A New Tradition!

Grab ‘em if you got ‘em–oh wait.

Pinktober is coming and I suspect that I will be getting super cranky around this time every year.  Yay, tradition!!

So, yeah…Pinktober.  Let’s play a game.  The first person to send me an email asking me to change my status to my bra color will get poked with a stick.  A VERY LARGE STICK.  It’s a prize befitting the winner of that particular game, I think.  Do a stupid, thoughtless thing–get hit with a stick.

Whaaat?   sigh.  Okay, okay.  We’ll be non-violent about it.  Public shaming and a good long Shunning.  Less violent, but hopefully just as effective.

So, I jest…and yet, I mean it.  Don’t you DARE ask me to play a flirty little game that’s supposed to be about cancer, but is actually about titillating the opposite sex.  Don’t send me your memes about ‘raising awareness’ by playing coy sexually oriented games.  Flirt with the boys on your own time.  I’m aware of cancer.  Trust me.  I’ve ridden that particular ride at the fair and believe me when I say there was nothing sexy or flirty about it.  If I ever forget about cancer, all I have to do is look down at the tangled mess of scar tissue running across what is left of my breasts.  I don’t want to hear ‘save the boobies!’.  We need to save the people.  We don’t need more awareness.  We need more action.  We need more money FOR RESEARCH, not for ‘promoting awareness’ or ‘rebranding your tarnished image’.  (Oh, Komen, how can you bite me? Let me count the ways.)

So. Pinktober is coming and we can’t stop it, but, I reckon we can talk about it.  Buying a pink spatula and feeling fabulous about yourself because you’re ‘helping the cause’  by promoting awareness is…well, it’s lame. (not that a pink spatula is lame, because a pink spatula is faaabulous–it’s the ‘cancer awareness’ angle that kind of sucks)  We’re aware–I mean, do you know ANYONE who doesn’t know about cancer?  Do you?  We. Are. Aware.  What we need is a goddamn cure.  (It’s kind of amazing how quickly I’ve become extremely cranky about this subject.  I used to be so mellow.)  ;) ( L’empress mentioned in the comments below that prevention is even more important–she is correct.)

Put down the tissues with the pretty pink ribbons emblazoned on them and do something that matters. If you want to celebrate Pinktober, then give some money to Breast Cancer Action or sign up to participate in one of the many Army of Women‘s studies.

Lest I end on a cranky note–how about another give-away?  The publishers of “The Breast Cancer Survival Manual” and they’re willing to send a free copy to one of my readers.  So, comment below (you don’t have to do anything beyond that, I won’t make you jump through hoops) and I’ll draw a winner next Friday (Sept 28) at 8:00AM (GMT).

Sorry for not getting this posted sooner–many things happening in my life at the moment.

We have a winner!  Congrats to Cindy Beth, who was lucky #3:

Newlywed.

I am totally married now!  It’s remarkably like being single at the moment, because two days after the wedding, I said goodbye to my husband at the airport and he’s back in England and I’m still  here in the states.  We have a new countdown now–the countdown until my Visa is approved and I get to join him.  Sadly, we have no idea what the countdown actually IS–we’re hoping for a few weeks, but it can take as long as 90 days.  gah.

The wedding was a blur–there were so many amazing and wonderful people there with us, and I feel like I didn’t get the time to really sit and connect and tell them what it meant to me that they came.  I think that’s the du jour for wedding couples, though.  We realized fairly early on that our actual wedding was only about 25% about us–it’s mostly about other people.  The people who love you, the people you love.  And, we were surrounded by them that day.  The only thing missing was my own mother and youngest sister.  Mom has been having some health issues, and couldn’t travel, so my youngest sister stayed behind to keep her company.  Had they been there, the day would have been completely perfect.  But, even so, it was pretty magical.

I’m sure you guys are all “WHATEVER WHERE ARE THE PICTURES??”, and I shall not disappoint.  We were the most well documented wedding in the history of ever–between my photographer friends, and the two amazing men who were the official photographers (Steven Miljavac of Prime Exposure Photography and Victor Koos of  VK3Photographix, I don’t think a single moment was missed.  Which is a good thing, because if anyone asked for a play by play of the day, I’d be pretty useless.  It was a blur of wonderful things and people.  (Yeah, yeah–y’all don’t care about my rambling–how about I just hush up and share some pictures and video?)

Our video is choppy–the camera kept cutting off–but, I thought I’d share my favorite moment:  Mark and his girls walking out:

And, Aaron (and Pip!) walking me out:

Pictures?  You want pictures?  They’re all over Facebook, it’s ridiculous–but you can view the official albums here and here.

And, now I’m going to go back to waiting for my Visa to come through.

*drummy fingers*

Aw, y’all knew I leaned to the left.

I find it amazing and kind of sad that a great many people who are freaking out over the affordable health care act are people who will benefit from it.   As many of you know, I have had the dubious “privilege” of (“paying over 1/2 of my monthly income for”) COBRA.  I have had a catastrophic illness that devastated me financially–because when 1/2 your income goes to COBRA, and the other half is covering your mortgage and food–how do you cover a $1200 co-pay for a SHOT–a shot that you  have to have every other Friday for 6 weeks, no less?  (and I will be paying for it for a very long time to come)  And, here I sit now–COBRA has run out, and I’m a risky bet at best for other insurance companies, and my employer is a new company and cannot offer insurance yet (we don’t have enough employees), so what’s a cancerchick with no insurance to do when her tamoxifen prescription is about to run out and she’s due at her oncologist for her next PET scan?  I honestly do not know.  (Although, in my case, I’m moving to England.  Buh, bye.) (ETA: although, I’m not moving for the health care–I’m moving for M.  I should have made that clear.  hahaha!)

I was reading an excellent article this morning regarding the GOP’s lack of a contingency plan in the event that the SCOTUS should overturn the ACA this week and the author linked a couple of stories that hit home for me–Eric Richter, whose wife sewed him special pants to accommodate the large (cancerous) tumor growing in his leg, Wendy Parris, who walked around with a shattered ankle for a few years.   I realize there are many people out there who think Eric and Wendy probably deserve what happened to them (HI, HEARTLESS DOUCHEBAGS!!  May you NEVER know what it is to feel hopeless and alone.  It’s not fun.), but you know…I’m going to step out on a political limb and say does it matter?  My plant closed at the very same time I was diagnosed with breast cancer.  I had a good job, but I didn’t have thousands of dollars tucked away ‘just in case’.  I’m thinking not many of us actually do.  I’m thinking the majority of us are only a paycheck or two away from financial pain.  And a prolonged illness is financially devastating.  I know because I have been there.

At what point do we step in?  At what point do we realize that we are a village–we are a society and that we all have a responsibility to help our brothers and sisters?  I’m not saying we should make sure every household has its own Xbox or that we should all get to wear designer clothes, but I am of the mind that access to affordable health care–the right to,  you know BE ALIVE, is something that we should all have.   But, pre-existing conditions are a very scary thing to our country’s poor, frightened insurance conglomerates.   I get Wendy and Eric’s situation–I understand it–because I’m in it, as well.  The ACA will help save lives.  And, the alternative could be devastating.

I have a facebook feed full of taunts and jeers with regards to our current administration.  They want to know how the ‘hope and change’ bit is working for me.  (oh hey, btw–it’s worked pretty well–when Republicans aren’t acting like a group of petulant schoolchildren, at least)  They call me names, they say I’m stupid.  These are the hypocrites who nearly always demanded that even if we didn’t agree with Bush, we should ‘respect the office of the Presidency”, but will not afford the current administration the same.  These are people who also like to post inane pictures professing their great love of Jesus–and the passive aggressive–’hey, if you love him, you better post this picture as well, but you probably DON’T LOVE JESUS, so most of you won’t”.  (and we all know how I feel about passive aggressive facebook posts.)   Hey, guess what?   Jesus would NOT approve of you clapping at the thought of someone dying because they don’t have health insurance.  I don’t recall Jesus ever once pulling out a whip and tossing any good Samaritans out of the temple.  Jesus was not a capitalist.   I am rarely judgmental when it comes to religion, but–hey.  Take a close look at your life.  If you’re spewing “every man for himself” in the same breath as “I’m a proud Christian!”, THEN YOU ARE DOING IT WRONG.

Bridezilla With a Touch of Steinbeck

Hello world!  I’ve been off again, doing real-life things and ignoring all things c-related, but I have a super excellent excuse this time:  I’m getting married!!!  In July!!  aaaahhiiiiieeeeeee!!!  So, there’s no cancer stuff below–just girly squeeing and complaining about how expensive porta john rentals are these days.

I want to pet it and squeeze it and hug it and name it George!!

Let’s begin with the girly squeeing.  I love my ring.  I LOVE IT!  It’s unexpected and it’s unique and it’s beee-you-tiful, I tell you!  Wait, I won’t tell you–I’ll show you:    Look to your right!  No, your other right!  There you go.  Right there.   Isn’t it pretty?  Don’t you love it?  Yes!  Yes, you do.

So, as you may have guessed, I am very emotional at this time in my life.  VERY EMOTIONAL.  The word ‘bridezilla’ has been bandied about with my name (jokingly, thank goodness), but you know, it got me to thinking…WeTV has more or less ruined having the occasional (and I think very normal) bouts of The Dramas that we get when something huge is happening in our lives–like, oh…a wedding.

I’ve always maintained that the Bridezilla television show would be so much more satisfying if the horrible women who star in it got left at the alter.  I mean, I’d WATCH that show, because I love a good comeuppance.  Sadly, they do not get left, and those of us who like to see karma coming around to kick people in the shins when they deserve it are left unsatisfied.  I don’t get the women who say “I’M A BRIIIIDEZILLLA!” with such obvious glee and pride.  Are there women to aspire to be that horrendous to the people around them?  Am I supposed to be demanding and crazed and unreasonable–am I doing the bride thing incorrectly if I’m not?  There’s even a quiz on the main page of their site–I guess I need an online quiz to ascertain the level of bridal douchebaggery that lurks deep within my soul.

Aw, we’re happy.

That said, I AM in a high state of nervousness–who wouldn’t be?  But, thus far, I haven’t taken it out on any poor unsuspecting souls who cross my path.  I’m not so much a Bridezilla as I am a Lenny.  I cannot do ANYTHING.  I’m forgetful, I’m slow, I’m incapable of focusing on anything remotely difficult or intricate. I break things without meaning to.  I’m sitting around with a dopey grin on my face most of the time and not getting ANYTHING done.   Seriously, M put a ring on my hand, and I think my IQ dropped 20 points.

I may have to revisit this post in 3 weeks and see if I still feel all dopamined up and lumberingly happy.  Who knows?  My inner Bridezilla may be waiting in the wings to pounce on the first poor, unsuspecting soul who brings me red gerbera daisies with slightly browned edges.  Or, I’ll break into a stream of unbridelike expletives the next time I’m told I have to rent a porta-john for FOUR days when I actually only need it for one day.   I mean, seriously.  Four days?  Also, stop telling me I need at least 3 of them.   It’s a wedding, not Coachella.

Fancy outhouses notwithstanding, at the end of the day, I’ve decided that if M and I walk away from this shindig as a fully fledged married couple, then it’s been a success.   I could not be happier with my choice of partner.  He’s some kind of wonderful, that boy.

Hey, let’s review a book!

I am a horrible person, y’all!  I was sent a copy of this adorable little book to review over 3 weeks ago, and I got all caught up in vacation stuff and STILL have not written anything about it.  But, I’m on it, now–let’s discuss “Mirror Makeovers: Surviving Cancer and Baldness with Humor”.

We all deal with cancer differently, but I think there are common threads among all of us–it was one of the things that struck me back in the beginning of my diagnosis.  Feeling alone, feeling angry, feeling depressed…all completely normal, and we’ve all been there–trust me.  We all struggle to get through that until we can find some semblance of what is our new ‘normal’.  Some women find their peace through activism, some women find it through mediation, and some women find it through humor.  Regina E. Savage found hers through humor–and she decided to create a book about it.

In many ways, this reminds me of the Klutz books I used to buy for my son (well, okay–I still buy Klutz books for myself, but I am a sucker for interactive books–especially the educational kind).  It’s funny and it’s whimsical (y’all know I love me some whimsy) and it’s interactive.  There are a few hilarious little anecdotes about being bald, but, for me the star of the book (besides Regina herself) is the clear plastic pouch containing window chalk markers (she has an entire section devoted to drawing ‘hairstyles’ on your mirror–it’s super-cute).  If I were not about to give this book to one of you, I would so be using those markers to write all over the mirrors in my house.  I have no need of hair at this point (oh my GOD, it’s everywhere–oh Dear Frantic Googler–it grows back, trust me.  <3), but how fun would it be to write yourself little love notes on all of the mirrors in your house?  You may not look like YOU at the moment, but you are there, darling.  You’re there, and you’re fabulous and don’t you dare forget it.

This book is available through Quiet Angel Publishing (and on Amazon–but, I like the Quiet Angel link best, because you can choose a charity and they’ll donate $5 when you buy a copy) and I’d totally suggest it as a gift for someone you know is struggling a bit to find their smile.

In the spirit of passing it on–I’d like to pass this little gem on to someone else.  Leave a comment below, and I’ll toss everyone’s name into a hat and send it to the winner.  I won’t make you jump through any hoops or be extra witty or like my facebook page–just leave a comment.  I’ll draw the winning name next Friday (4/27).

So say, hi!  I don’t bite.  (hard)

Congrats to jelebelle! I will be sending some bookish goodness your way this weekend!!

Jelebelle! My 3rd comment.

Helvellyn

I knew when I got my port-a-cath removed last August that I wanted to do something special with it–I just wasn’t sure what.  I had loads of suggestions, but it wasn’t until M suggested we hike our way up Helvellyn over the Easter holiday that the plan coalesced in my head.  I would climb Helvellyn and bury my port at the summit.

Mind you, I’ve never actually climbed a mountain before, so let’s all imagine my shock (and awe) at how incredibly difficult this climb was for me.  Difficult–and completely terrifying–and oh hey, can you SEE the metaphor forming?  I mean, seriously, I had a little metaphor-shaped cloud hanging over me from around the 400 meter mark and beyond.  I mean, seriously.  Incredibly difficult on a physical level?  Check.  Painful?  Check.  Mortal fear?  Check.  Icy cold wind making my face numb?  Well, okay.  That bit was new.  ;)

We hiked, we climbed–and once or twice, I scooted on my butt because I couldn’t figure out any other way to get from one rock to another–but, we made it to the summit, and I buried my port inside a cairn just north of the summit marker.

There are cairns all over Helvellyn.  All the way up and back down again.  It’s tradition for climbers to toss another rock on the cairns as they go by.   I think it’s a way of saying “I was here.”

It may come back.  It may be the thing that gets me in the end.  That is the reality we all live with.  But, now–here and now–I feel stronger and less afraid than ever.

I was here.

Me. Sitting on the cairn that now encases my chemo port. If you're ever at the summit--toss a rock on and think of me, will you?

There are more shots on my Facebook page, if you want a peek.

Mythology and the Reality of Me

If I had a nickel for every instance in which someone said “You’re so brave” immediately after finding out I had cancer,  I’d have all my medical bills paid for.  Well, that’s not true.  I’d need at least $500 for every instance of it in order to pay for all of them.  (and, hey, if anyone wants to get on that, please–be my guest.) It’s a nice sentiment, but if you just met me…how would you know?  I mean, really.

The truth is that I probably spend way more time being completely terrified of everything than the average person does.  You get a blemish on your body?  You just Clearasil that sucker and move on.  I get a blemish?  I google skin cancer and then spent about an hour hyperventilating into a bag.    (Maybe one day, I’ll have M guest blog and he can tell you how many google-ledges from which he has talked me down.)   Just the simple act of having cancer doesn’t make one brave–believe me, I wish it did.

It doesn’t make us automatically noble, either.  I’ve done plenty of bad things in my life.  I’ve done things I’m not proud of–and I’ve done them since my diagnosis.  I’m human, I screw up. And, cancer is no respecter of morals or actions.  It doesn’t only happen to good people.  (if it did only happen to the good and noble, we’d all be kicking puppies and stealing candy from babies left and right, wouldn’t we?)  mmm…candy.  Wow.  It may well be a good thing there are no babies around me right now, because I could TOTALLY go for a Snickers.  ;)

So, cancer doesn’t make us angels on pedestals. We’re just…people.  We are capable of amazing acts of bravery, and we can be shockingly selfish.  The thing is, we’re doing all of this while being repeatedly hit with the shitstick, (see?  THIS BLOG CONTAINS SWEARS!!  But, if I called cancer the daisystick, it just wouldn’t sound quite right–nor would it be accurate, would it?), so I think those heroic acts are exacerbated and the selfish stuff gets a pass.  (hey, as it should–cause..hellooo, when life is hitting you with a shitstick, it’s very difficult to get around.)

There are so many myths about cancer out there.  I think that’s the double-edged sword that we have with the internet.  There is so much information out there–so much of it is helpful and informative, and so much of that information comes in the form of..well, for lack of a better term..bullshit.   How do you know if what you’re getting is real or fake?  Well, if you are getting your science and health information from conservapedia (no links–if you really want to check out some delusional stuff, then feel free to google it.), then you are not nearly as informed as you think you are.   Cancer.org is a good place to start looking, as is Breast Cancer Action.  What other sites do you use for information?  Feel free to leave a link.  :)

Where was I going with this? Well…None of us are any more or less entitled to treatment than others based on our personalities, our religious beliefs, our political standing.  Very few of us want your pity.  Occasionally, we need your help (and a Cherry Limeade from Sonic wouldn’t hurt–I’M JUST SAYIN’).  Always, we need respect, clear and correct information, and a place to let our voice be heard.

The Good Stuff.

I feel like this blog should come with some kind of warning or disclaimer:  ”Contains swears and long periods of inactivity”.  That way, people will know to avert their eyes and not get too attached to daily updates.

This reminds me of those slips that came with school pictures--I remember cutting them apart and dutifully writing my name and grade on the back of each picture.

We can start with the silly stuff and get that out of the way–

Hair update:  311 days after the end of chemo.  Still curly and making me mad with frustration.  And, thick!   Mylanta, my hair is thick!  Will this happen to you, Dear Frantic Googler?  I do not know.  Everyone is different (expect for that whole “it’ll come back curly!” thing, apparently) and your hair may grow back slower or faster.  But, this is me.  And yes.  I still haaate it.  :)

Health update:  I haven’t been to a doctor since December!  Considering it was once a week for so long, I have to say it’s a little weird, but mostly just really, really normal.  I like normal.  It’s coming back in slow ebbs.  My right breast/armpit area–still tender.  And, the spots that are not tender are completely numb.  There’s all kinds of action happening on my right side.  And, of course–me, being me–all this tenderness is TOTALLYCANCERAGAIN.  I know it’s not (probably).   I suspect that a part of me will always be waiting for the other shoe to drop.  Every new ache, every new pain that I cannot immediately trace to a specific incident panics me a little.  I hate admitting that, but I do try to be honest about this stuff.  (although, honesty about my feelings has never really been an issue for me–the big issue is the way I avoid those feelings, which is part of the reason I haven’t updated for over a month.)

I am taking my Tamoxifen every day, and between my body finally starting to adjust and the daily Effexor, the hot flashes are FINALLY starting to go away.  I still have them occasionally, but I’ve gone an entire day without one.  I still have a bit of lethargy, which is frustrating.    I’m back to counting calories and working out every day, and it’s still a bit of a struggle–but, I’ll get back where I want to be.

So.  Let’s talk about my avoidance of the cancerworld.   Last month, we lost Rachel of  The Cancer Culture Chronicles.  I’d just started getting to know Rachel back in December, and seriously, she was just amazing.  I’ve been  thinking about her a lot this last month, although I haven’t been around to talk about it.  Because…here is the thing:  This community, this pack of amazing women that I’ve come to know and admire these past few years–we are endangered.   You meet all of these amazing women, and you just fall in love with them through their words, and that instant bond you have because you’ve both been dealt a heavy dose from the shitstick, but some of them have been hit not just once, but several times, and then, someone will lose the battle.  And, it’s…it’s this shock, this reminder that all the feel-good propaganda and kumbayah-laden events do not mean a thing.  Cancer kills people and it will not be eradicated by gossamer pink ribbons and boas.  (not that I don’t enjoy a feathery pink boa, because Lord KNOWS I love that girly crap, people)  So, yeah–I’ve spent the last month sad and scared and avoiding this place and all those amazing women because it hurts when you lose them.  Then, I remembered something really important–that’s no way to live.

So, hi world.  I’m back.   And, I’ll be working through this avoidance issue of mine.  Because if you avoid the bad stuff, you wind up missing a lot of the good stuff that surrounds it.  And, I want to fill my life up with good stuff.

x

The Bubble Gum Struggle

I was writing this post earlier this morning, and planning to finish it some time today–but, I’m going to go ahead and hit ‘publish’.  As many of you already know–Komen has ‘amended‘ their policy.  So, you know…victory!  Victory that still has a tinge and a taste of something very, very bitter.  (I said on my friend Carrie’s wall today that I kind of wish Planned Parenthood was in a position to be all “Yeah, we don’t need you.  TTFN!” Sadly, that’s not realistic.  But, it would be really really cool.)  So, Komen hasn’t reversed their decision, but they have amended it.  I think this will bear watching closely over the coming months, because I suspect they will try this again…but in a less public manner the next time.

My favorite part of  the statement released by Komen is below:

It is our hope and we believe it is time for everyone involved to pause, slow down and reflect on how grants can most effectively and directly be administered without controversies that hurt the cause of women.  We urge everyone who has participated in this conversation across the country over the last few days to help us move past this issue.   [Komen]

You know what that translates to?

Please stop being mean to us now.

You know, if there is a demographic of people that you do NOT want to piss off, it is the cancer survivor/fighter demographic.  We have already had enough bullshit rain down on our heads, thankyouverymuch.  If you try to rain more, we will kick you to the curb and we will not be delicate about it.  And, I suspect that many of us will not be won back.  I will never give Komen my trust–or my money–again.  I’ve seen what they’re hiding under their expensive pink skirt, and those knickers are NOT pretty.

Before, I go on, I saw this amazing video today on youtube and you need to go watch it RIGHT NOW before you read another word I’ve written here, because she says something relevant to what I’m about to say.  (Also, it’s brilliant and powerful.)  Go.  Go!  I’ll wait.

Now, grab a tissue and wipe your eyes (because your mascara is running everywhere) and we’ll get back to my blog post.

“Breast cancer is not a pink ribbon.”

This is not Komen pink--this is Wendy Pink.

Maaaan.  There’s my dilemma!  Because Komen co-opted one of my favorite colors, ever.

I like pink.  I have always liked pink. I also like P!nk–but this isn’t about the kind of music I listen to when my Spotify playlist is on private.  (Don’t judge me!!)  But, the thing is–once you’re diagnosed with breast cancer, you are surrounded in pink.  You are swathed in cotton-candy flavored spiderwebs of pink from head to toe.  And, suddenly that cute pink ipod you bought two years ago becomes a symbol of your “fight”.  Which, kind of sucks, because you’re all “dude, I just thought it was pretty.”.  It seems like I am constantly explaining the pink in my life.   Breast cancer has been wrapped up in a pretty, pretty pink bow and now I feel like a walking cliche when I put on my favorite sweater (it’s pink) or the gorgeous charm bracelet that M gave me (pink beads–given before my diagnosis.  Why?  BECAUSE I LIKE PINK!  gah!).  And, now with all the Komen hoopla over the past few days, I’m really feeling the irony.

My scars are pink and they swirl around my chest and under my arms  like angry little ribbons, so okay, maybe a little bit of my pink is cancer-related.  But, that’s the only pink that cancer gave me.  The rest of the pink is here by choice.  And, while I will never purchase a bucket of KFC chicken with a pink Komen ribbon on it, I’m not going to let Komen co-opt my love of cute girly things. It’ll take some finagling, because the amount of pink things that Komen HASN’T slapped their brand on is indeed a small one, but I’m a resourceful girl. And, I’m not giving up my pink wig.  Cause it’s super cute.

Donate:  Breast Cancer Action / Planned Parenthood

The Break-Up

I rarely research stuff over here.   I mean, I’m not a professional journalist, or a professional blogger.  I suppose I may qualify as a professional cancer-haver, but I’d rather not have that moniker, so let’s just sit back and marvel at the fact that the recent decision for for the Susan G. Komen foundation to withdraw funding for breast cancer screenings at Planned Parenthood has actually gotten me angry enough to do a little digging.

So.  Hey.  Dear Susan G. Komen.  We need to break up.  It’s not me, it’s you.  It’s you and your endless merchandising of the disease that kills thousands of people every year.  It’s your litigious nature.   It’s the constant, uneasy feeling I get when I start reading about where the millions of dollars you make actually go.  It’s withdrawing your funding from Planned Parenthood–it can be spun any way you like, but the truth is out there if someone wants to dig.

When I was diagnosed with cancer, my doctor did not ask me what my political or religious beliefs were before he broke the news.  Cancer does not care if you are a Democrat or a Republican.  Cancer does not care if you are pro-life or pro-choice.  Cancer.does.not.care.   This latest move is disgusting and transparent, because clearly the Susan G. Komen foundation does care what side of the fence you’re on.  (I just ended a sentence with a preposition–damn, you Komen!  I blame you for that, as well. )

Planned Parenthood is responsible for making sure women of all economic levels have access to screenings and referrals, but women who have health care aren’t going to be the ones who use PP–it’s the women who don’t have health care.  Those are the women I’m thinking about the most tonight.

I lost my job and was diagnosed with breast cancer at the same time–no, really.  I missed the big plant meeting when the Veeps came down to tell the plant that it was closing, because I was at my gynecologist’s office getting my lump checked out.  I was lucky–well, I use that term loosely–I lost my job, but I managed to pick up COBRA.  Not everyone is that lucky.  Do you know how hard it is to have your income go away and have your bills go UP by another $450 a month?  Yeah.  I’m pretty sure some of you actually do.   :/

So, I’m breaking up with you, Komen.  And, the saddest bit is that I kind of think you won’t mind.  I’m not in the demographic that you deem worthy of helping.

Alternatives to Komen for donations?  Breast Cancer Action.  And, of course, Planned Parenthood could also use a hand.  Or, hell–find someone going through treatment and use the $20 you were planning to give Komen to buy them something nice.  Or just give them the $20.  Trust me.  Lasagna is nice, but cash pays the utility bills.  :)