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65. Series: Part 3: Spinning at 45 rpm’s: Beyond The Sea

Cerebral Jukebox Magazine Posted on by

Then the change in light, brightness to dim, our eyes readjusted and we’d pass the snack bar where the teens were pushing and singing.  We’d walk up the concrete hill and face the two doors, one for men one for women. 

My mother, sister and I would plod through the locker room in our rubber sandals, our feet wet and sandy, sometimes making a “squeak-squish” sound as we walked.  Piled high with damp, sandy towels, pails, aluminum chairs, the cooler bag, and whatever else we managed to drag along with us, we arrived at the locker where we would park our load, peel off our wet suits, wrap ourselves in a towel or robe, pop on a doofy looking plastic shower cap, take the soap in a soap dish and a clean towel.

My father was a mechanical genius; I used to love to watch him fix things, take things apart, clean them, repair them, from toasters to cameras.  He observed a ridiculous situation in the shower room; there was no way to keep the water turned on.  There was a fat button that had to be pressed, not easy when you are trying to soap up and wash off.  So, he fashioned a metal contraption, simple and elegant, wrapped in black electrical wire.  It was a clamp of sorts that held the button in “on” position, so that with a press and a push, the clamp was in place and  the water flowed as long as needed.

One of us was assigned to the soap, the other the clamp.  It was shower time.

The bath house had a steam room and as we passed it, billows of wet clouds poured forth.

The whole area was wet and dank, dreary and dark.  Everything echoed.    I don’t know how many showers there were in that room, but there were a lot of women, their voices and the sounds of the water bounced around the walls.  We hung our towels and robes on the hooks and joined the arena of naked, wet women.

But something happened.

It was like the time I stood over the solarium with my father on that day.  My mind registered “naked female forms,” as human.  As art.   As reflective shapes.  They glistened in the sun from oil and sweat.  They were virtually lifeless as they lay there, like a museum exhibit.  I don’t remember having an emotional reaction.  Perhaps children’s brains are still taking it all in, still absorbing experiences, like going to the movies and watching Tony get killed in West Side Story.

We watch, absorb, process. We feel. We distance from the discomfort.  I was a sensitive child, maybe too sensitive, so I may be disconnected from the emotion attached to the memory.  I knew I had had fun that day, I knew what I saw. I accepted.  But.

Elderly women came in and out of the showers.  Many spoke Yiddish.  They chatted, laughed, bathed.

Their forms were not like that of my mother’s; my mother was 5′ tall, petite and perfectly balanced, ballerina like.  These women were ghastly misshapen;  I recoiled at the sight of wide, flat breasts that hung so low, the weight of them unfathomable, I had never seen anything like this. I gasped at stomachs mapped by Caesarian sections, and appendectomies or other surgeries.  Some forearms bore blue number tattoos. Some upper arms were as big as thighs.  Some thighs were as big as houses.

I knew the female form from my limited experience.  But this was like visiting another planet, like observing another species.  I felt guilt at my horror, feared I would suffer the same fate, was terrified at what aging did to these women.  I hated them.

I could recall the slimy feel of the soap. I could feel the spray against the plastic shower cap, with the elastic cutting into my forehead, hear it tapping on my head.  I could look down at my 11 year old body like it was a familiar friend.  I took a mild interest in how it was changing.  I could wash off the sand and feel safe in the towel. I could reunite with my mother and sister.

I could still be a child.

But I wasn’t prepared for the sight of the woman with one breast.
One hung low, heavy, wet, soapy.  Where the other one should have been was well, a space, a concave scar.  One breast, one scar. Why?  Did she get it caught in something, maybe something like my neighbor’s washing machine wringer; was she feeding clothes into the rollers and cranking mindlessly; did “it” get caught and fall off into the sudsy clothes?

And then I noticed that there were other women with one breast; some had a right one, some a left.  Was it contagious, all these “accidents”?  Did they get crushed in an elevator door? What was going on?

My mother didn’t explain.  We took our showers, dried off, got dressed, emerged from the bathhouse, met my father, and climbed up the stairs to the elevated train.

There is a picture of my mother; my father always had a camera with him.  There she was in black and white, sitting on the concrete platform floor, holding a leg in a pose, behind her was the station name on a porcelain sign.  “Brighton Beach.” The sun was still glaring but lower in the sky as we waited for the train to take us back to Manhattan, where the world appeared safer and people wore clothes.

I retreated to the pages of movie magazines, where Sandra Dee and Bobby Darin, the golden couple, would get married.  Where I could turn pages to see the next perfect person.  Where people looked beautiful.  Happy.  I would listen to Broadway musicals like “GiGi” and “My Fair Lady,” and sing along to the 78 rpms with my friend, Ivy-Lou, who lived next door.  We lip-synced, we knew all the words.  Sometimes we played with dolls; it was a relief to see that Barbie had two breasts.

I would get my first bra: 32 AA, and feel it’s funny weight around me.  I became overly concerned about my appearance around my father.  I morphed into a shy, modest, self conscious adolescent with varying levels of self esteem.

At 12 ½, at the end of 7th grade I would have my first menstrual cycle in the middle of English class.  My friend Judy gave me a blue leather book.  It became my diary.  I entered the date of becoming a woman.

I put the visions of the old, wet, one breasted, gray haired women in the shower room, to the recesses of memory for many years.  Until one day in a doctor’s office.  September 30, 2004.

I would stand naked in front of a plastic surgeon.  He was drawing maps on my body with a marker. Along my stomach, around my breast.  I was a canvas for what looked like football plays.  Red, blue, green and black, arrows up and down. My abdomen would display the line of scrimmage.  The center of my chest, the “neutral zone.”  I was set for the play.

The next day I would be in the hospital early in the morning.

I was going to lose my right breast.

I had cancer.

This is my story.

 

Part 4: Say It Isn’t So

Comments from Yahoo

(43 total)

You are such a powerful WRITER. I just felt like I was on a journey with you, going back into your memories and now I see there is some more of the story.

Thursday September 27, 2007 – 04:48pm (EDT) 

“But I wasn’t prepared for the sight of the woman with one breast”
Oh yes..the acceptance of the “ideal”female forms at such an early age while our focus of the inner beauty& strength is something that is left for our own discovery years later. I’m sitting here,waiting,listening for you to tell me your story…I want to know about this journey of yours,my friend.

Thursday September 27, 2007 – 05:07pm (EDT)

I can sense your pain but I know there is also   a blessed release from writing out the story You are stronger then you probably give yourself credit for and you are a survivor!!
Hugs and thank you for sharing this story with me

Thursday September 27, 2007 – 05:20pm (EDT)

It’s been weighing on me for a long time; I have to do this and then let it go. I guess it’s part of the process. Thanks, Narice, Sweetie and Tee xoxo

Thursday September 27, 2007 – 05:30pm 

Excellent piece of writing. The way that your memories of the women of your childhood bearing the scars of life is interwoven with the present is powerful. The acceptance of one’s body, no matter how far from the ideal, mental image one has of it is part of personal growth and reveals our maturity and strength. Hearts and minds are what is the essence of our being and an “imperfect” body can hide within it a beautiful soul…

Friday September 28, 2007 – 07:38am 

My heart stood still. I knew it was coming, yet it arrived like a blow. You are masterful. Brave. I don’t know what to say. Your life is a blueprint…

Friday September 28, 2007 – 12:46am (CEST

Emotions direct from your soul… your most powerful piece so far. 

Thursday September 27, 2007 – 04:42pm (MST

You words are so powerful, mesmerizing. Drawing me in as you painted a picture with your words………thank you for sharing your journey and courage,

Thursday September 27, 2007 – 08:34pm (EDT

Dear Sue, Thanks for sharing. I love the writing. I especially loved how you linked your 11-year-old impressions, to what happened in the future (your last ideas). I wonder how you feel about it, and hope you are OK. I am glad that you have the disposition and courage, as Stefany states, to be open and share this experience with us. And also that you use your blog in a productive, liberating way for yourself. Hugs! 🙂

Thursday September 27, 2007 – 08:13pm (CDT)

I’m glad you got through everything ok. It will be three years in a couple of days that you had the surgery, right? Not fun. Not easy. I’m glad that you’re still here and that you have survived another year to be able to tell your story! I love you! Your Sister, Laurita

Thursday September 27, 2007 – 09:46pm (EDT)

Words seem inadequate – but I’m glad you shared.

Thursday September 27, 2007 – 09:11pm (CDT

I love your photograph of the sky and beach, it’s beautiful. You have mentioned in other blogs that your father was distant, depressed, but you have also mentioned how talented he was with photography and now with mechanical things and his wonderful creativity for inventing things like the shower button holder. I like when you write wonderful and well as the harsh things about your father. I too have mixed emotions about my Dad. I also appreciate your sense of humor at the end where you compare all the surgeons markings on your body with that of a football play. Very clear imagery.

Thursday September 27, 2007 – 09:17pm (CDT)

Wow, how do I begin to do justice to such a beautiful piece of writing. Every line took me in as I was watching you through his picture that you painted. I experienced several feelings when reading this,reminiscing past days, learning from another culture, findng a new friend, the unexpectedness of your cancer, and the awe of your writing talent. I think more than anything, I felt honored that I have become a friend of such a wonderful writer and person. Thank you for sharing your journey of your childhood, your strength, and your perseverance.

Thursday September 27, 2007 – 09:37pm 

You had me mesmerized. Nudity of any kind was never allowed in my house, and nothing like you have described is like anything I have heard before. Even in high school, I was expected to change my clothes without being seen, leaving me also incredibly self-conscious. I can’t imagine the composure you must have had to maintain in that shower on that day.
Congratulations on your upcoming anniversary, and I am honored to have had the chance to read this. You are an incredible writer.

Thursday September 27, 2007 – 10:41pm (EDT)

I’ll say it again. You are one powerful writer my friend. As I got to your ending, tears sprang into my eyes. Your descriptions are so vivid that you make the reader feel as if they are right there. That is a rare and amazing gift.
I know this is a painful memory for you, and thank you for sharing it with us. I think it’s important for you, as you say above, to write about it. It’s a powerful story, and I think you have so much courage, and so much talent. Thank you for taking us with on your journey. Big, big hugs!!!!

Thursday September 27, 2007 – 11:23pm (EDT)

Delicate story of entering into a new stage of life beyond a child’s imagination filled with curiosities and disturbing realities not noticed before..the beach experience can be entering a new world to a pre-teen youngster with the realization and shock of what happens to the human body in the aging process..the impact and memory is so deep that all your feelings and perceptions seem as if they are happening in the present.~~Papa

Thursday September 27, 2007 – 11:03pm (PDT)

it’s easy to comment on the writing here – well crafted, well structured, great imagery. this was a dramatic piece and i actually held my breath as i got to the end. it’s not so easy to know what to say to YOu though. i don’t want to be trite (“thanks for sharing”) but i don’t want to bleed all over the carpet on your behalf – that would be impudent and assuming too much somehow. sometimes i read a blog on 360 and the experience being decsribed calls for a response even while it almost transcends one. i have read of people dealing with grief, suicide, mental illness and life changing experiences with serious illness like yours. an attempt to be positive on your behalf could come across as dismissive, an attempt to be understanding could come across as being maudlin. all i can say is “bloody hell”, “god bless” and ummm “thanks for sharing”. but even if i don’t know how to articulate what i feel for you, just know that i feel it. and assume that’s a good thing.

Friday September 28, 2007 – 05:30pm (EST)

My Mother was a breast cancer survivor. As a young teenager I remember my father being rushed home from the bush, arriving in the middle of the night.
No-one said anything but I knew something was wrong. I was sent to a relatives place for several weeks. It was never spoken about. How things have changed and how I would have given anything to be able to speak to someone who would tell me what was happening, what to expect, was she going to be alright. Thankyou.

Friday September 28, 2007 – 07:41pm (EST)

i am not going to go blah blah blah on you… I appreciate you sharing this deep momnt / your writing is lovely – holds the reader – held me in its embrace… thank you for some of the best have ever read…. tough a male…. it caused me to recall my youth and the older males etc etc… i await the continuation story…. and again murmur my thanks and appreciation!

Friday September 28, 2007 – 04:20pm (CDT)

well I think it is wonderful that you were able to write about it and like Laurita said I am glad you are here another year to tell your tale,I love your trips down memory lane well done my friend.Thanks for surviving because for me it means I get to be your friend which means a awful lot to me.

Friday September 28, 2007 – 03:01pm (PDT)

Dear Sue,
Thank you for sharing the story. You are such a wonderful writer. I can actually visualize Coney Beach . I didn’t expect what you were going to say at the end. This was quite an emotional piece. Keep on writing. Think about doing something with this wonderful gift.
Love, N

Friday September 28, 2007 – 07:33pm (EDT

I was asked if I would come here and read your story…I’m glad that I did. I could relate to the times of your childhood and though I grew up in the Midwest I saw many of the same images you described so well. Your story also helped me better appreciate all the girls I grew up with and of what life might have been for them. And then the reality you have had to face…the realization and the tremendous challenge that is now your life. Learn all there is to know…what your doctors tell you, other medical research as well as alternative healing methods, use all of them…and keep writing and sharing. You’ve already begun to turn this around…thank you for this.

Saturday September 29, 2007 – 01:33am (CDT)

I am utterly speechless Sue. The way you have narrated the events- so much pain in them, yet they all seem inevitable. You are a brave woman. Great!
Vinod

Saturday September 29, 2007 – 04:15pm (IST)

U make me go numb…i can just applause for the courage you have …can understand how much pain u must have gone thru…A touching narration….{{HUGS}}….Mamta
Was here thru Vinod’s blast…n thxs V for introducing her to us…she is a wonderful writer.

Saturday September 29, 2007 – 04:47pm (IST)

Oh my God!! You are one brave woman to have written this. All I am going to say here is hugs…take good care of yourself here onwards and live life to the fullest and use all your gifts….writing in a very absorbing style is definitely one of your gifts….indulge in it, hone it, use it, its a powerful medium.

Saturday September 29, 2007 – 09:31pm (SGT)

I came across many people with cancer. But all I could see is the dear and pain in their eyes. But your blog has none of those. I truly appreciate your braveness from the bottom of my heart. Not just because u have cancer, for everyone tomorrow is always a mystery. Enjoy ur life to the fullest. Take care.
~Bindu

Saturday September 29, 2007 – 07:01am (PDT)

Oh Sue, you gave me goosebumps….Very, very powerful writing; I could see the images you saw, and get a sense of how you felt, since one can never feel what another person feels. Being around the same age, I remember much of what you write about, even though I grew up in Michigan. Those of us who came of age during that time share so much, even though we may not have been in the same geographic area…
I am glad to see that you are not only a gifted writer, you use writing as a catharsis of sorts, which is a very good thing…I am looking forward to getting to know you better since I think you are an awesome lady…..HUGGGS

Saturday September 29, 2007 – 09:10am (CDT)

One brave lady….ty for sharing hugssss

Saturday September 29, 2007 – 04:19pm (CEST)

You write about it all so well.

Saturday September 29, 2007 – 07:30am (MST)

What can I say? That I’m feeling sorry for you, admirative for your courage for fighting and telling too, that I’m afraid? All I can write look so dull. But ((((((little Suzie))))))

Saturday September 29, 2007 – 08:33am (PDT)

You saw those naked women for a reason…they are beautiful and you are beautiful…thanks for sharing this with us!

Saturday September 29, 2007 – 07:10pm (EDT)

Iam totally lost for words, you are bravest and courage is beyond belief to share this movements with us. How wonderfully written form the inner depths of your heart. T am sure the Lord will grant you no more pain to live life to the fullest
God Bless you and thanks for sharing….
Love Bhoo

Sunday September 30, 2007 – 01:14am (BST)

Wait, Sue, gotta shut Darin off. I love him and his sound but I often felt he had some sharp edges that kept him from being mellow like Frankie. Truthfully, I expected something else. You said, “I invite you to go on a personal journey with me starting on blog 94, and continuing.I am coming out. Come for the ride.” You did say those 4 words beginning with “I am coming…” So naturally I expected a story that included, well you know… As a reading teacher I find it interesting in myself that I always go for the simplest and straightest interpretation of what I read–a literal reader, I am. Only if I get hints that there is some deeper meaning do I enjoy going deeper when I read. That made reading Joyce so interesting–he was a great story teller and then you could also have fun with all his allusions. So your story, I followed it all as if I was there. My experiences in that age occurred in Ontario and I am a male. At that age all I knew of NYC came from the movies especially the Bowery Boys. I grew up inland far from the sea. But what you describe as family stuff I shared with you and it seemed so real. My summer days around age 11 (around 1949)were spent in Kitchener, Ontario. We spent hours at the Municipal Swimming Pool swimming in blue/green chemically-treated water. I remember the metal lockers we used and I had to pin the locker key to the inside of my ugly swim trunks. I worried about stepping on the wet floor and catching athlete’s foot! I remember some feelings of bareness as I switched from pants to suit and back again. I remember the annoying regulation of standing under a shower before being allowed to enter the pool area. The shower water was always icey cold. I was never a strong swimmer but I enjoyed getting wet in cool water on a hot day. I remember putting my towel down on the asphalt at the side of pool and lying in the hot sun to dry off and get a little warmer. There I might sneak glances at girls my age in dumb bathing suits. If I went to the pool later in the day, or the occasional night under the lights, I could glance for longer periods at older women in their revealing suits. They had more to show of course. I remember leaving the pool and visiting a snack place near the pool. I often bought licorice candy–cigar shaped with red candy at one end for the glow. I remember fishing in a cooler full of water and ice chunks for an orange pop or a coke. Summer was bliss. I too remember seeing my first naked women around that time. If I saw naked men, it didn’t register–who cares, I must have thought. I liked everything I saw in and on the naked women. I always saw two full breasts so I was spared your view. I wonder why now. Sue, your words inspired me to share some of the above thoughts. All that you say about Manhattan and Brooklyn and the beaches, I now know having lived here since 1966. Thank you for sharing your wonderful words and memories. Since I have known you, other memories about other events in your life have been revealed to me. Isn’t it true that we both share a loss of a spouse early in their lives–my first wife at 51 to cancer of the pancreas. Thank you for being here!!

Saturday September 29, 2007 – 09:38pm (EDT

Beautiful and Creative writing!  Excellant writing!! DJstarwatcher

Saturday September 29, 2007 – 11:23pm (EDT)

Sue, PS___you have made me realize another thing about being a man. We have one problem that I’m sure you are well aware of. It is that part of our bodies we use to do most of our really serious thinking with–an appendage that kind of is located, you know, between our legs, you know wadImean? More important, another problem men have is that we have just no idea what it means to be a woman. A man looks at breasts and says different things, “Wow, look at those beauties. What a pair of knockers. Hmmm, she could feed the whole damn country”, and so on!!!
Breasts to a woman–something to be proud of (maybe). Something I can use to get his attention (maybe still a man fantasy). Something that will be a part of me being a woman and a mother. Something that my mother had difficulty with. Something that is just waiting there to explode. We all, men and women, need to understand each other better. The things that make us joyful as well as those things that make us shiver in fear. Thanks for being part of my education.

Saturday September 29, 2007 – 11:26pm (EDT)

It is exactlly like ‘ Tea’,said,the way you express youself,is like if One was walking next to you,while you were telling the story,,I Thank You for Your Courage, Plus You seem like You are “LOVED”,By many ppl, A friend ask Me to pay you a Visit to your Blogg,He Spoke   “Highly of You”,Mistake  He should Have Told Me, That You are ‘Masterpice’,in Writing an Expression!!
God Bless You,in Health,Joy,Happinees,Passion and Love!!!  i WILL ADD YOU IN TO mY lIST ,,BYE4NOW!!!

Saturday September 29, 2007 – 08:53pm (PDT)

One -Two-None–What does it matter? Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and such is yours, you would be beautiful to anyone. You are an up front, in your face and naturally Jewish, kind of girl. You’re lovely.

Sunday September 30, 2007 – 08:34am (BST)

Of course I can’t know what this is like for you, Sue. But I do hope that this writing helps you forget yourself. Bill is right, we don’t check numbers of breasts, how well you can walk, how good your eyesight, etc before assessing you. Well, I didn’t and nor did the others by the look of it, and we’re still here and we still think you’re great.

Sunday September 30, 2007 – 06:11pm (BST)

The story flows so well and I can picture the beach, the houses, the nude women… Great writing. Sorry to hear the end…

Sunday September 30, 2007 – 02:24pm (EDT)

Good writing. I was 15 and it was my mother fresh from the hospital with a breast missing. With a hole that would never heal right because in those days they hadn’t a clue about what they were doing. I had been through my father crying when he told us the news. The lump my mother made me feel after her bath was cancer. I had a six year old sister I needed to take care of when she came home from school. A brother two years younger that was just angry about it all.
I didn’t know it but my childhood was over. I was suddenly an adult with a child that was my sister. I had no time for the emotions of it. I stuffed them all. But I knew I hated doctors and what they did to her. I knew I hated my dad for being an emotional wreck. And my brother for being no help at all.

Sunday September 30, 2007 – 08:45pm (MDT)

Dear Sue, you know I haven’t been online often lately, and I’ve just read your latest blogs.
My Mum also is a “woman with one breast”. And she remains one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen or known.
As do you, Sue, both inside and out.
Can I just say, also that you were very courageous to have the mastectomy – this is the best way to ensure the cancerous cells are completely removed and the cancer does not return. Congratulations on your bravery, Sue.
My Mum also took tamoxifen to ensure this, too. And she has recurring problems with symptoms of lymphedema – they removed her lymph nodes in that arm, too. Do you have this too? What do you do to help it?
My Mum’s cancer and mastectomy were back in 1996 (yep, she’s a survivor) and I don’t know if they still remove the lymph nodes or not? Also, my Mum’s diagnosis came six months after our darling sister was murdered – and our surgeon wrote on the link between grief/trauma and the development of breast cancer partly focussing on my Mum.
Thanks for letting me talk here too.
You are SO courageous, Sue, and you have all my admiration.

Monday October 8, 2007 – 08:12pm (EST)

Oh, this is such a lovely story to read. But it ends sadly. C’est la vie. I’m glad you did this. And I’m so proud of you. Not everyone could do this. You really are a brave woman.
Keep the faith. Never lose hopes. (^O^)v

Monday October 15, 2007 – 05:55am (ICT)

Dear Sans Souci, I finally had time to start with no. 94 and I planned to write you in the end an email (which I will), but after reading this, I had to put down a comment, just to tell you that I breathed along your story, from the beach, towards the end, knowing what’s coming, each letter literally touching my face, until they turned into this sharp wind, towards the last rows. Sue, you’re a survivor, in so many respects.

More comments
17 CommentsChronological   Reverse   Threaded

lauritasita
lauritasita wrote on Oct 2, ’08
I was very moved how you used your biography as an introduction to your breast cancer story. The flashbacks at Brighton Beach are interesting (for me, too). I’m so glad you made it through another year of good health. Jeez, I don’t remember that shower room at all. I do remember wading in the ocean when that pic was taken, but very vaguely. Excellent post !!!

astranavigo08
astranavigo08 wrote on Oct 2, ’08
Speechless.
(HUGS to my sis from another mother….)

lunarechoes
lunarechoes wrote on Oct 2, ’08
I don’t know what to say. Reading this, because you are such a brilliant writer, because it is all so vividly real, isn’t going to be easy.
But it’s going to be worthwhile.
Be patient with me, please, because I suspect that I will often not know what to say as I read. But I’m feeling and thinking. Especially feeling.

philsgal7759
philsgal7759 wrote on Oct 2, ’08
At 12 ½, at the end of 7th grade I would have my first menstrual cycle in the middle of English class. My friend Judy gave me a blue leather book. It became my diary. I entered the date of becoming a woman.
I put the visions of the old, wet, one breasted, gray haired women in the shower room, to the recesses of memory for many years. Until one day in a doctor’s office. September 30, 2004.The next day I would be in the hospital early in the morning.
I was going to lose my right breast.
I had cancer.
Even though I have read this before those lines are like a punch in the gut The end of innocence and life as you knew it and the haunting realization that life will never be the same again.

nomorybr
nomorybr wrote on Oct 2, ’08
you just had no idea that was coming.  It made me cry.  I just had my second mammogram (Im 39) It came back good.  I feel guilty about that sometimes, but Im glad that I am able to be checked regularly.  Thank you for sharing your story with us.

lunarechoes
lunarechoes wrote on Oct 2, ’08
I meant to ask you earlier: Is it okay if I post a link? I think this is incredibly important, and no one could ever do like you.

sanssouciblogs
sanssouciblogs wrote on Oct 2, ’08

I meant to ask you earlier: Is it okay if I post a link? I think this is incredibly important, and no one could ever do like you.

OF COURSE!! PLEASE! I had an unusual cancer and women should know. PLEASE link to the index page, by all means, everyone.
http://sanssouciblogs.multiply.com/journal/item/453/306._Message_Index_to_the_Breast_Cancer_Blogs

sanssouciblogs
sanssouciblogs wrote on Oct 2, ’08

I don’t know what to say. Reading this, because you are such a brilliant writer, because it is all so vividly real, isn’t going to be easy.
But it’s going to be worthwhile.
Be patient with me, please, because I suspect that I will often not know what to say as I read. But I’m feeling and thinking. Especially feeling.

You have paid me the deepest compliment, Karen, than you. Just be here!

sanssouciblogs
sanssouciblogs wrote on Oct 2, ’08
Thank you Krysta. I think what you felt was the shock I felt, and the shock that women feel. It is, in fact, like being mugged, I know no other way to explain it.

vickieann
vickieann wrote on Oct 2, ’08
Thank you….for insight into your thinking process and for sharing your victory!

sanssouciblogs
sanssouciblogs wrote on Oct 2, ’08

Thank you….for insight into your thinking process and for sharing your victory!

Thanks a million for coming, Vickie. There’s much more to come.

forgetmenot525
forgetmenot525 wrote on Oct 3, ’08

Good writing. I was 15 and it was my mother fresh from the hospital with a breast missing. With a hole that would never heal right because in those days they hadn’t a clue about what they were doing. I had been through my father crying when he told us the news. The lump my mother made me feel after her bath was cancer. I had a six year old sister I needed to take care of when she came home from school. A brother two years younger that was just angry about it all.
I didn’t know it but my childhood was over. I was suddenly an adult with a child that was my sister. I had no time for the emotions of it. I stuffed them all. But I knew I hated doctors and what they did to her. I knew I hated my dad for being an emotional wreck. And my brother for being no help at all.

In the midst of everything here I couldn’t help notice this. I work in a school and deal with young peoples anger every day, sometimes we need to take a step back and wonder where all this anger comes from. Sue I know you know this  in no way detracts from your own personal story, if your blog did nothing except give this person a voice , then your effort has already been rewarded. children as carers…………..thats a whole area all on its own, most people would be amazed and saddened at what is left for the kids to pick up and deal with, the fourteen year old girl who IS  carer for a mother with mental health problems, the twelve year old boy who IS living  with an addict mother, the list is endless.   So thank you from me for giving this person the chance to share her story.

sanssouciblogs
sanssouciblogs wrote on Oct 3, ’08

In the midst of everything here I couldn’t help notice this. I work in a school and deal with young peoples anger every day, sometimes we need to take a step back and wonder where all this anger comes from. Sue I know you know this  in no way detracts from your own personal story, if your blog did nothing except give this person a voice , then your effort has already been rewarded. children as carers…………..thats a whole area all on its own, most people would be amazed and saddened at what is left for the kids to pick up and deal with, the fourteen year old girl who IS  carer for a mother with mental health problems, the twelve year old boy who IS living  with an addict mother, the list is endless.   So thank you from me for giving this person the chance to share her story.

Loretta, yes- The comments are very interesting–so many reactions. Thank you so much for reading and please stay for the rest of the ride.

sweetpotatoqueen
sweetpotatoqueen wrote on Oct 8, ’08
Your music to these earlier days is just wonderful as are the the words of your memories that bring back images of your childhood!

sanssouciblogs
sanssouciblogs wrote on Oct 8, ’08

Your music to these earlier days is just wonderful as are the the words of your memories that bring back images of your childhood!

You know, just like with most of my blogs, they just pop into my head and demand to be there. I remember reading about Bobby Darin and Sandra Dee in movie mags, thinking about how perfect their young love was….gee I guess they didn’t last too long. didn’t he die of a heart attack at a young age/ He sang that so well. I can remember looking far out into the ocean and wondering what was “Beyond The Sea.”  Never did I imagine it would be cancer.

danceinsilence
danceinsilence wrote on Oct 12, ’08
Powerful transition, from child to adult facing a reality as complex and unthinkable as the day in the shower. I say unthinkable, for a thought perhaps crossed your mind, “This can’t be happening. You must have pulled someone e;se’s records and have me confused with someone else.” The unthinkable became … all to real.
As to Bobby Darin, after he  failed to take medication prescribed after a dental visit, he developed blood poisoning, weakening his body and clotting one of his heart valves. He was admitted into an L.A. hospital to repair two artificial heart valves received in a previous operation. Eight hours later he was dead. There wasn’t a funeral either. His body was donated to science. That was 1973.
Of course, you never thought until now, the connection of him, you, the Everley Brothers or all the rest would be about until 2004.
The saga thus continues. I will be back to this in a day or two. Bless ya darlin. Bill

jadedruid
jadedruid wrote on Oct 2, ’09
This is excellent. I love the brave way you are telling your story. Thank you!

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65. Series: Part 3: Spinning at 45 rpm’s: Beyond The Sea — No Comments

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