I wrote this little diddy while I sat waiting for the doctor....A mammogram and one doctor's appointment took 4.5 hours. Yes, thats right.....4.5 hours.....
Lets talk about what Breast Cancer is NOT. Its not a fucking pink ribbon. Sorry Susan Komen, you might like it like that and also like other things like pulling your funds from Planned Parenthood for Breast Screenings in support of Pro-Life pressure, but Pink Ribbons are not what I am experiencing as things push forward. Its nice tho, to see them on doctors lapels, I appreciate the gesture. Maybe one day I will tie a bunch thru my hair, long pink silk things with little breasts on them, and run screaming thru the Breast Center's hallways, saying "Yay! I have Breast Cancer! Whoopeeeeeee!" And high five all the doctors in support.
But for now, I am just going to throw up when I see that pink ribbon on all these fucking advertisements when I know how much money people are making off of pitying women and their sad little breasts. OUch. I know, its a bit harsh, but I have Breast Cancer, I can say what I want, because you have to be nice to me and think "she is probably going thru alot". Anyway, you know you see those pink ribbons on things like yogurt and crackers and granola bars, soon we are going to see it on a bottles of Gin and cigarettes.
Breast Cancer is NOT a smiley bald woman sitting with her hand on the shoulder of another smiley bald woman who has a very pretty scarf on her head. You know the ones I am talking about, where they are turned towards each other, but also out to face us, smiling together as if they triumphed or just recieved a plaque or were about to give an inspirational talk. Lets just get that one straight. I don't see those women much except for in magazines and advertisements. In fact, when I walk into the waiting room for doctor's appointments, I have to say, most women are not smiling very much. They look worried and scared and nervous. When they are bald, its SHOCKING and stunning and Bold, but you dont get a warm feeling in your tummy, like everything is going to be okay and isn't that woman beautiful? You get scared and self absorbed and wonder if that could be you. Sorry, most women are not that excited about going out to buy some scarves for their head, we like our hair and we like it on our heads. There are exceptions. And yes, I DO think many women look HOT as bald ladies, but I personally do NOT want to be one. I know, I know, it grows back--Don't tell me things to make me feel better!
What it is, in reality, or at least so far in "my" reality or at least in the reality that I am currently experiencing, what little I can see, and don't you dare think I KNOW what this whole breast cancer thing is about, but one thing I can say it is about is an extreme disconnect from the truest source of life, a dire confusion about the Mother and how she wants to nourish and protect us and a deep isolation from letting her in. This is another topic all together about the entire state of the world, not just women and why we are in the situation that we are currently in. For now I just want to rant a bit about my experience and not have any answers.
What Breast Cancer IS...is:;
Monochrome waiting rooms, fake plants, glossy brochures written in fake soothing copy, and aggravated overworked secretaries who are doing the best they can. Its pictures of flowers framed on walls of oil painted beaches and long sweeping rivers and magazines with thinks like Housekeeping tips and perky ways to tone your butt with recipes for chicken cattiatore and interviews of air brushed celebrities, their lush bosoms falling out of expensive clothing while you sit in a wrinkley pink hospital gown burrowing your mind into something that looks pretty and is trivial. Yes, I do want to think of 5 ways to please a man in bed so that he stays with me FOREVER before I walk into an office to talk with a married man about how he wants to cut my boob off and therefore safe my life and save the day.
Its taking an out-patient satisfaction survey that the nurse hands to you while you wait, asking you to rate your experience. Its writing " I don't know how to rate this. ( Options are 1-2 Very Poor 3-4 Poor 5-6 Satisfactory 7-8 Very Satisfied 9-10 Excellent. ) Who wants a mammogram where your boobs are smashed between two plates while you grip on to the holding bars for your life and hold your breath waiting for that click of the picture, while you close your eyes and try and beam away the radioactive stuff that may or may not be penetrating that metal sheild you wear across your woman parts below that may or may not be getting blasted by radioactive STUFF, all of this for pictures that still don't show you everything and that look like a snow storm in the middle of the night, while the woman taking the pictures does her best to be cheerful and not freak you out but you both know none of this is very polite, you topless standing in a room with a stranger while she operates a machine to inform you there is a nasty disease in your soft feminine spot. But if I take that part out and enjoy the pictures in black and white of my boob and the picture of the woman on the wall in charcoal by Picasso who keeps staring at me with her simple eyes both sad and true, ( whoever does the art selection in this place deserves a metal-seriously) I would say 7-8 Very Satisfied. Definitely would come back and again and invite friends and family. A first rate hospital experience, maybe change up the lighting and add some Muzak to complete the experience. Good Job." It's write so much you have to turn the page over. You giggle at the thought of the person reading this in Hospital Personel who probably has never recieved a response like this. She will probably call you a cuck-coo and call her co-worker over to be confused and amused by you. But at least you didn't play their games of acting like this is all normal and cheerful and can be rated by some fucking number as if you paid for this experience and those you paid are wanting to "serve you better". Are we at Home Depot?
Breast Cancer is sitting up at night pouring thru google looking for information that doesn't come from cancer.gov or breastcancer.org or healthfacts.info or any other major website that is riddled with consumer ads for drugs and doctors and macaroni and cheese. Its reading one thing, only to read its opposite only to read nothing only to read horror only to read that if I just eat a bunch of grapes for 40 days and begin to love myself I won't sit in these rooms anymore. Its trying to make up for all the biology and science classes that you passed notes in or skipped, because the words they use in explaining things are some fucking martian language of a tribe called Doctors. Its reading the results of studies that you have no idea how a study is stuctured or anything about research and nobody seems to want to explain it to you and there are no online classes or nite sessions at the Y. Its realizing your doctors do not have time to share with you the inside of their 10 years of study brains to get you to wrap your head around the fact that cells do exist even if you cant see them and that the activity of these cells can put a damper on your plans for the white picket fence and you should just do the Chemo and shut up and trust them so they can continue their rounds. Its noticing how polished and clean smelling these doctor's are, with their gold cuff links and italian framed glasses, and silk ties.
So far, thats all I got in this little diddy......a post in progress.....a lead into a realm.....a start of something new.
Lets talk about what Breast Cancer is NOT. Its not a fucking pink ribbon. Sorry Susan Komen, you might like it like that and also like other things like pulling your funds from Planned Parenthood for Breast Screenings in support of Pro-Life pressure, but Pink Ribbons are not what I am experiencing as things push forward. Its nice tho, to see them on doctors lapels, I appreciate the gesture. Maybe one day I will tie a bunch thru my hair, long pink silk things with little breasts on them, and run screaming thru the Breast Center's hallways, saying "Yay! I have Breast Cancer! Whoopeeeeeee!" And high five all the doctors in support.
But for now, I am just going to throw up when I see that pink ribbon on all these fucking advertisements when I know how much money people are making off of pitying women and their sad little breasts. OUch. I know, its a bit harsh, but I have Breast Cancer, I can say what I want, because you have to be nice to me and think "she is probably going thru alot". Anyway, you know you see those pink ribbons on things like yogurt and crackers and granola bars, soon we are going to see it on a bottles of Gin and cigarettes.
Breast Cancer is NOT a smiley bald woman sitting with her hand on the shoulder of another smiley bald woman who has a very pretty scarf on her head. You know the ones I am talking about, where they are turned towards each other, but also out to face us, smiling together as if they triumphed or just recieved a plaque or were about to give an inspirational talk. Lets just get that one straight. I don't see those women much except for in magazines and advertisements. In fact, when I walk into the waiting room for doctor's appointments, I have to say, most women are not smiling very much. They look worried and scared and nervous. When they are bald, its SHOCKING and stunning and Bold, but you dont get a warm feeling in your tummy, like everything is going to be okay and isn't that woman beautiful? You get scared and self absorbed and wonder if that could be you. Sorry, most women are not that excited about going out to buy some scarves for their head, we like our hair and we like it on our heads. There are exceptions. And yes, I DO think many women look HOT as bald ladies, but I personally do NOT want to be one. I know, I know, it grows back--Don't tell me things to make me feel better!
What it is, in reality, or at least so far in "my" reality or at least in the reality that I am currently experiencing, what little I can see, and don't you dare think I KNOW what this whole breast cancer thing is about, but one thing I can say it is about is an extreme disconnect from the truest source of life, a dire confusion about the Mother and how she wants to nourish and protect us and a deep isolation from letting her in. This is another topic all together about the entire state of the world, not just women and why we are in the situation that we are currently in. For now I just want to rant a bit about my experience and not have any answers.
What Breast Cancer IS...is:;
Monochrome waiting rooms, fake plants, glossy brochures written in fake soothing copy, and aggravated overworked secretaries who are doing the best they can. Its pictures of flowers framed on walls of oil painted beaches and long sweeping rivers and magazines with thinks like Housekeeping tips and perky ways to tone your butt with recipes for chicken cattiatore and interviews of air brushed celebrities, their lush bosoms falling out of expensive clothing while you sit in a wrinkley pink hospital gown burrowing your mind into something that looks pretty and is trivial. Yes, I do want to think of 5 ways to please a man in bed so that he stays with me FOREVER before I walk into an office to talk with a married man about how he wants to cut my boob off and therefore safe my life and save the day.
Its taking an out-patient satisfaction survey that the nurse hands to you while you wait, asking you to rate your experience. Its writing " I don't know how to rate this. ( Options are 1-2 Very Poor 3-4 Poor 5-6 Satisfactory 7-8 Very Satisfied 9-10 Excellent. ) Who wants a mammogram where your boobs are smashed between two plates while you grip on to the holding bars for your life and hold your breath waiting for that click of the picture, while you close your eyes and try and beam away the radioactive stuff that may or may not be penetrating that metal sheild you wear across your woman parts below that may or may not be getting blasted by radioactive STUFF, all of this for pictures that still don't show you everything and that look like a snow storm in the middle of the night, while the woman taking the pictures does her best to be cheerful and not freak you out but you both know none of this is very polite, you topless standing in a room with a stranger while she operates a machine to inform you there is a nasty disease in your soft feminine spot. But if I take that part out and enjoy the pictures in black and white of my boob and the picture of the woman on the wall in charcoal by Picasso who keeps staring at me with her simple eyes both sad and true, ( whoever does the art selection in this place deserves a metal-seriously) I would say 7-8 Very Satisfied. Definitely would come back and again and invite friends and family. A first rate hospital experience, maybe change up the lighting and add some Muzak to complete the experience. Good Job." It's write so much you have to turn the page over. You giggle at the thought of the person reading this in Hospital Personel who probably has never recieved a response like this. She will probably call you a cuck-coo and call her co-worker over to be confused and amused by you. But at least you didn't play their games of acting like this is all normal and cheerful and can be rated by some fucking number as if you paid for this experience and those you paid are wanting to "serve you better". Are we at Home Depot?
Breast Cancer is sitting up at night pouring thru google looking for information that doesn't come from cancer.gov or breastcancer.org or healthfacts.info or any other major website that is riddled with consumer ads for drugs and doctors and macaroni and cheese. Its reading one thing, only to read its opposite only to read nothing only to read horror only to read that if I just eat a bunch of grapes for 40 days and begin to love myself I won't sit in these rooms anymore. Its trying to make up for all the biology and science classes that you passed notes in or skipped, because the words they use in explaining things are some fucking martian language of a tribe called Doctors. Its reading the results of studies that you have no idea how a study is stuctured or anything about research and nobody seems to want to explain it to you and there are no online classes or nite sessions at the Y. Its realizing your doctors do not have time to share with you the inside of their 10 years of study brains to get you to wrap your head around the fact that cells do exist even if you cant see them and that the activity of these cells can put a damper on your plans for the white picket fence and you should just do the Chemo and shut up and trust them so they can continue their rounds. Its noticing how polished and clean smelling these doctor's are, with their gold cuff links and italian framed glasses, and silk ties.
So far, thats all I got in this little diddy......a post in progress.....a lead into a realm.....a start of something new.
Beautifully said, Aylen! Breast cancer can just fuck the hell off and it can take those blasted pink ribbons with it. My only wish is that the new perspective on life cancer has given me didn't come bundled with all of the crap - the pain, the fear, the dismemberment. On a daily basis, I try to find ways to pass my learnings on to my kids, in the hope that they never have to go through this hell again.
ReplyDeleteBig hugs!