Use the promo code 22JOYSALE at checkout to get the sale price now through January 6, 2023!
This is a great deal, as you’ll save over $12 on the Hardback and almost $12 on the eBook. Know someone who is going through breast cancer? This would be a helpful gift. Know someone who’s a science loving nerd? They’ll probably like it, too!
It’s day 17 of National Breast Cancer Awareness Month! Today’s post is all about celebrating our pet pals and how they support and heal us when we have cancer. I’m a lifelong cat fanatic. My first pet was a ginger tomcat who chased me through the house and yard and then curled up with me for a well-earned nap. I’ve been hooked ever since. Cats are wildly entertaining goofballs that toe the line between completely endearing and completely annoying, and I’m here for it!
I am currently owned by three cats.
Vanilla (full name Vanilla Wafter Sieders Asshole IV), my son’s 5 year old Siamese who is gorgeous, had the biggest and best purrs, likes to give love bites and has a weird foot fetish. Then there’s Kuro (Kuro I’m the Good One Sieders), my daughter’s 4 year old black beauty who is a world class snuggler, has the sweetest purr, and turns into a ninja assassin when it’s time to trim her claws. Finally, my black cat (pandemic pet) Sheila (Sheila Bad Bitch Sieders) is 2 years old, gorgeous, dumb as a bag of rocks, and wildly entertaining. She also meows loudly and nonstop.
Aside from their many and varied personality quirks, whenever someone in the family is sick or recovering from illness (in my case, multiple surgeries and radiation therapy), the cats are on that someone 24/7, working in shifts to provide comfort and company. Kuro takes on the brunt of the work, curled up in a lap or on a chest with soothing purrs and comforting warmth, letting us stroke her silky soft fur and relax into her calm.
Kuro sitting on my lap (covered by her favorite soft blanket) in my home office. Yes, that’s a ceramic skull on my desk. And a hand-painted ceramic mermaid. And a “Donut Give Up” plaque. Don’t worry about it.
Vanilla will then take over, making biscuits on the blanket, purring, and demanding pets. He’s not big on cuddles, but he likes to sit close and slow blink. He’s 15 pounds of fluff and squishy love.
Then, there’s Sheila. She’s a noodle of a cat, slinky and svelte, acrobatic, energetic, and adorable with her single braincell. She’s young, very busy playing and getting into all kinds of cat shenanigans, and always makes me laugh. She’s not often cuddly, but when she is, she melts. Her purrs are soft and subtle, and her fur is as sleek as she is.
I’m a believer in the healing power of cats, but what is the scientific evidence? Turns out, the emotional support benefits of pets for cancer patients are supported by the American Cancer Society and by a recently published literature review. Click on the links for tips to stay safe and healthy with pets while undergoing cancer treatments.
As long as your healthcare provider gives you the green light and you take precautions to protect yourself and your pets during treatment, take all the fur baby love you can get!
It’s day 11 of National Breast Cancer Awareness Month! I’ve been so inspired, entertained (laughter is often the best medicine), and filled with pride by social media activity showcasing people working hard to raise breast cancer awareness, celebrating survivors, and sharing their stories!
Here are a few of my favorite videos for National Breast Cancer Awareness Month!
This video featuring funny stories from deaf breast cancer survivors lit me up!
Funny stories from 4 deaf breast cancer survivors!
On of my favorite comedians, the incomparable Tig Notaro, tells us how to make breast cancer funny!
Tig is the BEST!
And last but not least, here’s a great story from another favorite comedian, the amazing Wanda Sykes!
It’s nice to not need a bra!
Got any favorites? Send me links! Sharing is caring, and we could all use a laugh!
It’s funny. I’ve been meaning to write more blog posts, but I’ve been so busy with work, family, writing, and…COVID. My whole family got the ‘Rona and it sucked. Fortunately, we’d been vaccinated, and my husband and I had been boosted. It didn’t result in hospitalization or death. We were lucky. My birth mother, Mary Etta Caldwell, was not. We lost her to Covid and I’m still reeling. PSA – the pandemic isn’t over. It’s still killing people. It’s still debilitating people with long haul Covid. Get vaxxed/boosted and stay safe out there.
Now, onto the main event. This one’s a fucking RIOT!!!
I don’t know if this was from a bot, but I’d like to think it’s from a man. I picture a middle-aged white man who is possibly unemployed and likes to slide into women’s DMs and make sexist comments, spew pseudoscience woo woo, and is a fan of Trumplican propaganda on Facebook and Twitter. We’ll call him Arthur – because that’s what his profile says!
Arthur is very concerned about me and my health. So concerned, in fact, that he reached out in a very sincere and grammatically sound Facebook Message to save me. Now, he hasn’t read my book—though he promises he will and I totally believe him—but he has vital information that he must share with me. Aren’t I lucky?
Arthur has the secret to cancer. Are y’all ready? It’s a dry rot fungus addicted to sugar, and all you need to kill it is hot water.
But if I REALLY want to keep the fungus at bay, I need to “maintain a LOW GLYCEMIC diett” and since “your carryinga little extra weight,” I must still be eating a high glycemic carb “amoint.”
Now, I’ve received flak before for pointing out bad grammar and spelling in personal attacks, but come on! This fucker reached out to me, a breast cancer survivor and researcher, with unsolicited advice and, quite frankly, the STUPIDEST explanation for cancer I’ve ever heard—and I’ve heard some real doozies.
But, beyond the poor grammar, spelling, and general stupidity, there is so much more fodder here for me to unpack. Firstly, mansplaining. It’s a thing. Ask any woman in your sphere and she’ll tell you. She won’t even have to think about it, and will probably come up with five personal experiences in less than a minute. I am an expert in the field of breast cancer. Not sort of, kind of, I guess I know a little—I’m a bona fide expert in the field with a Ph.D. and more than twenty years of experience studying the disease. I also have personally experienced breast cancer IN MY BODY. I know what I’m talking about, and the information I share is carefully researched and derived from peer-reviewed scientific publications.
I doN’t nEEd arTHur to eXplaIN caNcer to mE.
And yet, like so many mediocre white male living examples of Dunning-Kruger, he just couldn’t help himself! Yes, I’m singling out white men. No, I don’t think it’s out of line. If you’re a white man and you’re offended, then you’re an Arthur and you need to rethink your life choices and behavior. If you’re not offended, you’re an ally and you should call out the Arthurs in your life because they’ll listen to you as a fellow white man. You can do it. It’s easy and fun.
Next, the fungus thing. I don’t think Arthur is giving white rot fungus a fair shake. Apparently, it is quite a useful organism that plays a vital role in the global carbon cycle by breaking down lignin, an organic polymer component of plant cell walls, especially in wood and bark, that lends rigidity and do not rot easily. If we didn’t have dry rot fungi, we’d have a whole lot of dead trees mucking up the planet.
But Dr. Dana, does it cause cancer??
Of course not!* In fact, an early pre-clinical study performed in colon cancer cell lines reported that extracts from a species of dry rot fungus, Cerrena unicolor, caused cancer cells to die in culture. That’s right, my friends. I think white rot fungi should sue Arthur for slander. Arthur is spreading malicious propaganda against this very useful organism that does more good on planet earth than Arthur could ever hope to achieve. Clearly, Arthur is jealous.
Now, as for sugar and cancer, it’s complicated. Biology is complicated. Anyone who says anything different is trying to sells you bullshit supplements. I wonder if Arthur sells supplements… Anyway, metabolism consists of a complex series of interconnected biochemical reactions that convert food energy into cellular energy required to fuel cellular processes, generate building blocks necessary to create/sustain/repair biomass, and eliminate cellular waste. Metabolism gets fucked up in very interesting ways in cancer cells and in the cells that surround it (microenvironment). Obesity is a metabolic health issue and a risk factor for breast cancer.
However, as noted by the American Cancer Society, “But the connection between weight and breast cancer risk is complicated. Studies suggest the risk appears to be increased for women who gained weight as an adult but may not be increased among those who have been overweight since childhood. Also, having extra fat in the waist area may raise risk more than having extra fat in the hips and thighs.” There are many, many dedicated, highly trained, competent scientists and physicians studying the complexities of metabolism, and there’s plenty they still don’t know.
I guarantee they know WAAAAAAAAAAAAY more about the subject than Arthur, who has no medical degree, no credentials, and no peer-reviewed studies to back up his assertions. The only thing he has is the audacity. As for the not-so-subtle dig on my weight, I can’t say it better than Lizzo. I’m a big bitch. I don’t have a tour bus, but I’ve got a degree, a platform, and I do a lot of good in the world. What do you do that’s worth anyone’s while, Arthur?
*If you want to hate on fungi linked to cancer, you should really go for Aspergillus flavus and Aspergillus parasiticus. They produce aflatoxins, and exposure to those increases liver cancer risk.
In summary, in a world full of Arthurs, be a Lizzo.
I was going to end it here, but Arthur slid back into my DMs to leave these little nuggets of wisdom:
No, I’m not clicking on any of those links, because I don’t want a computer virus. Somehow, I don’t think this is the only virus Arthur is carrying. I hope you’ve found this post informative and entertaining, because I had a HOOT writing it! Thank you, Arthur.
I can’t believe I have to write this post. I’m shaking my head and weeping for the future of humanity as I write it. Are people really stupid enough to believe that ivermectin – a drug we use in our laboratory mice to treat pinworms (butt worms) – can cure Covid?
Yes (sadly). Yes, they are.
Ivermectin is used to treat butt worms in animals. It can also be used to treat roundworms in people. It works by paralyzing worms, specifically by binding to proteins on motor neurons (nerves that tell muscles to move) and disrupting their activity. It also mucks around with the ability of nematode worms to reproduce.
Fun fact: the naturally occurring analogs of ivermectin, avermectins, were discovered in bacteria from soil samples collected by Dr. Satoshi Ōmura from woods near a golf course in Kawana, on the south east coast of Honshu, Japan. The name “avermectin” reflects the activity of these compounds, making treated organisms “worm free.” Dr. Ōmura and Dr. William Campbell shared the 2015 Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine for this discovery. You can read more about that here. Ivermectin in pill form can be used in humans to treat parasitic worms, and topical (on the skin) formulations are also used to treat head lice and rosacea.
It does actually have other, non-butt worm related activities that include treatment of severe muscle spasticity in patients with spinal cord injuries and shows activity against leukemia in laboratory animal models. It may also target molecular pathways relevant to treatment of other cancers, including lung and colon cancer and glioma based on laboratory animal studies, and could block inflammatory T-cell activity in atopic dermatitis, relieving irritation. A recent review covers the research on these applications.
Okay, given these other potential applications, I guess I can kinda sorta see why some folks without a science background might be buying into the idea of using Ivermectin to treat Covid, but(t) still…
This apparently became trendy because of ongoing clinical trials designed to test the efficacy of Ivermectin for Covid-19 treatment and prevention, alone and in combination with other drugs.
Why? Because laboratory studies (in petri dishes in a lab, NOT in people) have shown that Ivermectin can inhibit viral replication, which means it can stop the virus from making copies of itself, which is how it spreads. In vitro. In vitro means “performed or taking place in a test tube, culture dish, or elsewhere outside a living organism.” Plenty of other previous studies showed that ivermectin blocks replication or interferes with the production and spread of other viruses, including HIV, Dengue virus, West Nile virus, and a few others. In vitro. You can review some of these studies here. In spite of these in vitro studies, there is no evidence that ivermectin has any anti-viral effect on the SARS-CoV-2 virus that causes Covid-19. For a link to clinical trial data, click here.
And misuse of ivermectin can be dangerous. According to theFDA,“Even the levels of ivermectin for approved human uses can interact with other medications, like blood-thinners. You can also overdose on ivermectin, which can cause nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, hypotension (low blood pressure), allergic reactions (itching and hives), dizziness, ataxia (problems with balance), seizures, coma and even death.”
The best way to limit the spread of SARS-CoV-2 is to get the vaccine. Period.
And Now for the PSA I never thought I’d have to make…
About the whole so-called “urine therapy” thing – something I never in a million years imagined I would blog about. It isn’t a thing. Apparently, some anti-vaxx conspiracy theory wingnut named Christopher Key has been encouraging his followers to drink their own urine to ward off the SARS-CoV-2 virus instead of getting vaccinated.
For the sake of being thorough and due diligence, I performed a PubMedsearch for “urine therapy covid” on January 16. The search produced 188 results, most dealing with the effects COVID-19 on kidney function, studies related to the potential spread of the virus through urine (risk reported to be negligible), urine-based COVID-19 testing and analysis of cytokines and other diagnostic markers, and testing for SARS-CoV-2 in waste water.
The funniest result was a paper with the title, “Influence of perceived threat of Covid-19 and HEXACO personality traits on toilet paper stockpiling” published inPLoS One.
This one was more sad than funny, but apparently some folks in India are using cow dung to treat COVID-19. People…rubbing animal shit and urine all over your body isn’t effective at treating ANYTHING and is likely to expose you to a whole lot of nasty zoonotic (spread by animals) diseases. Plus you’ll stink. Just…don’t.
You know what I didn’t find in my literature search? I didn’t find a single peer-reviewed study endorsing the use of drinking your own piss as a treatment for COVID-19. Zero, zip, zilch, nada – no evidence to back up this ridiculous claim.
Not that the crazies need silly things like evidence. This actually fits quite nicely with the all-natural woo woo trends. Can you picture it? All natural, locally sourced, sustainably harvested on tap pee pee for your health needs! You’ve heard of eating placenta (don’t do that, either), but why stop there? Drink your pee! When it’s fresh, it looks like a beer.
Sure doesn’t taste like beer. Stick to drinking nice, cold brewskies, and get your vaccine. Please.
Sometimes, if you’re lucky, something comes into your life just when you need it the most. That was my introduction to The Bloggess (aka Jenny Lawson aka Amazing/Funny/Fabulous human being). I LOVED her first book, Let’s Pretend This Never Happened (A Mostly True Memoir), gifted to me by my BFF. If you haven’t read it, treat yourself. Her other books are just as poignant, engaging, and hilarious. They’re like Pokemon – gotta catch them all! Or maybe potato chips – betcha can’t read just one. Something like that.
Better yet, grab the Audiobook! Jenny narrates it, and the humor and heartache and hope just flows from her voice directly to your brain cells, releasing serotonin and making you feel better no matter what you’re going through. Which brings me back to my first point – the something-that-comes-into-your-life-just-when-you-need-it-the-most point:
The day I endured two breast biopsies was a bad day. It would have been worse without Jenny, who allowed me to escape into her world and kept me company while I was waiting to go on the slab. And guess what?
SHE FOLLOWED ME BACK ON TWITTER!!!!
This was the highlight of my year, people! It also kept me going and inspired me while writing Talking to My Tatas. Jenny’s story touched and inspired millions, and she’s saved lives, y’all! I wanted to do the same. Whenever I got frustrated, stuck, or wanted to just give up on the writing, querying, and rejections, I remembered Jenny.
Fast-forward to the present, and guess what? Jenny Lawson endorsed my book!
“I don’t know much about cancer, but I know good writing and humor, and Dana Brantley-Sieders has those in spades.” — Jenny Lawson, #1 New York Times-bestselling author of “Let’s Pretend This Never Happened”
I’m delighted, grateful, and I’m totally going to stalk visit her at The Nowhere Bookshop someday soon. Thanks, Babe!
First off, HUGE news! My amazing literary agent, Barbara Collins Rosenberg, landed a publishing deal for me with Rowman & Littlefield!!! I’m honored, thrilled, and still squee-ing! So, stay tuned for Talking to My Tatas: A Breast Cancer Researcher’s Adventure With The Disease And What You Can Learn From It.
Here’s the Working Blurb – it will likely change based on guidance from my amazing editor, Suzanne Staszak-Silva, but it will give you a taste of what I intend to share (my story) and spread (scientifically sound information) with this book:
Can I talk to you about my personal relationship with my breasts?
I’ve spent twenty years working as a biomedical breast cancer researcher. Then, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I thought I knew breast cancer before it whacked me upside my left boob and left me bleeding on the curb of uncertainty. Turns out, I had a lot to learn. The purpose of this book is to share my personal adventure with breast cancer, from the laboratory bench to my own bedside, and to provide accessible information about breast cancer biology for non-scientists. I say adventure, because I’d rather think of it as an action movie with some really cool side quests instead of another tragedy-to-triumph saga. I’m not big on sagas. I am big on kickass intellectual badassery, pathological nerdiness, and talking about my sweet, sweet rack.
Why do we need another cancer memoir? In a sea of inspirational stories, celebrity survivor stories, and physician memoirs that bring a clinical perspective, nothing I’ve found in the current market tackles breast cancer through the lens of a breast cancer researcher who became a survivor. We live in an age of fake news and pseudoscience, made worse by the pervasive anti-intellectual and anti-science political culture gripping the United States and much of the world. The Internet and social media are plagued by scammers selling “alternative medicine” and woo woo “cures” for cancer. Through Talking to My Tatas: A Breast Cancer Researcher’s Adventure With Breast Cancer And What You Can Learn From It, I offer accurate, evidence-based science that is accessible to laypersons, including the more than three hundred thousand individuals diagnosed with breast cancer every year*, their caregivers, and their loved ones.
Knowledge is power, and lack of it can lead to overtreatment, unnecessary pain and suffering, and can even be deadly. By demystifying the process from mammograms, biopsies, pathology and diagnostics, surgical options, tumor genomic testing, and new treatment options, I aim to offer hope in a story intended to blend the humor and delivery style of Jenny Lawson’sLet’s Pretend This Never Happened (A Mostly True Memoir) with the integrity and scientifically sound beauty of Siddhartha Mukherjee’s The Emperor of All Maladies: A Biography of Cancer.
*American Cancer Society Facts & Figures 2020
I’ve got some work to do! In addition to writing and fleshing out chapters for my editor to review (and work her magic on), I’ve been busy working on figures and visuals for the book, cover art forms, marketing and promo plans, and getting a new headshot! The one I currently have on this page and all over the Internet is absolutely gorgeous, fun, and from 2012. A LOT has happened in 8 years, and I have aged. I’d like to think I’ve aged gracefully, but at any rate, it was time to update the image.
Lillian Boeskool is MAGIC! She made me look so good and captured the essence of my personality in a series of amazing headshots (If you’re in the greater Nashville area and need headshots or other photography, HIRE HER). I have two favorite images and I cannot decide which one to use for this page and the book. I invite y’all to enable my decision-making disorder vote for your favorite!
This one on the left is super fun and catches me trying not to laugh at something funny Lillian said and/or did. It captures my mischief, my sense of humor, and really makes my face look nice.
And, unlike the previous headshot for which I straightened my hair, this one highlights my popping natural curls!
I’m almost 48 years old. Anything that makes my face look nice is gold.
Told you she was MAGIC!
There’s just something about this next one on the right that speaks to me.
I think it captures my sass and tells my readers that I’m going to take them on a really funny adventure that will make them a smidge uncomfortable but will ultimately leave them laughing and glad they went along for the ride.
That’s me in a nutshell.
I can’t decide between the two!
And…just to throw a monkey wrench into this whole program…
This one is my husband’s favorite.
It’s nice, too.
I’m glad he thinks I look good in all of these photographs and still thinks I’m beautiful in spite of time marching across my face and body and in spite of cancer leaving me with a janky left breast-in-progress*.
He’s pretty awesome!
I think I’ll keep him.
*Janky left breast-in-progress on display in the first two photos as the line of discoloration just above my shirt collar. Lillian asked if I wanted to Photoshop it out, but I said no. It’s where I am right now. It’s why I’m blogging, writing this book, and becoming a breast cancer patient/survivor advocate as well as a breast cancer researcher. It’s a badge of fucking honor and it stays!
I had breast cancer. I didn’t have to have chemo. I’m lucky and benefited from decades of biomedical research that made OncoType DX testing possible (I WILL get around to blogging about this test eventually, I swear), and I happened to have a low score.
I still had cancer. I’ve had three surgeries (and I’m not done), radiation, and I’ve got a ten year sentence with estrogen blockers and medically induced menopause. I’m still lucky. I know and understand that. Very well.
I still had cancer. When someone in or out of the survivor club (it’s always worse when it’s another survivor) tells me I had “baby cancer” or “good cancer,” I get a special kind of homicidal that will probably get me locked up someday when I finally lose my .
Never, ever, EVVVVVVVVVER say that to someone who has had cancer. It’s not a contest. It’s a suck fest and no one, not even fellow survivors, should not presume to understand the level of suffering endured by cancer patients and survivors.
First off, I’m doing GREAT nine days after autologous (fancy term for my surgeon using my own fat and tissue to build a new boob) breast reconstruction! The procedure went very well, and the graft took. My amazing surgeon, Dr. Galen Perdikis (and his team, including the surgeon who assisted with the microvascular attachment work), took muscle and tissue from my right thigh and made a very nice left breast by grafting it under the skin he saved following my mastectomy back in May. The official medical lingo for this type of reconstruction is diagonal upper gracilis (DUG) flap reconstruction. I’ll blog more about the specifics and the experience later, but right now, I want to talk about something else.
I want to talk about a bit of an epiphany I had.
Disclaimer – I have NO scientific or medical data to back me up on this, partly because I couldn’t FIND IT on Google or PubMed. This could be a search strategy issue (the closest thing I did find was Post Intensive Care Syndrome, PICS), and I hope it is, because I’ll be super disappointed if no one has studied the phenomenon I’m experiencing right this very moment—a phenomenon that I’ve decided to call Wounded Animal Asshole Syndrome, or WAAS.
This should TOTALLY be included in the DSM. And I fully expect credit for it.
Here’s the deal. The first time I left the house on my own after surgery, which was yesterday, I was, for lack of a better word, a RAGING asshole. Now anyone who knows me will tell you that I can be a Grade A asshole on any given day under the right set of circumstances, but this was something else. Something visceral and deeply animalistic. I was angry, suspicious, and viewed every other human around me as a potential threat. Like a wounded animal, I gave off a heavy dose of don’t-fuck-with-me vibes that fell just short of low, guttural growls.
By the time I reached the Breast Center for my appointment, I was a little worried about the safety of those around me.
Then, it hit me. I am—quite literally—a wounded animal. Yes, I volunteered to undergo the procedure that left me with the healing surgical incisions I was subconsciously guarding. Yes, my rational mind knew that the arguably weird man in Walgreens wasn’t out to snatch me and throw me in his trunk. And yet, I was experiencing the same level of heightened awareness and suspicion of strangers around me that I felt shortly after the birth of each of my children—a time during which I was still sore, bleeding, and physically vulnerable.
That fed into the horrible postpartum depression (PPD) episodes I experienced, but that’s a story for another time…
I have no idea if this is a common thing or a me thing (I suspect it’s a common thing because I’m not special, no matter what my mom told me growing up), but it is both fascinating and disturbing. It happened again today when I took my son to the zoo and we encountered a crowd at the entrance. In addition to generalized COVID anxiety (note: the Nashville Zoo is SUPER cautious, mandates masks, and limits the number of daily visitors like a responsible organization), I was freaked the fuck out and felt the urge to turn in a circle and hiss to keep people away from me and my cub, er, I mean, son. It was weird. It doesn’t happen when I’m out with my mate (husband) or when I’m in in a small herd (of socially distanced friends)—only when I’m alone or with a child (who is almost as tall as me, which makes it weirder).
The only reason I can think of for this bizarre behavior is that it is a throwback from ancestral human days when we were running from cave lions, saber toothed cats, and wooly rhinos. Hide pain, conceal wounds, show no weakness, and act so aggressive that the big scary predator won’t bother with you and will instead seek an easier meal.
Maybe it’s a manifestation of generalized anxiety disorder (GAD), but honestly, I’ve been managing that very nicely with medication and therapy—or so I thought.
Anyone else out there have this? Drop me a note in the comments. We’ll call it an informal survey.
So I’m 5 months out from my mastectomy, waiting for reconstruction of my left breast, and I feel fugly. Not just ugly, but the kind of grotesque that can only come from looking in the mirror and STILL being shocked to see one nipple hanging significantly higher than the other. When I’m clothed it’s slightly better. I can shove my fake boob into my bra and sort of look balanced.
I say “sort of” because the damned insert moves around and is slightly bigger than my intact right boob, so I have to stuff the other freakin’ side with inserts from sports bras, which also move around, and I swear I can tell that I’m lopsided when I look at recent photos.
My family assures me that no one else notices, and maybe they’re right, but I notice, and it makes me self-conscious. It sucks. I also feel old. I’m coming up on my 48th birthday, which technically means I’m still middle-aged. But between the breast cancer diagnosis three years ago, two surgeries, radiation, and three years in medically-induced menopause plus estrogen suppression, I swear I’ve aged ten years.
Am I grateful to be alive? You bet! Do I feel lucky that my prognosis is great? Of course! Is every day a gift? Abso-fucking-lutely! But there are days when cancer and all that comes with it crashes down on me and I get sad, tired, and pissed off about what the big C has done to me.
I’m not alone. If you’re out there feeling the same way, you aren’t alone. We are strong. We are survivors. But we are also human and we will have bad days. And that’s okay. We can’t avoid them, and we have to endure them, but we don’t have to get sucked into the pit of despair. Here are some coping strategies I’ve found helpful. Maybe they’ll help you.
Put on some cute clothes
Fall is here, and that means it’s time to pull out those fuzzy sweaters, leggings, boots, and cute scarves. I’m self conscious about my neck and my cleavage, so scarves have REALLY helped. I’m not going out as much thanks to Covid, but I’ve made it a point, at least once a week, to put on real clothes (instead of the athleisure wear I’ve been rocking since work-from-home became a thing). I choose colors that make me feel bright and shiny, and select from outfits that I’ve been complimented on before. It helps! Those are the days when I can focus more on what I like about my body and face rather than what I don’t like. Have fun, wear what makes YOU feel beautiful, and don’t worry about the folks who say women of a certain age/weight/body type shouldn’t wear certain clothing. The only thing a woman should NEVER wear is the weight of other people’s expectations.
Have Fun with Makeup
I’ve always been pretty basic when it comes to makeup. Foundation, blush, concealer on the blemishes, and boom – done! Fortunately, I have a teen who is super creative, into cosplay, and LOVES makeup. Thanks to her, I’ve upped my makeup game and it has helped me feel pretty. A lovely sales associate at Sephora taught me how to contour, another fantastic salesperson at Ulta recommended primer and an eyeshadow pallet that I LOVE – dramatic eyes really work in the era of masks – and my teen routinely helps me out with the eye makeup game. The old barn does look better with some fresh paint!
Simple Self Care
Anything from drugstore face masks to bathbombs to nice-smelling lotion can be cheap ways to pamper yourself when you’re feeling like a wart on the ass end of a troll. Have a soak, wash your hair (especially if it’s been daaaaaaaaays), brush your teeth, put on some perfume, and treat yourself like the absolute fucking QUEEN you are. You are worth it.
Take a Freakin’ Selfie and Send it To Your Friends
I stole this one from “Everything is Awful and I’m Not Okay,” which I totally recommend you print out and post to your bedroom door. Take a selfie, send it to your friends and/or put it on social media – Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, hell, make a TikTok video. Speaking of TikTok, get on there and find yourself some support from Your Fairy Godmother @starr_mcqeen_, Your Non Binary Uncle @thaddeusshafer, and the aggressively supportive @angryreactions. They don’t think you are pretty, precious, loved, and worthy, and awesome, they KNOW it and they’ll tell you. Your friends and social contacts will tell you you’re pretty, and you’ll believe them and feel better.
Send ME a selfie and I’ll tell you how pretty you are!
Got any other tips? Let me know. I can use all the help I can get, and I’ll share the love!