Proliferative Rat Bastards

I don’t know how long I’ve had breast cancer, only that today was the first day I woke up knowing it. Today was the first day I opened my eyes aware that something inside me wanted more, and it wasn’t love or inspiration or creation or enlightenment. Today was the first day I opened my eyes aware that something inside me isn’t “me” at all, and I’m telling you, it’s a total Sigourney Weaver moment, but without the big paycheck.

There are many qualities I have to reach for on a daily basis, because living outside of myself does not come so easily for me. My True Self is 99% sensitivity and introspection. I see in others what I know in myself, and I try to serve as a partner along the path. And if I’m all about looking inward, how did I not see this? How did I not feel this? How the hell did I grow this, and allow it to feast on me?

There are many things I’ve worried about in my life, and breast cancer was never, ever, ever even a blip on the radar. I don’t have a single risk factor for breast cancer. I’ve taken diligent precautions in other areas that were much bigger threats to my health. I don’t even think mammograms hurt — piece of cake. Although I hadn’t had one in a while. Not for any good reason — is there a good reason? The last thing my beloved doctor of 12 years said to me before she left the building a month ago and joined a “boutique” practice was “Go downstairs and make an appointment for a mammogram before you leave the building.” And I did. If I could afford the $2500 annual fee, I would walk into her new office and hug her big.

And this is what it feels like: Strength. Calmness. Hysteria. Dissolution. Resolve. Lack of Focus. Resignation. Belief. Giving Up. Anxiety. Muteness. Dirtiness. Openness. Love. Hate. Love. All on the fast track and vibrating like a loaded spring inside me, blocking the pathways between sensing and knowing, between realizing and speaking, between the intent and the act.

I’m not going to turn this blog into a cancer diary, because this damnable grabby greedy rat bastard stealer of life won’t be with me for long. But he has forced himself uninvited and unwanted onto my path, and he will change me a bit just as love and childbirth and friends and Italy and art have changed me, and I will continue to scour the corners of my psyche to see what’s hiding and what needs the light of day for a better understanding. So yeah, more of the same. But I’ve got my growl on now.

11 thoughts on “Proliferative Rat Bastards

  1. Dear Pam
    You are a strong lady and grabbing the bull by its horns, looking into its eyes and chasing it away you will be rid of this rat bastard! I relate one-hundred fifty-thousand percent with all the feelings you describe, and, no doubt, strength comes-up from the depths of one’s soul to face these challenging journeys. Hugs and healing light to you my friend!


  2. Oh, dear, Pam. You are truly my first friend who one day didn’t have cancer, and the next she did. I feel a tightness in my chest and hear those little drums beating in my ears. I do have complete faith that you will beat this. I believe this very strongly. I am here to talk with, cry with, cuss with…whatever you want. Love you.


  3. Pam,
    You’re strength shows in the words of this post. This rat bastard doesn’t know what’s coming. You’ll kick him right out of the ring. And then, you know we’re all here front and center to run it right on out of the arena. We love you and will be here for you.


  4. Oh, my dear friend, I am so sorry that you have received this dreadful news. Breast cancer is indeed a damnable rat bastard, one I wish no woman had to face in her life! My prayers are with you for complete healing and a return to fullness of health. Sending thoughts of love, hope, and strength in the days ahead as you receive treatment, and many, many hugs. You have my deepest respect and concern for your well being, Pam. Please, please keep everyone posted on your progress.


  5. You have more strength and beauty than I’ve ever imagined could be possible, and I’m so beyond lucky to have you as a mother/role model/best friend. We’re going to kick this tumor’s ass.


  6. Oh, my god. I’m so sorry. SOOOOO sorry. This morning, I woke up writing a post about turning 50 with cancer and how I’m now living my life. You do me a favor, please, and write to me whenever you need to commiserate. You don’t have to be public about it, but if you want to cry or whine or bitch to a virtual stranger, please get in touch with me. You know where to find me, Pamela.


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