In 2006, I was diagnosed with cancer in my left breast.  I chose to have a mastectomy instead of a lumpectomy due to the type of cancer and its location in my breast.  I knew if my lymph nodes came back clear, I wouldn’t have to have radiation.  I also opted for reconstruction rather than an implant.  I figured it would be healthier to have a breast made from my own tissue rather than put something foreign in my body. 

In 2007, I had four more surgeries.  The first was a tram flap delay.  I was cut along my belly from hip to hip.  Clips were put on blood vessels to encourage the growth of more vessels in my belly fat.  The second surgery was a tram flap.  I was cut along the same incision.  A second cut was made about five inches above the first cut and it intersected with the first incision at my hips.  The blood supply was left intact and this slice of belly was routed through an abdominal tunnel, turned upside down and sutured to my chest, to form a breast.  The third and fourth surgeries were needed to revise the tram flap.  I didn’t have enough blood supply to the transplanted tissues and they began to die. 

Between my third and fourth surgeries, my husband and I went to Fangoria Weekend of Horrors in Burbank California.  We always renew our Gold Circle Seating.  It’s worth the cost because we’re assigned front row center stage seats, ten feet away from the stars. 

I was still recovering from the revision.  I was weak and tired easily.  I was afraid that someone might bump my surgery site.  I felt self conscious about the obviously unsymmetrical shape of my new left breast.  I could either stay in the hotel room or I could put on a T-shirt that celebrated my survivorship and go watch the panels.  I opted for the later choice.

I took my seat in the panel room, arranged my camera on a monopod and waited for the Wrong Turn II panel to start.  Tony Timpone introduced the panel members, one at a time.  The last one he introduced was Henry Rollins.  I sat there with a ridiculous grin splitting my face, watching him.

Henry was the one person I really wanted to see at this Fango.  I have a crush on Henry.  I’ve had it ever since I went to see his Spoken Word engagement in San Diego years earlier to watch him perform an angry, political rant.

At one point, as I listened to another panel member, I felt like I was being watched.  I looked up to see Henry avert his eyes quickly.

“Oh!” I thought.  “He must have been reading my shirt.” 

I was wearing a grey T-shirt with a yellow diamond shape printed on the chest.  It looked like a caution sign.  Words written on the caution sign above a pink ribbon read, “Pardon our appearance while we are under reconstruction.”

After the panel, Tony called the Gold Circle Seating members by row to line up for autographs.  I grabbed my camera and monopod.  My husband and I walked as fast as my healing body would allow, to stand in line for an autograph and picture with Henry!

There were about twelve people in front of us.  Henry would either sign an autograph or pose for a picture with a fan.  When he began talking to the person in front of us, I set up my digital camera for my husband, so he could take my picture with Henry. 

As I handed my Sony to my husband, the female security guard said, “Put your camera away.”

“I want to get my picture with Henry.” I said.

“Not on my watch!” she snapped, squaring her shoulders and standing rigid.  I knew there was no way she was going to let me get a picture. 

My husband said, “Look, my thing is going to conventions.  She goes with me because she loves me.  This year, she really wanted to see Henry Rollins and get her picture taken with him.  Why don’t you let her do it?”

“Ain’t gonna happen!” she said, widening her stance and standing firm.

I touched my husband’s arm.  “It’s okay, Honey,” I said.  The look on my face as I turned off my camera told a different story.

“No.  It’s not okay,” he said.  “We pay Gold Circle Seating for free autographs and pictures.”

It was my turn to pick up a Wrong Turn II poster and have the panel members autograph it.  I went though the line.  Henry signed my poster.  I was too star struck to talk to him.  All I could do was grin.

My husband brought posters from other movies for the members to sign.  He talked to them about the posters and about the Wrong Turn II previews we had seen. 

When he got to Henry, he said, “My wife really wanted to have her picture taken with you.  The guard just told her she couldn’t.  Is there any way she can?”

Henry looked at me, then looked back at my husband and said, “Yeah.  If you wait around until I’m done signing, I do it.”

“Thanks,” said my husband.  “It means a lot to her.”  He called the guard over and told her about the arrangement.  She looked at Henry and he nodded. 

She ushered us to the seating area for family and friends of the panel members.  “I’ll come and get you when he’s done,” she said.

“Thanks.” I said, still grinning.

After Henry signed a poster for the last person in line, he lifted the black curtain separating him from us, and waved me over.

“Please sit,” he said.  I sat next to him, under the hot lights.  He leaned into me and I into him for the pose.  I could feel how warm his shoulder was. 

My husband took three shots, looking at each one afterwards and shaking his head.  He changed my setting on the camera, took one more shot, checked the image and smiled.  I had my picture.

I looked at Henry and said, “This means a lot to me.  Thank you so much.”

“No problem,” he said.  “Glad to do it”

So here’s what I know about Henry Rollins.  He grooms his public persona as an angry young man, dissatisfied about a number of injustices.  But inside, he’s a teddy bear, who’ll take the time to help a lopsided cancer survivor feel like she’s someone important.

Got to love him for that!