Titty Cancer Tirade

I’m going off-topic here, but consider this my contribution to "breast cancer awareness month," which I’m already weary of even though it’s still more than a week away.

Earlier this week, they had a "Wellness Expo" for us here at Cookin’ School, where area merchants and health practitioners set up tables to hand out free stuff and talk about the usual college concerns: drunk driving, drugs, unprotected sex and lower back pain.

Okay, maybe lower back pain is not a big deal on most campuses, but of 25 or so groups participating, about a quarter of them were chiropractors, massage therapists or reflexologists. For Cookin’ School, where people are on their feet twelve hours or more, lugging 50-lb bags of flour or sides of beef, it made perfect sense to have those folks in attendance.

Mandilicious and I stopped by during lunch, had our spine alignment checked, our cholesterol counted and knowledge of "signs your friend may be drinking too much" tested. We talked one of our chefs into taking a neck stress test with us, the results of which qualified all three of us for a free first appointment with a local chiropractor (hmmm....).

Then we passed a table for a local low-cost healthcare clinic. I had a thought, so I went over and explained I had a history of breast cancer but had been without comprehensive health insurance for more than a year. Did they offer lower cost mammograms if I wanted to get one?

The guy I asked shrugged and told me to talk to one of the two women sitting beside him. Fine. I repeated my question. Neither woman knew the answer, but one handed me a pamphlet (not nearly as cool as the free snap-together highlighters the Mental Health Service lady gave us) and suggested a few places I could call.

At this point, the guy I’d first asked interrupted her and said "Yeah, hurry up and get that test before you die."

I gave him the look of laser death and calmly said "That’s not a cool thing to say to someone who’s had cancer."

He shrugged and said "Come on, it was just a joke."

Oh. No.

Now, everyone says something stupid and unintentionally offensive once in a while. Hell, I stick my foot in my mouth on a daily basis. It happens, and one should apologize and move on. But trying to shirk responsibility for an assinine comment by implying it’s my lack of sense of humor, not his inappropriate remark, that’s the problem? Them’s fightin’ words.

My first thought was to punch him in the face and then go "oh, hee hee! Just kidding!"

My second and slightly more civilized thought was to verbally bitch-slap him. I went with that one, noting that if a table didn’t stand between us, I would give his ass the kicking it so richly deserved and break him into tiny pieces.

Then I walked away. Mandilicious, on my heels, said the women just stared at the ground and the guy mumbled "guess I shouldn’t have said that, huh?"

Guess not, jackass.

Moments later, a guy at another table offered us free bottled water and power bar samples - and PostIts in cute star shapes! - so I quickly got over the comment, but later that night, trying to fall asleep before my alarm clocks went off, I got pissed all over again.

Yeah, I have a sense of humor about my cancer, but the guy’s comment wasn’t clever. It was just stupid, and outrageously inappropriate for the representative of a healthcare service in reply to a legitimate inquiry about services offered.

The next day I wrote a letter to the service complaining about the incident. I doubt anything will happen, but it made me feel better.

On a related note, as I mentioned earlier, October is fast approaching and, while I think of it as time to celebrate Leif Eriksen Day (October 5! Don’t forget!) and Halloween, The Media thinks of it as time to trot out pink ribbons and reminders to feel your boobs on a regular basis.

I subscribe to a couple women’s magazines, and read several more left in the laundromat where I do my uniform every weekend, and I feel compelled to comment on a disturbing trend I’ve noticed. I guess some celebrity wrote a book about it or something, but it seems every mag is running articles on "how to be a friend to a friend with breast cancer."

Every version I’ve read of this story cites the same examples (which makes me think this is all coming from one author making herself extra-available for interviews on her book tour or something).

And the examples read something like variations on visions of hell.

"Your friend will be afraid to ask for help when she needs it, so just show up at her door and make her an offer she can’t refuse! Tell her you’re not going to leave until you cheer her up!" (Had anyone pulled this one on me, they would be dead now.)

"She’ll neglect her housekeeping, so turn up one day with a mop and bucket and insist on getting her home spic ‘n’ span!" (Yes, that’s what I want, when I’m too tired to get off the couch... someone to bustle about making me feel like even more of a lameass.)

"Leave a bag of groceries or a week of home-cooked meals outside her door!" (Presumably these people live in climate-controlled areas that are free of bears, raccoons and vagrants. If I were to open my door and find a black bear or pack of coyotes chowing down on cavatappi with pesto, my first reaction would not be "oh, how thoughtful.")

"When my friend had cancer, we snuck over to her house one night and decorated it for the holidays! In the morning she was so surprised! She loved it!" (If I wake to bumps in the night and shadows outside my window, I will saber-slash first and ask questions later, whether or not the potential home invader is dressed like Santa Claus.)

"Saying ‘I’m thinking of you’ is always more sincere than ‘let me know if there’s anything I can do.’" (I love that the magazine claimed to know which cliche was more "sincere" for universal usage.)

And on and on. Good God. Now, I’m not saying there aren’t people out there who wouldn’t enjoy this kind of domineering "friendship" and enforced cheer. I’m sure there are. After all, there are people who think wearing lowriders that accentuate their love handles and butt crack make them somehow cooler.

All I ask is this... if you do know someone with cancer, or any serious illness, don’t get your advice from some $3 magazine that also promises to reveal the TEN BEST DIET TRICKS EVER and the CELEBRITY HAIRCUT THAT’S RIGHT FOR YOUR FACE! Hell, don’t even get your advice from some nut who blogs about going to cooking school and threatening to kick the ass of random healthcare practitioners. If you want to know what to do for someone who’s ill, get your advice from the person who is ill.

Some people want to be cheered (I guess). Some people want someone to listen to them whine. Some people want someone to go with them to the doctor. Whatever it is, as I mentioned in my rant about Elizabeth Edwards a few months back, please remember that the person with cancer is an individual and should be treated as such. Don’t intrude on their personal space unless they’ve made it clear that they’re into that sort of thing.

When I had cancer, I had a great support network of people near and far, from The Dread Pirate Iron Bluebird, who was game to help me paint my newly-purchased home halfway through chemo, to The Queen, whose thoughtful care packages kept me amused and entertained. But not one of my friends ever pushed themselves or their attitude on me (probably because they all knew I could kill them with my thumbs, but I digress...) and for that I have always been grateful.

This message brought to you by CHAOS (Cancer Haters Against Over-Simplification).