Well Meaning but Clueless Comments People Say:

Most of you that know me are aware that I was diagnosed with breast cancer in May of 2011.
I have since undergone a double-mastectomy and had five lymph-nodes removed from my left arm-pit. Two out of the five, tested positive for cancer. (This means I will have a port put in my chest next week and will start Chemo-therapy. After that I will undergo Radiation on my left breast and left arm-pit.)
I also had reconstructive surgery at the time of my mastectomy, and though I've got a quirky sense of humor, I've heard some funny and even well meaning but cluelss comments in the last couple of weeks that I'd thought I'd share with you.

The one I’ve heard the most is, “Well at least you get perky new boobs,” Or “What size are you going to get?”

For those of you that think getting re-constructive breasts is as easy as going in and getting double D implants . . . well you’re wrong, and you’ve obviously never seen reconstructive boobs!

My new girl’s are as hard as rocks and are missing their headlights! I also can’t feel the front half my chest, (So if I accidentally rub up against you, I swear I'm not hitting on you!)

Since my mastectomy, I’ve gone in every week to the plastic-surgeon to get my new girl’s pumped up. And yes, it’s like getting a tire pumped up, only with a lot heavier solution. (So when I die at a ripe old age, & I'm laid out in my casket, the only thing perky about me is going to be my boobs.)

As you can probably tell by now I’m missing a filter between my brain and my mouth, so it shouldn't suprise most of you that when I went in to see my plastic surgeon the other day, and he asked me if I looked about the size I was before my surgery? I told him that Thelma and Louise had hung south for so long that I honestly couldn’t remember them being that perky!

This last visit, he topped the girls off and now I feel like an elephant is sitting on my chest. I’m so top heavy I have to take baby-steps so I won’t tip over and knock myself out.

So my comment as far as new boobs goes, is . . . Yes, I'll get a new rack out of this, but honey, it's nothin' like a good ole fashion boob job, & when it's all said and done, my future headlights won't even work & they'll be as fake as Lightning MacQueen's.

Another frequent comment I get: “Well, it could always be worse. You could get hit by a car and be dead tomorrow.”

These people have obviously never seen me drive!

My snarky side wants to say, “Of course I could get hit by a car . . . then again, if I'm the one driving, it's you who should be worried, cause I drive like a bat-out-of-hell.

Instead, the “good me” tells them that when it’s my time to go; God will call me home.

I’ve only had one person ask what it’s like to have cancer?

The answer is it’s scary as hell! Although I didn’t tell him this because it was my nine year old nephew. Instead, I told him that it makes you appreciate life a lot more, and that I look forward to each sunrise I get to spend with the ones I love.

I’ve also heard “You’re so brave!”

This one makes me laugh, cause I’m the biggest scaredy-cat out there. Yes, I’d rather be the one going through this then have to watch one of my sisters or even my daughter go through breast cancer. On the other hand, it has nothing to do with being brave. Another blogger going through breast cancer made the following comment, concerning being "brave" and I found it not only funny, but it's the honest to God truth, and I just had to add it.

She say's, "Wow, how did you know about the child I rescued from the burning building last night? It wasn't even in the papers! Oh, are you referring to the time I went to war and fought for my country and got in the firefight and dragged my injured friend to safety? Or, do you mean the time I single-handedly stopped a bank robber from shooting that elderly lady?

No? You are referring to me showing up on time for doctor's appointments?"

It's nice to be called brave, but we cancer patients all know we aren't. Brave is a word best reserved for people who deliberately put themselves in harm's way. Trust me, if I could get out of this, I would. I'd run so fast I'd leave old people and children behind. And puppies. All the puppies. The truth is, I have no choice but to put one foot in front of the other and do what my doctors say.

What you should say: "I'm sorry you have cancer." If you must add another phrase, you can say, "You are handling this difficulty with grace."

Then order housekeeping service, because I am guessing what is going on in that bathroom isn't that graceful. "


And honestly, I think what she said all about somes it up. Because when it’s all said and done, I’m going to get through this even if I have to laugh, cry, and joke my way through the next year and a half of hell, but I will also try and do it with grace. That doesen't mean I won't have a lot off handed & yes even snarky remarks. But the truth of the matter is, you can say any of those things to me, and I won’t mind. You can also ask me anything, just be prepared to learn more about me then what you probably wanted to hear. The truth is, I’ve probably said these same things to somebody who did have cancer at some point too. Nobody really knows what to do or say, and that’s part of being human. It’s all right to say “I’m sorry that you’re going through this.” Hell, I’m sorry too . . . but I’m not going to go cry in my Root beer.
Life’s just to short for that. And honey, I’ve got a lot of living to do!