The answer is: It was entirely random. 100% random! Which I suppose, if it's 100%, then perhaps it's not that random after all?
Ok. So it was random in so far that a random woman who I did not know, approached me randomly in the dog park back in January - just your average random month. This woman was on a MISSION to stop every single person of the female persuasion she met that day, tell her story and get as many boobs to promise to be scanned as she possibly could.
Tyson and I go almost daily to Cruikshank Park in Yarraville to run off-lead and gallivant daintily amongst the sweet smelling roses. Now when I say "gallivant daintily" it's entirely possible that I might really mean "romp and roll around while snorting like a pig", and "amongst the roses" could mean "in the stinky, mud-filled Stoney creek", but we'll leave that sentence open to interpretation.
And even though I really didn't know this random woman, she talked to me as if she had met me a thousand times before. So it's entirely possible that I might have had a couple of thoughtful conversations with her previously, but I meet a gazillion people in the park (and beyond) and I have what could only be described as a "shithouse memory". So I felt a little bad for not remembering her when she approached me with an emphatic "HI HOW HAVE YOU BEEN????? I'M SO HAPPY TO SEE YOU! I JUST SURVIVED BREAST CANCER!!!"
It's bad, right? I should feel bad for not remembering her previously. But let me tell you, I remember her NOW!!! I will never forget her in fact. Because she held me there in place and proceeded to tell me in DETAIL about her breast cancer and how she had just come out of it. And it was DETAILED my god. It was detailed in ways I never asked for. (I really didn't). I would fill you in on those details, but you never asked for them, and I respect that. And ummm also.... it's more than entirely possibly that my shithouse memory just can't remember it.
What I do remember though, was that she was young - in her early 40s - and that they had found it early enough that she was going to survive easily. And I also remember that she insisted that I go and get screened NOW! And to appease her (and if I'm honest - to make her stop talking) I said I would get my doctor to refer me for a mammogram when next I saw my GP. The woman in the dog park was not convinced by that. She said that as I was 40 or over, I didn't need a referral - simply book mySELF in to Breast Screen Victoria on their website for a free mammogram, and she wouldn't let me go until I pinky swore that I would do that first thing. So I promised her, and I backed away slowly, all the while congratulating her on beating cancer, and that's such good information and look I really must go now cos Tyson is getting antsy and he's wondering why we've stopped "gallivanting daintily amongst the roses", and hey thanks so much for the information and yeah look, congratulations again on beating your cancer and gee, I'm so sorry you had to go through that, but I'll see you next time, ok? BYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!
I then forgot all about it and went about my daily business producing my two new shows for Adelaide Fringe and Melbourne Comedy Festival. And time went by. About 3 months I'd say. And in that time I went through the gamut of emotions that one goes through when putting on shows, so that by the time I got to the end of things, I was completely spent and possibly wallowing in some kind of funky depression. For those who make shows, you know what I'm talking about. For those who don't, wow. It's like taking an upper and then a downer and another downer and a small upper, maybe a bigger upper, and a sleeping pill and some wine combined with some anti-inflammatories and some more uppers and a shitload of coffee, and then a part of you dies. That's what it's like. I have a different analogy of making shows-that-don't-quite-work that has something to do with giving birth to a baby but instead of coming out of the right birthing channels, you accidentally birth it out of your butt, and no one comes to the funeral. But I guess that's a different blog.
Aaaanyway, my point is, I forgot about the woman in the dog park because I was too busy being a self-absorbed "arteeeeeeest". But while I was feeling awful about my role in the world as a comic and show creator, I was trying to do positive things that would actively slow my descent into the mousetrap of possible depression, things like going to the GP and being referred to a therapist. Because we are extremely lucky in Australia, and we look after people's mental health with a mental health plan. Good one Australia!! Don't ever lose this, m'kay? But being at the doctor suddenly reminded me of the woman in the dog park. And because I was trying to maintain positive objectives, I figured I could book myself into Breast Screen, because I knew I could be able to tick that off the "positivity-list of things I was able to complete as a human".
So I went. It only took 5 minutes out of my day and it was free and easy, if a bit squishy on the boobs and slightly uncomfortable. And when you go, they warn you that 90% of newcomers to mammograms will be recalled for further screening at the main campus in Parkville, because they don't have a baseline to compare the results to, and "don't be worried because it's completely routine and it doesn't mean they have found anything, they just need a second screen for comparison". So when they called me back in, I figured it was just for that. I didn't tell anyone I was going, because there is zero history of Breast Cancer in my family, and it was just routine, you know, just like they said. Right?
Well, I think we all know what happened next. I think we all know that it turned out not to be routine, and that I broke down when they sent me in for a further ultrasound and the radiologist told me they had found a lump. I called my parents in, gave them the shock of their lives, had that awful biopsy, and the rest is kind of history.
Amazingly though, cancer appears to have cured whatever hole I felt I was dipping into. Suddenly there is something massive to both fight off and fight for, and my self-doubt about not being good enough or funny enough or tough enough or competitive enough or perfectionist enough to succeed in the comedic arts has melted into the background. That happened because I now need to employ those comedy muscles more than ever to get me through this time, and because the sudden reminder that you really are mortal brings with it a real desire to be positive more than anything. Because why the hell would you spend the precious time you have left being morose and depressed? Let's all go to Luna Park and love everyone in the world!!! Everyone!! (Disclaimer: Maybe not everyone.)
Also, cancer seems to have unwittingly provided me with some pretty good joke set ups. Who'dathunkit?
So here is where I now switch over to become the woman in the dog park:
GO AND GET YOURSELF SCREENED!! For women in Australia 40 and over, IT IS FREE. Men get breast cancer too, so boys, if you have moobs, GO AND GET YOURSELF SCREENED!!! (I don't know if it's free but you can check that out). If you have ovaries or a cervix or testicles or a prostate, get yourself screened!! And here is why:
They don't recommend screening for women under 50, because the chance of breast cancer in younger women is so very rare, and they only recommend it if you can feel a lump. Guess what? I felt no lump. The doctor felt no lump. By the time anyone would have actually felt anything resembling a lump (about a year later), it would have been TOO LATE! Like waaaaaaahahahaaay too late. So meeting the woman in the dog park seriously was my lucky day.
The only reason they found it was because some part of my shitty memory remembered how insistent she was, and I had nothing better to do so I went.
So please, as people I know and adore, book yourselves in. For those I don't know? Book yourselves in! I don't care that I am bombarding you with too much information and that you really just want to get on with your walk around the park and listen to "This American Life" on your ipod, because I am now your woman in the dog park, and if I can help save your life by giving you too many details then I will.
And you can back away slowly and nod your head and say "yes ok I will go get screened I promise" just to get me to stop talking and I will see that you are doing that, but I also know that some part of your shithouse memory will take it in and at some point, subliminally, you will remember to do it. And it will be a good thing. It will be a very good thing.
Oh! And if anyone happens to see that random woman in the dog park again, please tell her I owe her a case of wine. Because I haven't seen her since, and I am starting to wonder if she was even real at all.
But I really really really want to tell her about my own story. In DETAIL. Whether she asks for it or not.
And for your educational | |