Since I started my cancer crusade, I’ve been supported by a legion of caretakers — friends and family — who have helped this Slayer gyrl come back strong. I still have a long way to go, but the road to recovery is best traveled with a crew, and I have one of the dopest around.   

Case in point: My diagnosis, surgery, and chemo were a pretty crappy series of events. It’s like someone threw in all the ingredients of the worst things that can happen in life and served them to me straight up.  

A few days before my surgery, though, I’m at home, belly distended with about nine liters of fluid called acites, which  often forms around ovarian tumors. It was uncomfortable and, literally, killing me, but I wasn’t so much nervous about the events that were about to unfold as I was eager to get the damn surgery over and done with. As I was sitting around trying to get my mind right, who decides to come sauntering through my door at 9 p.m. from more than 3,000 miles away? My road dog and favorite cousin, ArtistCalida.  

a joint birthday celebration for the garcia gyrls

Now, Calida and I have been like hotdogs and applesauce since the beginning. Our dads are brothers, and we were born only two days apart. We lived around the corner from each other our entire childhoods, left our homes in Wilmington, Del., to go to different HBCUs, and then regrouped like long-lost twins in New York City, where we lived together (and got robbed, but that’s another story).  

After spending our twenties living it up in NYC, Calida made her way to the West Coast, where she now has a family of her own. So when she showed up at my apartment in Brooklyn in June of 2008, I was surprised to see her. But then again, it made all the sense in the world. With my cancer run-in, our twin energy was off, and Lida had to come back to restore it.  

So, fast-forward to a new and healthier me (y’all get the blog updates), and now I get to cheer from the sidelines. Lida just finished her first children’s book, Same Difference, which is a beautifully illustrated story about black hair, diversity, and two precocious little cousins who act more like twins. Sounds awfully familiar.  

joint toilet time -- one of the book's illustrations

Same Difference, which was published last month, has already gotten glowing reviews by Essence, and my cuz is doing  readings and visiting classrooms in Los Angeles to talk about her work. The book is less about me (and another one of our cousins who got morphed into the same character) and more about celebrating the beauty of diversity. Either way, I’m glad to have been along for the journey and to see the story of our sweet-as-pie childhood come to life in vivid colors and detail.     

Most of all, though, I’m feeling pretty proud to have served as one-half of my cousin’s inspiration, especially since she has often been the source of mine — like the night I shed my cancer cocoon and emerged a Cancer Slayer.  

When I first opened my eyes post-surgery, Lida was at my bedside. And when my doctors forced me to get up and walk around the very same day, she held my robe closed so I wouldn’t moon the hospital visitors who passed us by.   

She made me laugh even though I had staples in my stomach and helped me sneak sips of water when the doctors told me I could only have ice chips.   

There’s nothing like having a cousin there to help you bend the rules. And that’s how it’s been since we were little enough to share the same toilet seat — which really did happen.   

a snapshot of my teal Tweets

Who knew a color could be so significant? This week, I found myself giving teal shout-outs on Facebook and updating my Twitter status with all sorts of teal references. I even got my nails painted “teal the cows come home” blue.

Never before has a singular shade figured this prominently in my life, but I guess that makes sense. Teal is the official ovarian cancer color, which really didn’t mean much to me until last year. My how things have changed. Now, it’s the holiest hue around.

This month, teal is especially important. September is Ovarian Cancer Awareness Month, a time when survivors and our advocates unite to educate people about the disease.

Recognizing the symptoms is undoubtedly the most important factor.  Ovarian cancer was once thought to be asymptomatic, but it turns out that most women experience bloating, pelvic or abdominal pain, difficulty eating, or feeling full quickly. The catch, though, is that by the time a woman recognizes the symptoms, the disease has likely spread or reached its later stages.

To date, there is no definitive screening test. And the five-year survival rate, a paltry 47 percent, has not changed much over the last 40 years. But if caught early, it increases to about 90 percent. Clearly, detection is critical. So is knowing your family history.

The Ovarian Cancer National Alliance, the Ovarian Cancer Research Fund, and the National Ovarian Cancer Coalition have been dedicated to getting the word out. More recently, L’Oreal launched its Color of Hope campaign to promote awareness.

My own calendar is filling up quickly with color-themed events. I’m kicking it off next week at the T.E.A.L. Walk in Brooklyn’s Prospect Park, and I’m proud to say that I’m walking as part of Team Slayer. Afterward, we’re all heading to my place for a round of tealtinis, my new favorite drink.