I read in a recent post on Gayle Sulik’s Pink Ribbon Blues blog called The She-ro, about the problems with this idealized breast cancer she-ro stereotype, that Cate Blanchett will play the title role in HBO’s “Cancer Vixen”. I’m surprised, I’m usually clued in to entertainment/movie stories. But no matter.
I have not read this “Cancer Vixen”, and it looks horrible, from the way Sulik describes it. Sounds like everything I’ve ranted about in this repugnant warrior/cancer patient culture. And of course, because Hollywood wants to make a buck, and because viewers will buy into this crap, the film WILL be made.
I know it is wrong to criticize a film or show without watching it, or a book without reading it, but sorry, this looks like it will make me sick. I used to be a better person, I used have more patience, I would “give it a try”, and watch anything, read anything. No more with such wastes of time (cough, cough, “Twilight” series, cough cough). Why waste my precious resources and allow myself to get annoyed watching or reading something I can tell from a mile away is just going to make me nuts?
We do not need another example of this idealized version of how to “do” cancer as a woman, especially a woman with breast cancer. It is shoved down our throats endlessly. When is it ever going to be OK to not emerge from cancer as some super woman, having some major personal transformation that makes the woman better, when is going to be OK to go to infusion in yoga pants and athletic shoes rather than 5” heels and a pink feather boa in some hyped up vision of female power? The answer is never. Women are expected to “bear these things” with a smile, a positive attitude, and maybe a little sass to make it seem modern. But the strong woman labeling of it is just a lie; woman are supposed to act like they’ve always been expected to act: without complaint.
Will someone make a movie about a Cancer Curmudgeon? Oh yeah, a movie about an un-pretty, forty-something, foul-mouthed, rough around the edges, single woman typing away on a laptop (hitting those keys hard), not spewing rainbows or providing uplifting anecdotes won’t make anyone happy. I’d like to say there’s no money in being grumpy, but then, there’s Grumpy Cat, I guess with animals it’s OK. Like I heard on a TV show rerun recently: “no one likes an angry woman.”
Queen Elizabeth (twice), Katharine Hepburn, Veronica Guerin, and of course, Galadriel from “The Lord of the Rings”, are some of Cate Blanchett’s best “strong woman” roles, and are some of the reasons I’ve long admired her. I wish she were not doing this particular “strong woman”. Best that I do not watch this film when it is finished. I’ll wait for her next project instead.
A/N –This is the final part of my tattoo-instead-of-reconstruction story, click links for first parts. I’ve been lazy about finishing it, and now I realize I did not have the clear focus to say what needed to be said. I just got that focus.
The band’s logo, the idea behind the tattoo design
I’ve renamed the page that contains pictures of my non-reconstructed breast after lumpectomy and after tattooing to make a very important point: The Right Choice For Me – No Reconstruction. Let me, the Cancer Curmudgeon, state for the record, unequivocally, in the event I’ve not made it clear enough, that yes indeed, this is a very personal choice, and mine was perfect for me. I love my Red Hot Chili Peppers band logo tattoo. My tattoo in lieu of replaced nipple looks fabulous in and out of clothes.I’m very happy about my choice. I made the right choice for myself and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
This is not a comment in any way on others who’ve elected to reconstruct. I simply want to reaffirm that my choice is right for me, and it might be for others as well. The point of all this is to reiterate, as I and many others have said before, there is no one right way to do cancer.
What brought this on? Commenting on HuffPo, of course. When will I get it through my thick head to avoid that site at all costs, even when other bloggers I like post links to it?
A few days ago I read some HuffPo blogger’s essay describing in detail her reconstruction. That’s great, there are a lot of these stories of mastectomy, expanders, reconstruction and etc. on blogs I follow. Hell, nearly all the comments on the essay itself included additional personal mastectomy stories. But stories of non-reconstruction seem a bit less prevalent, and therefore I’ve had to work harder to find them. I mean, sure, there is P.Ink on Pinterest, but that is pictures, mostly, the stories behind are not there (or they were not before, keep reading).
So in the comments, I said:
“I wish more shared their decision to NOT reconstruct, as I have done.”
I thought this statement expressed a simple wish, not a lament that I’d regretted my decision. Here is a response to my comment:
“Why? I can’t imagine not wanting to look good in your clothes and feel good about yourself. It’s also a very personal choice.
I lost one to cancer and one for preventative measures. I am very happy with my reconstruction. Originally I did not intend to have my breasts replaced but after talking to women who had done it, I changed my mind. Like the writer said, the physical impact is minimal, it’s a fairly minor surgery. And the mental consequences are only what you make them. I chose to accept it as over and done with. Every woman should aim for that attitude. It’s just not that big of a deal.”
(My response to her is a condensed version of this post.)
Where did I say in that one sentence that I thought I did not look good or feel good? Where did I criticize anyone’s choice to get reconstruction, just because I’m curious about different stories? Why did this woman assume that any woman who opts out of reconstruction looks and feels bad, and that this bad feeling was the motivation behind my comment? The third sentence, in which she acknowledges that it is a personal choice, does not make up for the judgmental tone of the previous. To me, in my irritated state, it implies that the ONLY presumed way a woman can look and feel good about herself is to have replacements. It negates her following statements about mental consequence and attitude, which again, assumes that any woman who elects to not reconstruct must not be happy—like I’m just sitting here, crying over my scar, because that is the mental consequence I’ve chosen. Again, read the links above to understand fully the path to my decision.
Granted I might be a tad unfair here, she does not know me or my blog, or the story I’ve documented on my blog. But, again, that’s just it—she doesn’t know “me”; it was just a comment from another reader, one she has no knowledge of. I’m stupefied that anyone would just automatically assume some random reader (in this instance, me) made this comment out of being unhappy with the choice, would NOT have done something totally different—like get a tattoo—and do it on purpose and LIKE IT, and not consider many other women might also have made unconventional choices and were happy about them. Seems there is a whole world of cancer patients out here that refuse to fit into any a narrow world view. I happen to be one of them, and I’m blabbing my story.
Of course, her opening shot of “Why?” says it all. Not only does she not think anyone could be happy doing anything other than reconstruction, she doesn’t think those who’ve opted out should even speak up. “Why” she asks, as if we do not even deserve a voice, especially since she assumes that voice to be only whining about our “wrong” choice.
I HATE breast cancer, that I had it, and that it damaged my breasts, anyone’s breasts. The pink ribbon’s “tyranny of cheerfulness” (Samantha King, “Pink Ribbons, Inc.” film) demands women conceal the sadness that can accompany loss of breasts falsely presents breast cancer as a party, whose attendees are warriors who never falter. I especially hate this notion that women who have mastectomies “just get new ones”, a comment I’ve seen/heard mastectomy patients REALLY condemn. I hate the save the ta-tas culture that blithely dismisses the lives in need of saving with that slogan, and that to save those lives ta-tas usually need to be lost, making the slogan a total lie. Indicating the loss is “no big deal”, to me, is incredibly dismissive of those of us who’ve really struggled and mourned our breasts, and by reading numerous other bloggers’ stories of mastectomy and reconstruction, sounds like many women I admire mourned their breast loss, and have written about it quite well. See Nancy’s Point and Chemo-brain, just for starters.
Another thing to consider in the story of how everyone does cancer: some folks have better emotional support and tools. Or some of us know the best way to deal with anger, sadness, and negative emotions is to let them out, not submerge them. And some folks have some incredibly tough personal situations in addition to cancer which can make the experiences much more difficult—it isn’t like every other problem in life ceases during cancer. If anyone is lucky enough to have a no big deal kind of cancer experience, great; now, stop lecturing everyone else. Stop telling others what kind of attitude is appropriate, because some of us choose to point out the dark side of breast cancer because we want to help the patients coming up behind us, rather than just glibly telling others to improve the attitude. And certainly stop assuming knowledge of others’ extenuating circumstances beyond cancer—it greatly influences the cancer experience—it is no one else’s right to determine for others what is or is not a big deal.
The completed tattoo, same day
I may hate what cancer did to my breasts, and I once mourned the damage, but I love what I did to reclaim them, to own my scars and to own my experience, to make my cancer experience absolutely Cancer Curmudgeon-y. My scar and the fact I had cancer are a part of me now. Just like the time I got hit in the face with a clothes hanger, leaving a dent at the top of my nose. Just like the time I dropped a very large, heavy piece of glass on my foot which has left my left toenail forever screwed up. All of this is a part of me. So I took the breast surgery scar and used it as a backdrop, a canvas, if you will, that reveals even more important aspects of me than my cancer status— which is a lifelong love of GREAT music. For a year I avoided looking at my body, my scar, I just hated it so much. Now, I catch sight of my scar, I smirk, and laugh at the anti-reconstruction rebel in me, the late bloomer/formerly-uptight-woman-worried-about-how-a-tattoo-would-look-at-40 me who finally got a 90s tattoo, two decades later. I think about RHCP bassist Flea, one of the greatest, or maybe THE greatest, bass player of the rock era—sorry Geddy Lee, John Entwistle, John Paul Jones, and Les Claypool. Oh, well, lookee there—I’ve used my cancer scar to jump off and think about things far more important and interesting to me than my case of cancer. Mental consequences, indeed.
(Source: around—the–world)
I pondered in a recent post about folks judging others’ “unnecessary mastectomies” what those of us making our choices public could and should expect in terms of criticism and applause. I concluded that it does not matter if it is tens or millions of people who know of any of our choices, no one has the right to judge decisions of others that only impact the person making those choices. I also acknowledged that it did feel good to get the compliments. So I pause here to thank anyone who has liked my numerous posts on my story and pictures, and for all the wonderful comments. I thank women who’ve shared their non-reconstruction stories in comments on my blog. I thank other women who’ve told their stories, anywhere. Mostly, I especially thank tattoo artist Eric, who helped me with the concept and design of the tattoo, and who made that particular section of having cancer the only good days in the whole mess. Visiting him for the first time to pitch the idea and getting an “I love it” response—well if there were ever a cure for my cancer blues, that was it. Going back to get the work done, having him tell me that he was so glad I wanted to do it, because he wanted to execute such a cool idea—it was a great feeling to be the source of an excellent opportunity, to make something good out of bad. I hated being topless for 15 minutes for those 30+ days getting radiation—I hated the whole radiation experience. But lying topless for 3 hours to get the tattoo, I loved that. I cannot express in words why this is so, but the fact I hated one and loved the other probably says more than I even realize.
I stared writing this post over 5 days ago—my life got very hectic and it was too much trouble to sit down and finish. I began in a fit of pique at the response to my comment, but by now I’m not that annoyed anymore. More like, just rolling my eyes at the ignorance of it all. It is this ignorance that compels me to finish and post this, rather than abandon it, which I considered. Things may never change; people will never stop judging each other, will never stop thinking that everyone’s feelings and actions should be exactly like their own. But I don’t have to like it, and I can speak up as long as I have the energy and will to do so. If this rambling tale helps even one woman someday realize she does not have to go with the status quo if it doesn’t work for her, then I’ve done alright.
This incident inspired me to revisit P.Ink on Pinterest, and revisit my own neglected boards there (oops!). I’m not much for joining groups or picking one breast cancer organization as better than others—I am still a Cancer Curmudgeon after all—but I think I’ll do this. I asked to submit my pictures to P.Ink, and received a wonderful email informing me that they are adding a new dimension—interviews to get those of us with tattoos to share our stories to inspire others, to let others know that getting tattooed instead of reconstruction is a valid option.
Looks like I’ll get to read similar stories—the ones I asked for that kicked off this whole mess—after all.
Yes, that is a reference to the musical genius, who fought a battle with a corporation for artistic control and eventually was able to resume being Prince. And yes, I am revisiting the issue of what to call myself, and the struggle with accepted cancer norms, like the battle language.
The other day a blogger on Tumblr wondered, if not fighters or warriors, what exactly are we? And another wondered how to get a loved one to stop using warrior talk in conversation with her, and I have a similar problem, in that my own mother keeps telling me a positive attitude helps one beat cancer (because she refuses to see the scientific proof otherwise). If that were true, I have a friend who should still be alive, instead of me, the realist who should not have made it, apparently.
Well, shit, I wish I knew the answer to these things. There are so many unknowns in Cancerland, that I wish I could embrace the warrior, ass-kicker talk. But I cannot, leaving me with one more unknown, another hassle to navigate. I do not actively choose to not embrace it. I am simply who I am.
It was easier when I was in treatment; I could dodge the warrior and survivor labels by referring to myself as a cancer patient. But now I am out of treatment. I mean, I still need to identify as a patient when I call the cancer center/oncologist’s office. I say my name and that I am a patient of Dr._________, and what I mean by that is, hey, you have a very thick file with my name on it, filled with my info, so let’s cut to the chase so I can get my appointment changed or my question answered.
So WTF do I do and say now? What do I call myself, and how can I interact with the rest of a world that engages in cancer warrior talk?
I know some of how this language came into use is revealed in Gayle Sulik’s “Pink Ribbon Blues”; she covers various contributions to how this language became acceptable—and for once pink ribbon culture is not the only culprit, yellow bracelets have a hand in it, too, if I remember correctly. I’ll have to re-read it, I know. But knowing the how and the why probably won’t help anyone figure out how to change, or at least challenge, this acceptable language of cancer.
I tend to define myself, not just regarding cancer, in negatives; I don’t want this, I don’t want to do that. Hey, I’m a fan of The Ramones and lots of their songs have titles like “I Don’t Wanna Grow Up”, “I Don’t Want to Fight Tonight”. I seem to approach this conversation in cancer the same way: I DON’T WANNA be called fighter or survivor! I DON’T WANNA run a race while wearing pink! I DON’T WANNA participate in pink ribbon culture.
But then I remember, the band was sometimes positive—“Now I Wanna Sniff Some Glue”, “We Want the Airwaves” and “I Wanna Be Sedated”. Well, OK, maybe not positive, but they didn’t just always list stuff they did NOT want—they listed what they wanted as well. There is an online game, and I once found a funny picture, devoted to what The Ramones did or did not want, just because that is what most of their song titles addressed!
So if I’ve got the “don’t wanna” portion covered, what do I want?
Once upon a post, I wrote that I wanted a guide book of sorts for how to do cancer:
I longed for guidance on how to “do cancer”, because I suspected I was doing it wrong…What is offered is “The Idiot’s Guide to Breast Cancer”, when what I needed was “The Asshole’s Guide to Cancer”, with chapters like “You Don’t Have to Wear Heels and a Pink Feather Boa to Infusion to Show Strength” or “(You Gotta) Fight For Your Right (Treatment Plan)”.
And yes, that final imaginary chapter title is another song reference. I’m going somewhere with the music references.
I’ve said many times, littered in various posts on this blog o’ mine, that not everyone does cancer the same way, nor should that be required. Maybe this blog, with every post I write, I’ve written my own personal not-so-silver-lined playbook on how to do cancer, the one I wanted while in treatment. Clearly, I deal with my cancer and all the surrounding bullshit by looking under rocks, pointing at the ugly worms and bugs underneath, trying to understand the whole truth behind whatever health “news/ads/feel-good-news-filler” is being broadcast in a sanitized manner (“…the hidden side of everything” is part of a tagline of a favorite podcast program of mine). I do not find inspiration and coping mechanisms in the packaged pink message, so I draw it from anywhere and everywhere else.
Granted, because of who I am and my tastes, I tend to draw inspiration from some strange and disparate sources. I think one can tell from most of my blog that I won’t be found listening to Kool and the Gang’s “Celebration”, that sickening staple of pink marathons (because having cancer is such a party, NOT).
A few posts ago I mentioned a NPR interview with Elmore Leonard, and his story about filmmaking with Quentin Tarantino that gave me a much needed reminder of my ability to know my own cancer better than random people who deem it fit to tell me (or anyone) how to treat cancer. I think I once repeated the infamous Conan O’Brien quote from a commencement address he gave in the wake of his fracas with Jay Leno: “What Nietzsche should have said is, ‘Whatever doesn’t kill you, makes you watch a lot of Cartoon Network and drink mid-price Chardonnay at 11 in the morning.’” I have much affinity for O’ Brien; his new TBS show began just as I was about to start treatment. Sleepless, I watched his new show and reveled in his new success, and as I look back, I think I may have irrationally and illogically regarded him as a lucky charm: he prevailed, and then, so did I.
But it isn’t just Prince, The Ramones, Beastie Boys, O’Brien, and Tarantino I’m building my playbook from. I absorb and apply any tidbit that works. There are likely hundreds of bits of inspiration I’ve found that simply would not be considered inspirational, or even recognizable, to most folks, but they work for me, so I use the bits. The biggest, of course, is Dave Grohl, ironically, a “survivor” it there ever was one, given his former band mate’s affinity for heroin and guns. In many interviews with him I’ve heard recently he has talked about the power of not knowing the “right way” of doing something, he has touted the DIY ethic that brought alternative musicians, himself included, to great fame in the early 90s.
source:bandlogos.wordpress.com
It is this DIY ethic I’ve applied to my cancer playbook. It isn’t pretty, this book, it is filled with the heavy and sometimes not-so-cheery-fluffy-pink things that I like. The only smiley face in it is the old Nirvana band logo. The book is not yet finished and maybe never will be. I still don’t know what those of us who object to a label of survivor or warrior should call ourselves, although I’m sticking with Cancer Curmudgeon for myself for now, given the accuracy of the name. I still don’t know how to have conversations with others who rattle on about positive attitudes, or who use battle talk. But I am always searching for those answers.
But I do know this: you can borrow a page from my un-pretty book if you need it. And I know you can make your own playbook. No one has to accept the cancer mainstream language and attitudes if they do not fit. It is difficult, but it can be done. The more of us that reject the sanitized and non-inclusive versions of cancer presented in the mainstream (need I remind everyone that pink ribbon culture ignores those with Stage IV, and any other kind of cancer, hence, non-inclusive), the more our voices of dissent will be heard.
Here’s to a new playbook that replaces that damn pink one.
Relieved to see that this seems to be written by someone “younger”, as in under 30. When this 41 year old complains about the boobies and ta-tas language, I am told it appeals to young folks and that is why it is needed.
When I recently came across yet another criticism of “unnecessary preventative mastectomy” I reacted angrily. It was on HuffPo, and the article wasn’t even about the preventative mastectomy or the decision to get one so much as the author describing her husband’s reaction, but of course a commenter started in about “unnecessary mastectomy”, thinking all these BRCA folks with their 90% chance of getting cancer just need a little vitamin D. Puhleeze, so tired of this nonsense—does it not occur to anyone that maybe the author did research, already knows and considered whatever tiny-ass piece of advice someone clearly without experience and knowledge—like that particular commenter—could offer? OK, tiny subsidiary rant over.
I am so tired of people judging others’ medical choices. If you don’t like preventative mastectomy, don’t get one. No one, not even other breast cancer patients, let alone anyone else, has any idea of the millions of little details of another’s situation, medical and otherwise, and therefore are never in a position to criticize the choices of others.
But then I think: by sharing her decision (this blogger had previously written about why she’d had the procedure) and writing about it—and by extension, when any of us who put our stories on the internet—are we inviting this judgment? I’m not suggesting anyone stop sharing, not by a long shot. While I’d like to shout at folks like the commenter, “how are any of our choices impacting you—it’s none of your business,” did we make it public business, by, ya know, sharing our business? She put her story out there and she should not expect only bravos and applause, nor should I, nor should anyone. People judge each other all the time, but do we have a reasonable expectation to have them shut their mouths, not share those judgments, when we publicize our choices?
I’m actually not asking a rhetorical question here.
As I consider this most recent fuss that has come into my line of vision, I revisit what makes me write my story and show my pictures. I put my story and my pic here and the complimentary comments are great—I do feel good when I get that support. And it hurt to be told one time in comments on HuffPo that ugly pictures of breast surgery scars should not be posted on the internet (this was during the Facebook kerfuffle).
I certainly am not providing advice about medical choices by sharing my information (see my About page), nor do I assume anyone else’s information or choices will work for me. The more I haunt the internet, the more I think every single case of breast cancer is totally unlike the next. But I like hearing about other options, about other experiences, and other opinions—it helps me think and process my own experience, my questions. For example, I know most breast cancer patients choose reconstruction. In fact, I’m starting to feel like a freak more and more for just going with a lumpectomy. It seems everyone I read on the blogs had at least a mastectomy, usually double. I wanted to show–hey there are other options and that’s ok—we all don’t have to do the same. So I present my choice, how I got there and what happened with it, as just another experience or example, and maybe someone can benefit from knowing about it.
If I inspire, great, if not, great. I’m sure the folks who complained to Facebook about the SCAR project would just accuse me and my posting of my nippleless breast of being some attention seeking exhibitionist. If people think that, I cannot help it. All I know is, it took a long time for me to find images that matched what happened to me (as I’ve mentioned a few times on my blog, I was clumsy at searching cancer issues on the web for a long while). So the more photos of breast surgery examples there are out there for people to find, and if they can help someone else who is just now going through it, then good. I remember how alone I felt, and I remember the relief I got from seeing images similar to mine, when I finally found them. That is why I do it, it is that simple.
I think back to the woman mentioned above who criticized the influx of breast surgery scar photos on the internet, and her comment to me in which she claimed that if she ever got breast cancer she would deal with it with a positive attitude and not post her pictures on the internet. Funny, I once thought I’d never post pictures of myself either. It is impossible to know what you will do in any situation until you are absolutely faced with it. The blogger inspiring this post was indeed BRCA positive. I got the test planning that if it was positive—not realizing how unlikely that would be—I would just get a double mastectomy and be done with it. It wasn’t, obviously, but even now, I don’t know for certain that if I’d gotten a positive result I would’ve gone through with it. I cannot possibly know that unless it actually happened that way. I literally do not know what I would do in any other situation other than the ones I actually faced. If I cannot even know what I’d do with one little situational change—how can anyone have the temerity to call it an unnecessary mastectomy if they’ve never even been close to such a choice? And even if they were close enough—then they should know how awful the choice is, and why not judging others’ decisions is so important.
Ultimately I think it does not matter if the HuffPo blogger, or me, or anyone, posts our story for anyone to read. If I’d just kept the info quiet, restricted to a few IRL people, I would expect none of those people to tell me if they thought I was right or wrong in my choice—I may have shared my business but it’s still not their call. What does it matter if 15 people, or 1500, or a million people know what I did, no one has the right to question my judgment on medical decisions that impact me alone.
So a couple of days ago Rolling Stone magazine asked for folks to tweet them their rock tattoos. Well, hey, I got the ultimate rock tattoo: the Red Hot Chili Peppers logo on my breast where my nipple used to be, where my tumor started. So I tweeted said tattoo to them.
Do you think it was included in their favorite rock tattoos today? Of course not. No, they can show Rose McGowan’s nipples in her barely there outfit she wore while attending the VMAs with Marilyn Manson several years ago. So they have no problem with nudity. But I have no nipple—how is that nude or offensive? Why not show my tattoo in their list of rock tattoos?
I’ll tell you why.
Because as a breast cancer “survivor” I am supposed to just wear pink feather boas and march in parades, not be sexual—as if that tattoo, with my no-nipple status is even sexual in the least (didn’t that Janet Jackson at the Super Bowl thing a few years ago teach us that all is well until a nipple slips out?). Breast cancer “survivors” are just supposed to uphold that strong warrior image, not do something like get a rock tattoo instead of reconstruction, to you know, try to look “normal”. No one wants to know or to understand the reality of breast cancer—no one wants to see the scars and what really happens to us.
I thought I was over that whole JAMA announcement hoo haa. You know, the one in which DCIS is not going to be called cancer anymore.
The main irritant in that whole mess for me was the blaring headlines, which did not explain the situation to the un-cancer-y. I begrudgingly give credit to a podcast in which the Sloan Kettering doctor pointed out that yeah, maybe DCIS will wind up being nothing to worry about for most people, but it still sucks for the 1% who manage to develop cancer from it (he did not say “sucks” but his mannerism and attitude indicated it—and for that I respect him). When I learned of the JAMA report, I read about it in a NY Times pieces, and this same doctor’s protestations were not mentioned until about the 13th paragraph—and no one but the most dedicated of cancer readers will get that far into the article.
I remember wincing when I read it. It reminded me of the fuss a couple of weeks earlier. One headline got repeated on various internet stories over and over and over: “Alice Cooper Slams Mumford & Sons”. If anyone bothered to watch the linked video like yours truly, they’d see Cooper say he actually liked the band and only objected to the fact they were categorized as “rock music”—and he didn’t even accuse the band of calling themselves this! More or less, he was grumbling about the state of rock, claiming there is very little of it out there these days. The two groups he referred to as still carrying said torch for rock—Foo Fighters and Green Day—have each been around for about 20 years, hardly spring chickens, those dudes. Granted, Cooper said a few loopy things in the clip—I mean why does anyone need to eat a steak to produce great rock? Whatever dude—but he never slammed anyone, and I resent the lie the headline used to hook people into clicking to their sites.
Yeah, yeah, linking Cooper and cancer is a stretch, but is it? I’m so tired of misleading headlines, of truths being buried so deep into articles that no one notices, and no one challenges the reports, and no meaningful conversations are had. Just headlines. No one reads details, no one even trusts details anymore. I’m tired of it in every topic, cancer especially.
Even more, I’m tired of no new news.
Honestly, that DCIS-is-NOT-cancer thing was not a new topic, the JAMA report was just making it more official. I’d already read conversations in breast cancer communities supporting the idea that it is cancer-to-be or others slamming those with DCIS as not having “real” cancer. That topic I won’t touch with a ten foot pole!
So tired of the same old shit. I want something new, something I’ve never heard or seen before. What brought on this renewed fuss about that old incident?
I sit here writing this as I watch the nominees for the 2013 VMA nominees. I see pop starlet after pop starlet lip sync in their videos and I am shocked that the videos have not changed for over 10 years. The same cliché shots: young singer in water with heavy eye make-up, giving the camera the come hither look; the hand on hip with seductive hip twitch, again with the come hither look, the same line of sexy women back up dancers. It is as if these girls grew up watching videos with the sole goal of starring in videos EXACTLY like the ones they grew up with—innovation be damned. And the boy bands are exactly the same too. One video’s plot suggested a boy band change their image to the classic Village People look. I found myself wishing someone WOULD dress up like the Village People. Sure it was done before but at least only once—because what I’m seeing has been done like a million times.
Technology changes every five minutes these days—always new software I gotta learn, a new phone I want but gotta wait 2 years to have (and then I have to learn it). But I’m stuck with the same pop tartlets and the same cancer news. WTF?
Headline news, cancer news, pop culture news—PLEASE gimme something new! And someone give me Alice Cooper’s email address. I wasn’t much of a fan of his growing up; I began liking him later in life when I started listening to his radio programs. But best of all I suspect him of being a fellow curmudgeon–maybe he is King Curmudgeon Cooper. I think I need to hang out with him, we can curmudgeon together about the state of rock, of cancer, of culture.
Note 1: NSFW-picture of my bare, cancer-scarred breast below
Note 2: Controversial and offensive content—something about a woman writing about feminist issues makes everyone lose their shit. Please read all the way through including the note at the end if you wish to send anger or hate, which will simply be removed—it’s my blog, my rules
There are only a million things to say about Telling Knots’ recent Larry Flynt piece, and all the comments, and I may or may not write more about it. But I have to tackle a weird thing first.
One of the defending comments came from a Hustler Club employee, and in her defense of the event (perceived as offensive by many) she states that two female relatives had breast cancer, one of whom died. Kudos to Telling Knots for expressing sorrow right away in response. Not that I am not sorry for the woman’s loss, but my irritation at this disclosure is strong.
This is not the first time I’ve heard/seen this kind of “my (relative) died of breast cancer, and my (other relative) is a x number of years survivor of breast cancer” comment; it isn’t even the first time I’ve heard/seen it used by a person participating in or supporting an offensive type of “ta-ta” event as a reason why the speaker is doing it. What is this phrase supposed to achieve? That because she witnessed breast cancer she has special understanding of what it is like to have it, and all the issues surrounding it? And that this is somehow a rational argument as to why the event should not offend patients, simply because it does not offend patients she knows? Does this claim of having relatives with cancer give her some authority?
But then I think, cool it with the perpetual outrage Curmudgeon, perhaps she is trying to be empathetic, and most people don’t even try to do this. So am I bitching because I think it is the wrong kind of empathy?
It would be absurd to always be annoyed if one person speaks up on behalf of another. I think back to a post I wrote months ago, where I, as someone who chose a lumpectomy, pondered unfair judgment made of women who chose the so-called “unnecessary” mastectomy. I think back to a recent awful IRL incident: “Well he smoked for soooo long,” an acquaintance said of a person dying of lung cancer. “And, what, so he deserves this then?!” I sputtered back angrily. Perhaps I was out of line to speak up; certainly I was, ah, a bit aggressive. I know I cannot speak for lung cancer patients, but it seemed wrong, in that moment, not to point out how awful it is (and always will be) to blame the patient, any patient, or to imply anyone deserves cancer. I remember once hearing an anecdote about an ovarian cancer patient wanting breast cancer patients to speak out for ovarian cancer patients, because there are so many more breast cancer survivors, given that ovarian cancer patients have a lower survival rate (and yes lower incidence rate as well…but that does NOT make the cancer less important—read this). What a horribly practical view on the part of the ovarian cancer patient, and totally understandable. So then I think, yeah, there is a need to speak up for one another, but not always to speak for one another, if that makes any kind of sense.
But on the flip side, none of us experience cancer, or even breast cancer the same way. Sure, many of us have lots in common, and that is how bonds are formed and so on, but there are differences. Heck, there are a great many breast cancer patients who have no qualms with Flynt’s event, or other slogans, events, and organizations I find so extremely offensive. Just because I’m offended, doesn’t make me right, I keep whispering to myself, unsuccessfully, because I can get a little self-righteous on that topic. I cannot speak for them and they damn well can’t speak for me. In fact, I am pretty certain most readers are not going to agree with my irritation here.
For me, “my (relative) had (some kind of) cancer” is going to have to go into my list of things I don’t want to hear as a cancer patient. I just think, if I went around saying I understood all about any kind of cancer because I know a few people with other cancers, it would be utterly ridiculous. As if other cancer patients did not already feel marginalized enough by the Big Pink October machine! Me, with breast cancer, the most well-know, probably the most funded and researched cancer, might as well just use the insulting phrase, “well, some of my best friends are (whatever type of cancer patients)”. As if I had some special insight into the issues or problems people with other diseases face; puhleeze, snort of derision. I can’t speak for people with other kinds of cancer, or other breast cancer patients, hell, I can barely speak for my own self!
Look, all I know is that however unfair I’m being, when I hear someone say “my relative had/has breast cancer”, all I want to say is, “that doesn’t mean you know or understand ME, or all the bullshit baggage I bring to my own personal case of cancer. I don’t have cancer the same way your relatives have it.”
That baggage we all bring to our cases of cancer is a topic for another day. But in the meantime…am I being unfair to those who drag out a faux cancer card, the “my relative has cancer” card for whatever reason?
anotheronewiththecancer 