A couple of months ago, my sister signed up to run a 10 mile race just so that she could get early access to Beyoncé tickets. Miraculously, she got 4, which must have cost her a small fortune. I’ve seen N*SYNC and Jay Z at Soldier Field so this would have rounded out that trifecta rather nicely.  Actually, it was sort of the highlight of my summer.

Instead of embarking on what is always a wretched, but well-worth it, commute down to Soldier Field, I spent my early evening in what I have found to be the most humiliating part of this process so far. The Shower.

Earlier today, me and my recliner moved home to my real house. I have been worried about this day, but all in all, it went quite well. Obviously I brought my Shaman, Jennie, with me, along with about 5 glorious floral arrangements to meet the other handful of bouquets that were delivered to my house.

At my mom’s house the shower was a two-man job; me and my sister. Sometimes we needed a Hail Mary from my mom, but we’ve gotten good enough to do it ourselves (oh my gosh, and the drains, of course! How terrible of me to have forgotten them…).

Jennie will eventually have to resume her normal life so this shower experience was a tutorial for Joe. I was going to write, ‘picture if you will…’, but then I thought better of that notion. Do NOT picture this. Ever.

I bet you’ve spent nights awake wondering where the drains go when I am nude and have nothing to pin them on. There’s an answer for that- a ‘breast cancer pink’ lanyard that I wear around my neck and pin my drains to. You guys, I am naked with my scarred-up, spigot body, wearing my cyborg drains as a necklace.

I used to work for Harry Winston and wear million dollar diamond necklaces.

My, how the mighty have fallen.

I am able to move my arms well enough to shampoo my own hair so I’ve graduated to being completely alone in the shower, which is a plus. This is progress, but it is also a very, very sad place. You are at your most vulnerable, in the nude, trying to cleanse your hacked-up body as your drains dangle around your neck.

Coming out requires a helper to very carefully dry you off and re-do all of your wound dressings. So here I am, naked, wet, cold, wearing a drain necklace in a tiny bathroom with my sister and husband. Beyoncé this is not.

This is the moment when I switch gears and write Directly to The Queen herself.

Dear Beyoncé,

I am supposed to be at your Chicago concert right now. Alas, I am not because 1 month ago, at the age of 35, at the pinnacle of physical health, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I have since had a bi-lateral mastectomy and am awaiting a second surgery and chemotherapy. If there is any justice on this planet my sweet, dear Beyoncé, please send your magic fierceness fairies to my house with tickets to your next tour?

Slay it tonight My Queen- Love,

Grancer