october is the “official” breast cancer awareness month. the month in which almost every product on the grocers’ shelves are emblazoned with that infamous, well loved (or well hated) pink ribbon. the month in which major corporations, ranging from auto manufacturers to cosmetic companies to food processing conglomerates come together, side by side, to fight the good fight, beat down the odds, change the odd, win with war, find the cure. the month in which every child in north america can dine on ribbon-shaped blue box dinner, every cook can feel good about herself buying (and using) her pink kitchenaid mixer, every business traveller can feel “aware” by flying one of too many airlines’ pretty pink “breast cancer awareness” planes (and in the case of delta be more proactive and buy a pink lemonade). the month in which absolutely anything for sale has a pink-ribboned version also for sale (always at a higher price) - and random “think pink” items appear everywhere from the big box stores to the chic boutiques (and with vague promises made to contribute proceed from the sale of said items to [insert foundation here - but usually the susan komen foundation, but we won’t talk about that]).

why?

is it because documented instances of breast cancer have risen to the point where they account for 1 in 7 diagnosis worldwide (and yes, that includes the populations of countries other than those on the target list).

is it because funds raised go to causes with track records of success?

or is it because pink is pretty - and everyone want to be pretty?

and why pink?

breast cancer is neither pink nor pretty - nor are the women afflicted with it prissy little lambs.

corporate amerika has taken the symbol of this deadful disease and turned it into a saleable commodity - and in the process added more coins its own already deep and inaccessible pockets not unlike scrooge in “a christmas carol”. and it did so at the expense of every woman, child and man that tries to do what (s)he feels is the humanly right thing to do: provide support so a cure can be found - and found quickly. buy buy buy. march march march. donate donate donate.

“Let’s not pinkwash proper discussion about this disease”

(the above is a url. click on it.)

we buy (even stupid little things that have no meaning whatsoever other than they don pink ribbons and look at us cutely). we march (2 days, 3 days - under the banner of an organisation that boasts only 10% of its overall revenue goes toward administrative costs..i guess they forgot their head honchos earn most of that 10% and the rest of the workforce is volunteer). we donate (by spending extra for that pink colour on that mixer, by giving over money to inanely named sub-charities, by buying a special edition of kraft dinner at $1.00 more a box because “that’s a dollar that goes toward research and finding a cure”).

so where’s the cure?

and why breast cancer?

and why pink?

sorry amerika, but thinking puke would be far more appropriate and honest.

the corporations are making money off of your honest efforts - and all you’re getting is dust-catching tchatchkes or funny shaped noodles.

the foundations are taking your money - and the money of your sponsors - and spending it in ways and means that don’t need to be made public.

the conglomerates are selling you incomplete information - and taking “x” but not giving the promised “y”.

there is no cure. only a promise as empty and useless as those ribbon-bearing tchatchkes or ribbon shaped noodles.

think puke, not pink. and after you’re through puking, start learning.

it’s been quite a few tiring, tiresome, annoying days. earlier today i decided not to fight it anyone, so i’ve sequestered myself on the wedge and have been reflecting, refracting and enjoying my time off my feet. nothing is so pressing that i have to walk today - so here i am watching the sun come through the trees and bad programs on the tv. not a bad way to spend some time. i should have done this earlier.

well there’s a lot to recap, but you know what? i might not tackle everything. in fact, i’m not going to tackle everything. i’ll just touch on those things that tick me off or make me smile. the rest can wait or go away. feel free to fill in any blanks your life might be missing because of this. put them in the comments section. i’ll be sure to publish them (but you know the rules, right ;-).

stand up to cancer

(1) keanu reeves: stoned, or just stupid?
(2) cheryl crow: (if i sit here and look somber someone will take me seriously…maybe).
(3) the however many actors/models who recounted stories of actual patients: why? why not just put the folks whose lives they recapped in front of the cameras? oh, yeah, they’re not beautiful - and everone knows cancer must be presented as pretty in order for people to pay attention to it.
(4) melissa etheridge: is that a wig or her real hair? if it’s a wig she got ripped off. (can you say “rat in a blender? if it’s her real hair she needs to start going to a salon with more talented hair engineers. say supercuts or fantastic sams. geez that was painful. (you know there’s something wrong when a woman who’s lost only random handfuls of hair looks better than a multi-millionnaire supported and heraleded by the second largest “disposable income” group in the us. i can see what that hair antic is going to do to the lesbian world. this is me picturing a bunch of overly-monied woman going to their ridiculously priced salons and getting “the melissa”. [shudder] thank the gods she didn’t wear j&j baby lotion pink clothes.)
(5) christina applegate: let’s give a huge shout-out for this woman. she did not get up there with the others, use her name and face and say “i’m christina applegate – and i have the brca gene (not that i even know what this is because i’m too pretty and famous for those things) so i had a double masectomy a few weeks ago. because someone told me to.” nope. she stood up there with the others and said “i am a jewish woman who has the brca gene – so i chose to have a double masectomy a few weeks ago to save my life. oh and my name is christina applegate.” her face said it all. way to go christina!
(6) lance armstrong: capitalist asswipe.
(7) brad garrett love the legs.
(8) divas of rock (or whatever the hell you go by): why?
(9) that mexican woman who stared into the camera the whole time some scientist or doctor guys were making their speal: your plastic surgeon screwed up.

well that’s it for now. there could very well be more later. presently, though, i’m going to learn how commercial tomato sauce is made. doesn’t that sound like fun?

when i first created this blog i created it with the premise of providing a sometimes humourous, sometimes raw, always real look into my life. well some things happened this weekend that, at this moment, are preventing me from sticking to that premise. i’m going to interrupt this blog one more time to address those things. then it’ll be back to the fun and games. onward we go.

now (and based on an article i read on saturday night)…

i have cancer. pick a stage or type - it doesn’t matter. anyway…i have cancer and am going through chemo. you and i are getting ready to go out to the store to buy whatever. it doesn’t matter. i’m tying my shoes. it takes me ten minutes to tie my shoes. it hurts to tie my shoes.

scenario 1: you think i’m overreacting and being lazy - and tell me to hurry up (and use that voice, that tone, to say those words).

i am not overreacting. i am not being lazy. it hurts. and i’m doing the best i can. it takes me ten minutes, so you’re just going to have to wait because your standing there telling me to hurry up in that voice, that tone of yours is only going to make what’s already a bad situation even worse. don’t tell me i’m overreacting or being lazy because i’m not. and don’t tell me it doesn’t hurt because it does.

scenario 2: you jump in. “here let me do this for you” - and fawn all over me - and smother me - then get your feelings hurt when i say “no” and push you away.

this is mine to deal with. if i want your help i’ll ask. right now what i need is to do it myself. and it hurts. and it takes ten minutes.

scenario #3: you do something to amuse yourself with while i tie my shoes.

scenario #4: you can’t wait so you go on without me.

two of the four scenarios above are appropriate responses. two are not.

my world today is not “normal” by your standards, but it is “normal” by mine. you know that microwave dinner that’s “7 minutes from freezer to plate”? it takes me a good hour to get the same microwave dinner from the freezer to the plate. i don’t move quickly these days. i move at a pace i’m happy with and comfortable with. it’s my new routine and your trying to alter this routine is only going to result in my disliking you - but more so, feeling horrible about myself because i can’t live up to your standards right now (and, probably, never will be able to again). and if i feel horrible about myself there’s no reason for me to continue this fight.

does this make sense?

cancer is not a team sport.

cancer is the patient dealing with what (s)he needs to deal with on her/his own terms. if the patient wants help (s)he will ask for it. but it is hers/his to deal with. be kind, be a friend, be supportive by letting the patient deal and feel good about her/himself. don’t take away her/his self esteem.

the day after my diagnosis the hospital’s head of occupational therapy dropped by for a visit. she was a young woman - early 30s maybe - and one hell of a blunt talker.

“you hear those people who say ‘i survived stage 4 cancer’? that’s bullshit. nobody ’survives’ stage 4 cancer. to ’survive’ means to be cured - and there is no cure for cancer that advanced. what there are, though, are ways and means for people with stage 4 cancer to get well and go on living life with a good quality of life. and do so for quite a long time.”

when she said those words to me i laughed out loud because of her honesty, her candor, and the pissed-off tone of her voice. she then went on to talk about those eternally teary-eyed women dressed head-to-toe in susan koman gear (”walking fucking billboards for the brand they’ve made that woman’s name into”) that the media likes to spotlight - but we won’t go there because it would surely offend most people because most won’t get the context.*

she also said this - and this is something you really need to pay attention to:

“yeah, those people who walk around saying ‘i survived cancer’ when what they did was survive living some part of life with someone who had cancer? liars. the only way someone survives cancer is to get cancer, get treated for it and survive it.”

does this make sense?

cancer is not a team sport.

of all the words i’ve read, all the word i’ve heard, though, i think what my friend mary wrote is the best. i’ve pulled this from the comments section of one of my posts:

“I guess the reason I keep reading your blog is that after all these YEARS I can finally read what I’ve been living! At times I think that I am a walking version of (insert name/relationship)’s worst nightmare. Thus when they see me they worship/despise, love/hate, admire/admonish me. The phrase that literally stabs my heart is the one, “we are going to BEAT this thing.” Well, boys and girls, what if I don’t, am I a failure?

“It is like having your entire house burn down to the ground. I don’t think people could imagine rebuilding the same house in the same spot and then resume normal living as if nothing had ever happened. No, being diagnosed with a “terminal”l illness (i.e. stage 4 cancer) leaves the past in ashes. I now have the chance to re-determine how/where/why I want to live. I’d appreciate all the love and support I can get, but this isn’t a team effort….WE can not BEAT this thing. WE, however, can continue to live each and every day, happy/sad, content/angry, giving/selfish….. But from this point on, I am a different person, living in a different house and enjoying a much different view of the world outside and inside me.”

i’d like to end this post with something appropriate, something profound, something that ties everything together into a neat little package and drives everything home. i don’t know what that something is, though. so, instead, i’ll end with this:

this is my disease. i’m comfortable with it. i accept it. i’m angry, sure, of course i am - but that anger is only going to help my fight. and i am fighting. but i need to fight in my own way. i am not you - and “normal” to me is not “normal” to you. don’t expect it to be. i have self-esteem. i need to keep that self-esteem up at a decently high level. i cannot be made to feel i’m letting you down by not living up to your expectations of what i should be right now. without that “fight”, without that self esteem, i’m dead today, not tomorrow - and i’m not ready yet.

do not love me to death.

and now, back to the fun and games.

*please don’t get me wrong. i have nothing but the greatest admiration and respect for susan koman. she was one excellent lady with a good heart - and i wish her nothing but the greatest possible in the next “this life”. what i have no respect for - disdain and hatred for, in fact - is how the media has taken her name and capitalised on it. and how corporations are using her name to pimp their shit. “a portion of the sale of this product goes to the susan koman cancer foundation.” sure. how much. a pink stand mixer? what portion of the sale of that $300+ product went to the foundation? or the pink blender? or the susan koman branded box of kraft dinner? christ you would think with all the pink crap that’s sold in this year alone there would have been enough donations made to the foundation to find ten cures for ten different types of cancer. have any cures been found? nope. why? because only a fucking penny of the sale of that kraft dinner went to the foundation. and only four cents from the sale of that blender went. and only $3 of the sale of that mixer went. as for the teary-eyed women clad head to toe in koman-wear…no comment. all i can say is if you’re so brand driven as to let your body be a billboard - and get in front of the camera dressed in that billboard - you won’t get my words anyway. so i’ll shut up now.

there is so much bullshit and nonsense crap about cancer out there it’s laughable. if i see one more site that talks about what i’m going through as though it’s some sort of G-d planned (more like g-ddamned) “journey” i’m gonna start breaking the dishes. if i see one more site that tells me my stage four inflammatory cancer can be cured - CURED - by (insert name of popular cancer diet du jour here) (my favourite is the claim of the raw food wackeroos who claim a raw diet can cure it - fucking asswipes should be rounded up and imprisoned for manslaughter and stupidity) i’m gonna hunt down (insert name of popular cancer diet du jour here) “disciples” and banish them to a gulag where they can’t do any more harm and force them to follow their crank crap - then watch them die off one by one. and if i see one more site that talks about how walking the labyrinth will center me and enable me to see myself well i’m going to arrange for each one of those bile-spillers to walk a labyrinth - for the rest of their pathetic lives.

this is crap.

all crap.

all “oh wow, look at the stars…they’re yours for the taking” crap.

all popular media driven “dr. sanjay gupta, brought to you by cnn and sponsored by ford” crap.

if you want to read, really read, about cancer, read the blogs of the men and women that write them in their own words and in their own voices and from their own hearts.

punk rock mommy was one of those women. she passed two weeks ago after putting up one hell of a battle and all the while retaining her role as mother to her wonderful children.

the waiting room’s blog is filled with articles and stories written by patients. each one of these is a reality check. some are happy. some not so much. but they’re all real, not rhetoric. special shout out to those who want to “love their cancer patient to death”, despite the patient’s wishes: read this.

which brings me right where i am right now. here. dishaliciously here.

the above-mentioned blog belongs to a woman names stephanie. stephanie has a form of cancer that’s heredity among women of ashkenazic jewish descent. but this is not why i look at stephanie and her blog(s) as a source of inspiration and/or a reality check. i look at her blogs as those things because she’s living, breathing, surviving proof that cancer can happen to anyone - and DOES. the thing i most admire about stephanie’s blog is her “in your face” yet very matter of fact attitude, her brazenness, her honesty with her readers but, most of all, her honesty with herself - and her mandate that those around her respect her choices. read through stephanie’s choice to get reconstructive surgery - and why she made the choice she did. look for the photo of her scars - and look at them. these are not the fairy-dusted “oh, look at me i have no breasts but i’m beautiful just the way i am” photos that so often appear in cancer-related, pin-ribbon encrusted web sites. these are “hey fuck that noise - this is my chest now and i don’t like it - and i want my titties back so i’m going to get them for me and nobody else” photos. so take a look at dishalicious and its prequel site cancer chic(k). and learn something.

cancer is raw.

it’s not a patient laying silently in a bed in a darkened room just wanting loved one to surround them and pity them and wipe their brows and tell them they’re loved - and waiting for death. that’s bullshit.

cancer is the biggest SHTF situation any person could be put through. and the person that goes through it has to do it her way and on her terms. so stop reading the bullshit web sites you’re being fed by the media, do a little research, read “what’s real” and open your ears.