Posts Tagged ‘Patrick Dempsey Center for Cancer Hope and Healing’

Ann’s Diary: Living With Breast Cancer

When I was on vacation I talked with someone who loves me and she asked me how I was doing.  I told her really well–I have two books out,  I’m writing my memoir, my husband’s job is fine, our kids are well, and at that moment I was surrounded by family and friends.  What could be better?

When she looked at me long I realized she was asking about my health.  I laughed and said, “oh, that.  Good, good.  It’s all good.  My tumor markers are stable, my new diet is going well, my exercise routine is strong–it’s all good.”  Then she looked at me funny and said, “but you’re fine, right?  I mean, the cancer has gone.” It was my turn to look at her funny.  The cancer gone?  I only wish…

It’s hard to explain to anybody how this second cancer works.  It’s not like the first one that got cut out and blasted with chemotherapy, radiation and Tamoxifen for five years.  After that whole hell was over, the words “it’s gone” are spoken hopefully but not accurately–because cancer can come back.  At any time, in any year.

Which nobody who gets cancer can focus on or else they’ll drive themselves crazy.  So we “survivors” call ourselves survivors and move on to our next phases of life.  But if and when the cancer comes back–as it has with me–then the new phase of life is now the next phase of life–as in forever.  And it’s called “living with cancer.”

So I hugged my pal and explained all that to her–briefly and with lots of smiles and hugs.  I didn’t want her to get depressed about it for me–but I think she did anyway. And she’s allowed–hell, living with cancer sounds like a drag, I know.  But–I smiled to her–never fear.  I am going to live long and strong with this stupid cancer, don’t you worry.

And after that we went on and talked about other things of summer, like the beach and the cocktail hour and who was taking the kids to the Candy Man store–and through it all I whispered my metastatic breast cancer patient’s mantra: I’m living with breast cancer, I’m living with breast cancer.

Which is a whole lot better than the alternative
.
Ann’s books ‘pink tips’ and ‘Words To Live By’ now available in the SHOP section of this website.

Posted July 27th, 2011
Posted in: Ann's Diary

Ann’s Diary: The Truth About Hooters

After a recent screening of my film The Breast Cancer Diaries at the Patrick Dempsey Center for Cancer Hope and Healing I came home to my husband, kissed my sleeping kids goodnight, put on some comfy clothes and turned on the TV. As I flipped through the copious cable stations the clicker fell upon a sports channel and–I kid you not–the Hooters International Best Breasts Beauty Contest.

Now for the record I have neither the best breasts nor the worst breasts because I lost them to breast cancer–so I have no breasts.

I also chose not to reconstruct them though I was young and had kids and a husband.  I’m a worrier, and I knew I would worry about fake boobs. (And this was a personal decision so if you’ve had reconstruction, as my friends have done, I say more power to you.)

So there I was, jaw on the floor–the best breasts, are you kidding me? It was like the Miss America contest with no redeeming value (I suddenly had  respect for the “what do you want to do to make the world a better place?” question.   At least it tries to have depth.)

And before you worry that I am anti-breasts, let me assure you I am not; I had a pair and I miss them every day. But when they stood in the way of me and the rest of my hopefully long life I had to let them go.  And I learned the hard way just exactly what breasts don’t mean.

They don’t mean that I am a woman. They don’t mean that I am beautiful. They don’t mean that I am better than everyone else because mine are bigger. They don’t mean that the right man will only love me if I have them. They don’t mean happiness. They don’t mean I am sexy. They don’t mean I am healthy. And they don’t mean I will live a long and successful life.

Of course having breasts is typical; not having them is not. And my husband has been an angel to deal with this difficult challenge in his marriage to me. But he loves me, so he’s doing it. Yet had “hooters” been as important to him as they were to the people on that TV screen I was watching, I would be divorced by now. And who wants that? 

So I watched these beautiful young ladies with tops that jiggled on the contest stage, hoping their name would be called as Miss Best Hooters or whatever, and I thought–oh I hope you know. I hope you find out.  That your breasts, as big and as beautiful as they may be, are not worthy of all this praise. They may take you some place tonight– for the short term–but in life, you are more than your boobs. So very much more.

I don’t care about the Hooters contest personally because I have the wisdom that cancer forced down my throat 6 years ago. But for those young ladies and those oogling them from chairs in the audience, and to all those with clickers in their hands watching from their televisions across the world, I am worried. Who will tell them? How will they know? As I  clicked to another channel, I thought–I hope they find out the truth about Hooters.

Just not the way I did.

Posted August 8th, 2010 by
anns-diary-the-truth-about-hooters
Posted in: Ann's Diary