I'm that Tinu. Yes her (her her her). Take a pic it’s me (me me me). ♥️ My name means Love.
My date of sign up says 2016 but I have been a lurker until the 2022 #TwitterMigration.
I've been a digital community organizer who specializes in coordinating #MutualAid for disabled people via group fundraising & events.
I attempted to exist outside capitalism after a 20 year career in digital marketing, which ended when I was hospitalized for #COVID19 & cancer. I never recovered.
| Contact Me | https://www.everywhereaccessible.com/contact/ |
| On Twitter | https://twitter.com/Tinu |
| Patreon | https://patreon.com/Tinu |
| Verified by | https://fedified.com |
So I am a mess, from August 30th to September 10th, every year. Each year I think it will be better, easier.
But it gets harder and harder. COVID is still with me. Cancer is still with me. So they are still with me.
The grief of my lost life, of their lost lives, is an overwhelming fog that turns me into a live nerve of mental anguish.
So for me, it felt like COVID stole two people who I considered sisters.
Then I got COVID in February 2022. And the doctors confirmed my suspicions that it had brought my cancer back much earlier than suspected.
The trauma from almost not even making it to the hospital, the several near-death experience I had, without family nearby got caught in the Covid loss trauma.
For me, 40 came and went, and to my surprise, I remained alive, despite almost dying of severe bacterial pneumonia right after my 40th birthday.
I really thought it was my time. Then one day I opened my eyes and my mother was staring back at me from under full PPE.
She had come 10,000 miles from Nigeria to be by my side. I immediately started to improve.
Septembers are hard for me. The day after Chadwick Boseman’s passing, my sister in law died. She was my Irish twin’s love of his life. He truly blossomed when they got married.
At first we weren’t that close. But then she was diagnosed with active cancer and I was diagnosed with a cancer that at the time was untreatable, and rarely seen in Black women.
There was a gap of time between her diagnosis and mine. She was very open. My case was complicated so I told no one.
So I am a mess, from August 30th to September 10th, every year. Each year I think it will be better, easier.
But it gets harder and harder. COVID is still with me. Cancer is still with me. So they are still with me.
The grief of my lost life, of their lost lives, is an overwhelming fog that turns me into a live nerve of mental anguish.
So for me, it felt like COVID stole two people who I considered sisters.
Then I got COVID in February 2022. And the doctors confirmed my suspicions that it had brought my cancer back much earlier than suspected.
The trauma from almost not even making it to the hospital, the several near-death experience I had, without family nearby got caught in the Covid loss trauma.
My grandmother had 40 grandchildren. Only 10 were girls. My closest cousin died when I was young.
Her church had convinced her she should pray away a serious disease. By the time she went to the hospital it was too late.
As an African, as a Black woman, people who marry my siblings are new brothers and sisters.
Cousins were siblings that don’t live with you. We’d play together all summer, especially if we were all in Nigeria together.
Two days after that one of my few woman cousins died of COVID. She just collapsed getting ready for work. At first they weren’t even sure of the cause.
We weren’t close as adults but had planned to be. We kept missing each other, separated by 10,000 miles and circumstances of life.
Benjamin Young Savage (ᐱᓐᒋᐱᓐ)