not want to be near the ugliness of that which was his spirit.

​The moral of this story is deeper than name-calling. This goes deeper than that.  This is about how and why separatism, apartheid, racism, inequality, slavery and the like will never be totally abolished. It’s mentalities such as this man’s that will continuously keep black people down. This is 2019 and my fellow black man is calling his black sister a “ nigger bitch.” Me, a black woman like the one who carried and birthed him into this world.  Imagine the lack of respect he would have had for his own mother. Me, a black woman like the ones who cried and begged for the freedom of their black men as they were/are beaten and killed simply because of the colour of their skin, or the associations and presumptions that come with simply having that coloured skin. Me, a black woman…a woman…a human being.

So today, in our modern day society, we continue to eradicate our own race, with the thug killings, violence, gang activity, obscenities used against our own brothers and sisters in music and the entertainment industries, with our ‘woe is me’ attitude to life and living. We can’t even be happy and accept when our fellow black men succeed and do well for themselves; always trying to bring them back down to a lower level. Misery loves company I guess. We don’t need anyone else taking black people out; we are doing a pretty damn good job of it ourselves. And when I say we, people, I mean we! We all have a role to play here.  It starts with our own actions as small as you think it may be.  It starts with how we raise our children and the influences we put before them. We are in charge of their destiny. Just because we want to believe that we’ve come a long way from the ‘Rosa Parks at the back of the bus’ days and that we are good because we can share amenities such as schools, bathrooms and restaurants, hold top positions in Fortune 500 companies, hold tenure, be elected into parliament, run countries, etc. Don’t think for a minute that we are good! We are better, but there’s a long way to go before we are good.

I’m saddened today. I’m saddened because a black man looked at me, a beautiful and educated black woman, and called me a “nigger bitch.”

Enough said.

Natalie Wilson
December 2018

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Being honest, I must say, I use to be unapologetically against many things I saw my mother do while I was growing up. I have always said, “I will do things differently when I become a mother.” I would say things like, “How could a mother put that before her own children?”

Boy, did I give my mom a hard time growing up. Thinking she was a selfish mother at times who didn’t always have our best interest at heart. I felt I knew her reasons, and in my eyes, they were always bad ones. I felt, no reason was ever good enough to sacrifice the comfort of a child.

Thankfully, as we mature and grow physically, mentally and psychologically, we learn that we don’t always know the reasons behind what people do — we learn to see the bigger picture. No one truly knows another’s plight until they are in their shoes. I was judging ‘the book’ — my mother — by her cover. “Cover” being the poignant word here because she tried to keep a cover on the true reasons for doing things the way she did. In the end, she did the best a woman and mother could do, with the circumstances she was given.

As a single mother of four children, she was trying to makes ends meet. She would work to feed us, clothe us and put a roof over our heads. Put us in activities to keep us out of trouble, and allow us extracurricular so we never felt left out. All this, while being a woman — a woman with needs, wants and desires, just like everyone else. Should she be emotionally or physically neglected simply because she bore children? Should she not have, simply because we need it?

Reflecting and putting life into perspective as a woman with three children of my own, I now know better. I now understand my mother and some of the reasons behind her decisions better. Child-rearing is not for the faint of heart — one parent or two. It can be rewarding yet at the same time thankless. It can be exciting yet challenging. And most importantly, we’re in it for the long haul, even when our children are grown, we are still never truly finished with our job.

So in the end, knowing what I know now, I want to say I understand my mom. I now realize I may have done some of the same things the way my mother did because I am my mother’s daughter.

With love and the deepest gratitude, your daughter,

Natalie Wilson,
September 2018

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It broke! 

The darn mirror that I use every day to see the back of my head while I’m styling my hair dropped on my bathroom floor then shattered. It shattered just enough that I could still see through some of the broken pieces. Enough that I could still style my short hair — and those who know me, know I’m a perfectionist when it comes to my hair. No strand is ever left untouched!

At that moment, I began to think about the ways I have picked up most of the broken pieces of my life, of my heart and my soul as I started to pick up the broken pieces from the floor.

It was a very real analogy to me — as inanimate as this broken mirror was. The sight of the broken, yet still functioning two-sided mirror made my mind burst into life again with an enlightening comparison to me, an animate object. A human being who has been fractured many times.

The one side of the two-sided mirror that I always looked into has always been so clear — or, so I thought — shattered! In that “ah-ha moment,” I equated my life’s struggles with the cracks and broken pieces.

Most of the broken pieces had fallen to the ground and been picked up, therefore they are no longer present, similar to most of the pain and struggles in my life. 

​I was now forced to use the extremely magnified 6x side that I never really given much attention to as it was hard to see clearly as the reflection too large, and a struggle to focus in on. Heck, most times I hated what I saw in that mirror so I did what I felt comfortable with, and looked through the non-magnified side.

​Now with the magnified side, I was forced to look harder and deeper. I saw the flaws that needed to be fixed in my life. The pain I needed to stand up to. The negativity I needed to bury. The struggle I needed to overcome. All of these took great focus and forced me to cross over to the other side — the side I was used to ignoring every day.

As I brought the magnified side closer to my eyes, I began to see clearly — almost everything. But wait, I just noticed something, the clear magnified side sustained a slight fracture in the fall. But it is just that, slight.

Fractured but not broken.

Whole, but not perfect.

Natalie Therese Wilson, April 1, 2017

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This story speaks volumes about how much you don’t know what others are dealing with. You must read it through to hear the moral of this story…

The other day I was making my way around a parking lot snowbank in an effort to find a parking spot in this mayhem of Christmas shopping. A woman was coming in her car towards me with what I believed was enough time to slow down and allow me to continue on my way, out of her way, so we both could have equal space on the roadway.

She believed I needed to back up (beckoning for me to do so) so she could proceed, and I believed she could move over slightly and proceed slowly so I could straighten out and we would both have equal space on the road. I had already moved over so much so that I was about a foot away from the other parked cars in the lot. On top of that, I was going to have to back up and maneuver around that snowbank so annoyingly placed in the middle of the parking lot. Therefore, I chose not to move. And she too chose not to move. So there we were, both of us sitting there, neither of us making a move. Not because I was being obnoxious, but because it would be an unsafe move for me to make.

The woman got out of her car and approached mine, blasting me with “common courtesy would be for you to back up and let me through and then you can proceed.” I thought here we go…the angry driver in the parking lot during the crazy, busy holiday season. I calmly explained to her that I was already halfway around the snowbank when she was coming down the lot and that she would be able to more easily and safely back up than I would. I didn’t want to fight with anyone, especially not at this time of year. I firmly told her I was not moving and that since I had already moved over so much to accommodate her, I was not and could not move anymore. I said, “you should back up so we can both win here.” She reluctantly said “fair enough” and stomped off. She backed up a bit and we both proceeded to park.

As I saw the woman in the store, I felt compelled to say something further. Not to start an argument, but to clarify why I wasn’t wrong here and that it was uncool for her to bite my head off like that. I didn’t want to appear as the usual “angry belligerent black person.” Unfortunately, we have a bad enough rap for that as it is in this society, and I guess I didn’t want her going home with this idea in her head that her encounter with me, a black woman, was true as society and media put out there. Furthermore, it’s supposed to be a happy and blessed time of year and a time to show peace and kindness to others (not that we shouldn’t be doing this all year long!).

So I calmly said, “excuse me, ma’am, I’d like to have a word with you if I can.” She looked a bit annoyed and may be fearful that I’d try to start an argument, but that wasn’t my intention. She was busy with a store attendant so I walked away. As I was walking away, I contemplated just leaving the situation alone, and not returning, but I felt compelled to go back. So I did. She had a kettle in her hand, as she looked up at me.

​​I started off by saying I just wanted to clarify the situation and let her know that I did not appreciate her barking at me like that. She right away said she has a thing with people driving big trucks and thinking they own the road. I quickly assured her, that I don’t drive like I own the road at all, and that’s not my nature. I’ve driven an SUV all my driving life, and know how to handle them very well, but I definitely don’t drive like that of which she explained.

We once again got into the facts of who did what in the parking lot and who could have done this or that!  The woman cut the conversation by saying “we will have to agree to disagree on this one!”. I said, “fine, no problem” and reassured her that I wasn’t here to argue, and it’s Christmas so why do we want to go down a negative road right now. She bid me a very merry Christmas and added that she meant it with utmost sincerity. I believed her.  We shook hands as people peered at us and suddenly she started to cry…I was a bit surprised but as she continued to speak I knew something more was behind the parking lot outburst. I now started to feel my tears welling up — I’m such a softy that way. She told me that she appreciated me calling her out on her losing her temper with me and that she really shouldn’t be taking things out on people. As she continued to cry, she mentioned she’s just having a really bad day and that today was the day her mother died many years ago. I now started to cry and reached out to hug her. She held tight. So here we were, two strangers hugging and crying in the middle of the store as people watched, likely being thankful that the situation didn’t turn out to be an ugly one.

So minutes later as we exchanged apologies and hugged again, we began to part ways. It was a surreal and happy moment when I walked away feeling a sense of fulfillment, that the panging feeling inside that forced me to make sure I had a conversation with this woman resulted in me lending an ear to her when she needed it most on this very difficult day. I too have those days. January 6 of next year will be 14 years since we lost my little sister to a fatal gunshot wound to the heart. So I have moments when I’m desperately sad and just need a hug too. I gave that woman her well-needed hug!

As the woman was about to check out at the cash register, I was walking by with my shopping cart and I decided to go over and give her one of my business cards for High Heal Diaries. I explained to her the mission I am on — after having dealt with cancer three times — to speak with women in a public forum or just one on one to share my story and encourage them to share theirs as a way of helping and inspiring others to talk out their emotional struggles. She shook her head in disappointment with herself and said, “I should know better as I’m a teacher.” She then asked if I would come and speak at her school. I happily agreed as this is exactly what I want to do for the rest of my time here; speak, share, listen, inspire, help and motivate others.

You see, now that you have read the full story, you can appreciate the message here. Never judge others, as you never know what they have gone through or are dealing with in their life. And that sometimes a listening ear is all someone needs in order to lift the weight of the world off their shoulders, if only for just a moment. I had no clue that out of all the people I could have had a slight run-in with, in that snowy parking lot, that it would end as it did.

Remember this story when you find yourself in a similar situation. I used to take a less favourable approach to situations like the one above, but I see that everything happens for a reason, so why not try for a more favourable outcome. If it doesn’t work out in your favour, then at least you can walk away feeling positive that you dealt with it the best way possible.

Natalie Therese Wilson,
December 2016

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Throughout my nine-year journey, I’ve learned that I wasn’t born with such qualities as strength, courage, perseverance and resilience. I was put on this path in order for these qualities to be learned and ultimately relied upon in order to get to the place I am at today. Most importantly, I was meant to share my story with others to educate, inform, encourage and inspire those dealing with breast or any other cancer.

My story began just about five months after my son was born on September 11, 2007. Nursing the greedy little guy on what seemed to be one breast most of the time (the left side was his favourite) posed to be too much for me. With two other children needing my attention, Christmas fast approaching, work still needing my expertise, recovering from my third cesarean, and a husband and house to look after, I was at my wit’s end. I decided to pack in nursing after four months. I figured my son had enough of the good stuff to give him the healthy start he needed.

In February of 2008, I was lathering up in the shower and came across an unusual lump in my right breast. I could literally grasp it under my skin and slightly move it from side to side. I didn’t think much of it but perhaps it is a clogged milk duct still trying to drain. I made an appointment with my family doctor who sent me for an ultrasound and mammogram.  They both came back inconclusive, but perhaps a calcification of a milk duct from my nursing days. Something told me it was more, and I got a referral to see a reconstructive surgeon who specialized in patients with or who had cancer. So this doctor did her check-up and said let’s wait and see if it changes in the next six months. Six months later we just decided to remove the lump. I went back two weeks later to get the stitches removed and then I received the dreaded news. I had Ductal Carcinoma In Situ (DCIS). It’s considered a “pre-cancer” of the breast’s milk ducts that can turn into cancer if not treated as such. She also found a spot of invasive breast cancer that was high grade and aggressively growing.  I wanted it out immediately. My heart sank, I cried and the doctor was sad for me as she too didn’t expect these results. I mean, there’s no family history of breast cancer and I was a very healthy young woman. Why did this happen and how? An MRI showed more spots in the surrounding marginal area of where the lump was removed and the recommendations were to remove more tissue and go through radiation or do a nipple-sparing mastectomy and remove most of my breast tissue, then go on this mediation called Tamoxifen for five years which lowers the rate of cancer coming back. Of course, I chose the most radical route of the two as I didn’t want to ever deal with this again. I chose to remove both my breasts and do the reconstruction. I had so much longer to live, and my three babies to watch grow up. I didn’t want to worry about this horrible disease for the rest of my life.

Within the next year and a half, I had 10 surgeries to try to reconstruct my breast. I had many complications from excessive scar tissue build-up, multiple hematomas (a collection of blood outside the blood vessels causing blood to leak into surrounding tissue causing swelling and pain), excessive loss of blood, resulting in the need for two blood transfusions, and thinning out of my chest (pectoral) muscles making it hard to hold the implants, just to name a few. I persevered and made it through all of these surgeries with the help and support of all my family and friends. It was emotionally taxing on my family and me, but I learned that I was stronger than I thought and that God was on my side. After all, the reconstruction part was just cosmetic; albeit a very important part of my healing process. I knew that seeing myself in the mirror with my clothes off and still resembling a woman that way was half the battle with my recovery. I ignored those who at times made me feel like I was being vain by reconstructing my breasts and putting in implants.

​I jumped headfirst into projects that helped me to heal and give back as I now felt and understood what some women were dealing with. I volunteered with the Look Good Feel Better chapter in Scarborough. It was comforting and rewarding as we helped other women dealing with cancer learn simple skincare, makeup application and wig care so that they can look good on the outside.  I firmly believe that if you look good on the outside, you feel better on the inside. And this too was helping me. I also assisted my nine-year-old daughter, at her urging, to make pink beaded bracelets to sell and donate all the proceeds to the Breast Cancer Research of the Rouge Valley Health System. She donated $1,085.00.

Eventually, years had passed and my doctor was at odds with what to do next. After years of research, she decided to refer me to a doctor at St. Michael’s teaching hospital in Toronto who did a certain procedure using human cadaver tissue called Alloderm, and my own body fat to create more normal-looking/feeling breasts. The new surgical saga started in 2013.  All was going well, and I was so looking forward to closing this chapter of my life. For months before my third and last surgery with this doctor (13th altogether), I had noticed my right nipple looking very irritated; as if I had been nursing. It was sore, cracked and bleeding. I brought it to her attention and sure enough, when she did a biopsy, it came back as Paget’s disease, which is a cancer of the nipple. This was the same breast that had the DCIS in 2008. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I was now going to lose my nipple?  So another surgery was soon booked, and my nipple and areola were removed. Now I was “nippleless” on one side but I still had my reconstructed breasts, which I have to say we’re looking pretty good. “Oh well,” I thought. It could be worse.

Complications ensued. I formed a hematoma again, and my previous incisions had started to burst open due to the pressure the implant caused.  now had less skin to stretch out over the implant as a good amount was removed with the nipple and areola. My skin was ultimately thinned out and pressure ulcers were bursting open literally causing holes in my breast skin. I was not healing well and was in a lot of pain. I had emergency surgery to remove the implant, fix the open wounds, and put a smaller spacer until I healed. At that time the doctor decided to remove some more tissue to test as a precautionary measure. At the follow-up appointment, she sat down to talk about my pathology: the DCIS I had in 2008 had resurfaced in two more spots in my breast.  The same right breast!  I was devastated. All I could think of how did this come back? I thought that because I had chosen to go so radical and do the mastectomies, I would never have to worry about this dreaded disease again. I was second-guessing my choices and wondered if I had chosen to just take out more tissue and do radiation back in 2008 then maybe this would never have come back. Second-guessing wasn’t helping me though, and I had to regroup and take the next step toward getting rid of this cancer. I had to get through this. One thing I learned that all women should know is that a mastectomy never removes 100% of your breast tissue; therefore there is always a small chance of reoccurrence.

My 16th surgery was booked to remove the implant altogether and remove more of my breast to check for further cancer. I was on my way back to square one.  Everything was removed, fat and implant. I was now left with no breast. The chances were slim that I’d ever get an implant back in. I was upset of course, but once again, how could I complain. Women lose their lives on a regular basis from this disease so I was grateful to even be here to have these multiple surgeries. Three weeks later the pathology report came back negative. There was no more DCIS or invasive cancer found and I would not need radiation. I was finally hearing good news after all the bad news I heard. I was thankful that everyone’s prayers had worked.

At the moment, I am learning to live with one breast. There may or may not be a chance to reconstruct.  It’s hard to see myself in the mirror, but I have to learn to just ignore it. Having my breasts are no doubt a physical reflection of my womanhood, but it’s not a reflection of my core being as a woman. I’ve learned a lot more this time around. I’ve re-evaluated everything in my life, again, such as my relationships, my goals, my stressors, my spirituality and my health.  I am still beautiful, inside and out. It’s been a physical and emotional journey, and I am still recovering, and all the while I’ve done it with the help of God, my family, friends, inner strength, courage, and…a little bit of lipstick.

Natalie Therese Wilson,
October 2016

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