So, the other day I got this letter in the mail inviting me to a breast cancer powwow. The letter and event brochure came in an envelope with my name and address on it. You may not think that’s significant. You may be thinking, “Well, Moody, how else would they address it? Surely you wouldn’t expect them to just send out a mass mailing addressed to ‘current resident’ would you?” I’m not so sure that I wouldn’t. Because the letter itself opened with the greeting: Dear Person with a Diagnosis of Breast Cancer.
Gee, how do they make it feel so doggone personal? Amazing! I feel so loved.
The letter is signed by Patsy, who took the time to actually sign her name along with her impressive alphabet of credentials, which is obviously more important than taking the time to address me by my name. Now granted, my name doesn’t normally have a bunch of fancy pants letters after it, but thanks to ol’ Patsy, I can now call myself Moody Foodie, PWDBC. That is my identity these days, right? Person with a diagnosis of breast cancer? Or current resident. It’s kind of a toss up.
These items came from Union Hospital in conjunction with The Maple Center in Terre Haute. I did my radiation at Hux Cancer Center, so I’m assuming that’s how I got on their list. Ironically, Patsy makes a point of telling me to “Rest assured that your name and address has been kept confidential.” My name, you say? And what might that be? Hmm? Current resident? Person with a Diagnosis of Breast Cancer? Shhh! Someone might steal my identity! (And, Patsy, it’s HAVE. They HAVE been kept confidential. Good grief, you’re making us sound like illiterate hilljacks. Dang.)
I know you’re all anxious to hear about this cancer powwow I’ve been invited to. It’s called “Celebration of Life”. Okay, not bad so far, although I have most often heard that phrase used in regard to funerals. But, I can get past that if it’s going to be some super cool event, right? Says it’s a “one day seminar to pamper inspire, energize and teach.” So, it sounds like it has potential. I mean, pamper sounds like pedicures and hot stone massages, right? And that thing about teaching sounds good. I’m all about education. I bet they’ll be doing sessions about breast reconstruction techniques, and post-chemo fertility issues facing young women, and all sorts of relevant stuff.
Let’s take a look at the brochure together, shall we?
Oh. Wow. One of the first session options is “Cultivating Support on Your Journey: Using Collage.” Dude, they just used the J word. And collage? Collage? Seriously? I realize that I am biased, in that I have always and forever considered collage to be the lamest form of art (and I use the term loosely) known to man, but this makes me want to go straight for my eye-poking spork.
But it’s got to get better, right? Surely there’s a pedicure in there somewhere. Let’s look at our options for the second session. “Wisdom Circle (Sharing insight): Using guidelines from the Wisdom Circle Format inspired by councils of indigenous people, this circle discussion using a talking object allows us to share wisdom and compassion.” What kind of Mickey Mouse new-agey crap is that? Because we all know that there’s no wisdom or compassion without a “talking object”. <insert eye roll here> But, hey, if we must use an object to talk for us, I volunteer The Foob. He may not be wise or compassionate, but doggone it, he’ll sound French as he says, “You do not need Zee Foob, or zee wisdom circle, you need a zinnamon latte—now zuck it up!”
I’m torn. Going to this thing would no doubt give me SO much material. Yet, do I really want to spend a day collaging and getting my weirdness on in the wisdom circle? This thing is March 7th, so I have a little time. Perhaps I’ll leave it to you to decide.