My Name Is...

I've agreed to be a volunteer speaker for a breast cancer awareness organization that is starting up here in Colorado. The organization is called "Breast Friends." Their website is http://www.breastfriends.com/. Unlike alot of other BC groups, this one is focused not on the patient, but on their friends, family and their communities. The whole idea is, "no woman should have to face breast cancer alone."



Here's what their home page says:



Often, breast cancer patients, especially the newly diagnosed, are in the greatest emotional pain, but are the least able to ask for help. Breast Friends teaches the friends and family of cancer patients specific ways to offer support, helps them understand what the patient is going through, and suggests useful resources for the patient and her family.


Addressing a woman's cancer is a sensitive issue, but we all want to help. However, friends often worry about not doing it "right". As a result, time passes, and to avoid doing it "wrong," we often don't do anything at all. Then, more time passes, and by then we are too embarrassed to pick up the phone and make the call. The message of Breast Friends is that it's never too late to make contact and provide useful and appreciated support to those we love who are facing this terrible disease.



They already have material put together that they hand out to survivor-supports. I'll be incorporating that into my talk, along with some personal stories about being a survivor myself. I'm also reaching out to the survivors and supporters that I know, to ask their opinions on the topic. I'd like yours, reader, as well.



If you're a breast cancer suvivor/patient, what did your friends and family do that was useful and meaningful. What did you ask for and how did your community come through for you? What do you wish you had asked for, or wish you'd handled differently? Was there anything anyone did that was more of a hassle than a help?



If you're a supporter of a breast cancer survivor/patient, what have your struggles been? What has made it easier for you to reach out? What has made it difficult? What do you feel proud of? What do you wish you'd done differently?



Back when I had cancer (I LOVE being able to talk about that in the past tense) I was floored by the creativity and generosity with which my friends and family shared their love and support with me. I still feel like swimming in that wave of care and kindness made it almost worth the nightmare of being diagnosed. I don't just want every other cancer suvivor to experience the same kind of affection and thoughtfullness that I did, I want every other person on the planet to experience it. Of course, I expecially want women dealing with breast cancer to feel as loved and cherished as I did.



And yet, when a friend of mine was recently diagnosed with breast cancer, I totally froze up inside and didn't know what to do.



Here are the thoughts and feelings that make it hard for me to reach out to her.



I don't really know her all that well. I'm sure she has lots and lots of other freinds and family that are bombarding her with their offers of assistance. I'd probably just be bothering her if I called her. I don't really know what she's going through, or where she's struggling. If I call and make suggestions about how I can help, it will sound like I think I know better than she does what she needs. If I say, "I'll do anything you want!" that will sound totally insincere. If I say, "I'll help out where I can," that sounds like I don't really want to be there for her. If I say, "let me know what I can do," then it's like I'm making it her responsibility to figure out what I can do for her. She's probably feeling overwhelmed already, I don't want her to feel like telling me how I can help her is one more thing she needs to add to her to-do list. She probably needs lots of rest and down time. If I call her I might be inturrupting her. If I send her an email, she'll feel like she needs to be polite and answer it. If I ask her when her appointments are, it will just sound like I'm being nosy. Everybody is talking about breast cancer all the time anymore. It's like it's our nation's new hip and cool disease. I don't want her to think I'm just jumping on some bandwagon and trying to be cool by volunteering to help some poor breast cancer patient.



Yes, I have all these thoughts and fears, even thought I'm a breast cancer survivor myself. Maybe I'm just a paranoid freak. But, I figure if I am having these hesitations, other people must be having them too. I hate to think of anyone going through what I went through this summer without a strong support network holding them up.



And, compared to what most breast cancer patients go through, what I went through this summer was easy-peasy-pie. I didn't have chemo, or radiation, or hormone-therapy. My health insurance covered the bulk of the cost of all my charges without a hitch. I didn't need to travel far for any of my diagnostic or treatment appointments. I healed up without complications. My surgeon, physical therapist, oncologist and all their staff were dedicated angels who treated me with respect and affection.



Despite all these blessings, the whole adventure was a bizarre nightmarish labyrinth peppered with surprise sinkholes of despair. I needed the buoyancy of my community's care, and I needed it bad. Women whose treatments are less swift and sure than mine was must need it even worse. I hope volunteering to do these talks can help them get it even better.



I'm also looking forward to the talk because I absolutely love getting up in front of big groups of people and telling them what I think about things. (I guess that's why I like writing this blog, too..) It seems like everyone would want a chance to do this. Aren't we all going around most of the time wishing people really listened to us, and craving proof that our opinions matter? It's hard for me to understand why there aren't scores of people offering to give public talks for free. But, according to many studies, glossophobia (fear of public speaking) doesn't just beat out arachnaphobia and claustraphobia, it is actually more common that necrophobia (fear of death.) I guess I really am a freak of nature.



It seems like I've been this way forever.



In 3rd grade, I lied to my teacher, Ms. Young, whom I adored. Any girls who were taking ballet could be sugar-plum fairies in the holiday show. I'd never had a dance lesson in my life. We couldn't afford such things. But I raised my had with the lucky girls because I wanted to be up on that stage with the spotlight shining down on me. When I got home and told my mom that we were supposed to bring our tutu's to rehersal next week, she didn't scold me for lying or even embarrass me my making me borrow one. Instead, she sewed several yards of crimson tulle onto the waist of a Goodwill tanktop, and stitched 2 inches of crotch into the hem. It was beautiful and perfect and more than made up for the fact the the "stage" turned out to be the center of our classroom floor with the chairs pushed out of the way. Instead of a spotlight, we spun and twirled under our usual florescent ceiling lamps. I still feel a little bitter about that.



In 8th grade, I auditioned for cheerleading. I went to prep-practice after school every day to learn the words and motions of the cheers. I was good at it, loud and energetic. Everyone in the prep-group knew I would get picked. Highschool was going to be great. No more teasing. No more eating lunch alone. I would be a cheerleader! At try-outs, each girl chose a number out of a hat, to decide what order we would line up in. I got 8, my lucky number. When it was my turn to step up alone onto the real stage in our cafeteria, I stood their looking down at the volunteer moms with their lipstick and clipboards. I was ready to do my cheer perfectly as soon as they told me to start. But they didn't tell me to start. Instead, they asked me a totally unexpected question.



"What's your name, honey?" The words and rhythm of the cheer were pounding in my head. I wish I could remember them now. Back then, they were so clear, they drowned out all my other thoughts. I looked at the moms and nodded to let them know I was ready to start.



"We just need to write down your name, sweetie." That seemed reasonable, and I wanted to tell them, but those words weren't in the cheer, so I couldn't think of them.

"Just tell us your name, and then you can start." They were kind, but impatient. I was a great cheerleader, but they would never know it, because I couldn't...with everyone staring at me like that... remember my own name. I walked off the stage all the way home. I still wonder how my life might have been different if I had been a Walkersville High School Cheerleader.

For one thing, I wouldn't have been captain of the Debate Team or competed in Speech and Forensics. And I wouldn't have puzzled and frustrated Jennifer Shezman, the english teacher who served as our coach and advisor. Poor Ms. S did her best with all of us. She especially nurtured and encouraged me, because I had so much potential.

I exelled at extemporaneous speaking. Arriving at the competition with no idea what I would be asked to talk about, I was completely at ease. When handed a slip of paper that said, "Should flag burning be illegal?" or "Should the U.S. Colonize the Moon?" I always took less than the allotted 5 minutes to organize my thoughts and compose myself. Almost effortlessly, I opened my mouth and words would come out. My talks were entertaining, articulate, and prize-winning. Ms. Shesmann liked this about me. This didn't bother her at all.

What bothered her was that I prepared for the planned speech competetion in the exact same way. I didn't outline my thoughts ahead of time, research the subject or practice in front of the mirror. I didn't even consider the topic, though we were given it weeks and weeks in advance of the contest. Why should I, when I was winning these contests too?

I've always thought that what I needed, what Ms. Shesmann couldn't offer me, was deeper motivation. If I had wanted to give the best talk I could possibly give, not just one that was good enough to win, I might have prepared better. I might have written rough drafts and asked my sister to listen to it. This morning I was thinking how, finally, I have a deeper motivation for giving a really good talk. I really do want to motivate and educate people, so they can provide the strong and flexible support network that breast cancer patient/survivors need.

But, now that I'm writing all this, I'm having a new thought. Maybe my problem in high school wasn't just lack of motivation. Maybe my experience at cheerleader tryouts was still affecting me. Maybe, since being over-focused and over-prepared on that day had been my downfall, I started over-compensating. Maybe my unconcious strategy was to memorize nothing, fix my mind on emptiness, so that I would be prepared for whatever surprise the organizers threw my way. In middleschool, I had known exactly what words I was going to say, and exactly how to say them. I ended up silently mortified. In high school, with no idea what I would talk about or how, I chattered triumphant.

This week, as I sit down to write my speech, the prize of possibly helping other women outshines the chance to win a $25 gift certificate from the Kiwanis Club. I feel plenty motivated to organize my thoughts and gather research well ahead of showtime. I think I can also be flexible and spontaneous enough to tailor my talk to whatever audience shows up. But, just to be safe, I think I'll start the talk with a memorized introduction. It will go like this, "Hi. My name is..."