A Dream Come True.

This ain't no dress rehearsal...except today it is.

I feel a dream coming true. A dream long held. Sometimes self-shamed. Enough times honoured and acted upon.

Colleagues are discussing it in Melbourne, Australia. At least one couple has it on their radar in New Zealand. Groups of women in the US talking online about attending and wanting to encourage more to. Friends in Hawaii. Student nurses in British Columbia. Families with breast cancer histories sharing with each other. It is happening.

It started as a dream of being heard.

Some dream, I hear you say. But any blonde woman knows the score.

There’s a special place in our culture (aka hell) for us. All “blondes” know the trick. Wear a brown wig, and doors don’t get held open longer, looks don’t linger, sneers and leers lessen, and lo and behold, her brain becomes more noticeable. Not all the way to valued, of course - she’s still a woman, for crying out loud.

So yes, all my life I wanted to be heard and my perspective valued. Then I got diagnosed with breast cancer. And the need became vital.

It didn’t go well. As I emerged from the wreckage, I was encouraged to write. I wrote about my experience with medical misogyny. I created a monologue. I took to the stage, yoga studios, workshops and even front rooms. I was heard and encouraged - by women.

Then I raised the bar.

My dream became one of wanting to gather with others, to witness women having their own breast cancer stories heard. Hearing each other would be a win. Opening conversations between men and women, and sparking awareness in the medical system, would become my life goal.

I railed against that system, and spat about my experience in it. And over time, I dealt with my anger. As I acknowledged to myself how I had been treated, the good and bad, the personal responsibility, the professional overstepping and arrogance, my drive to share dissipated. I thought I would put it all behind me and get on with what now appeared to be a healthy life, free of cancer. I dreamed of putting the writing away and moving on.

Then the dream shifted. Because…women.

But too many women had already connected with what had become a three act play, BREASTLESS. Too many women had seen themselves in my words. Too many wanted my voice in the world and asked me not to stop. The conversation started to shift: “I haven’t had breast cancer, but I see myself in your story. It’s the exact same treatment wherever I go. This is cultural, not medical”.

And my perspective broadened. The systems we create derive from our assumptions. Predominantly, those assumptions have been made by men. If I wanted the change I desired, I was going to have to question those in public and ask women to gather and unpack the historically accepted boxes, and to envision a positive change.

I learned to use my breast cancer story as a device to shed light on our culture’s treatment of women. And then on “the scourge that is breast cancer” (Audre Lorde) - while calling into question its causes and cures. Not in a way that would increase fear and anxiety, but as a way to connect to the trauma with compassion and humanity, from personal experience and patient expertise. And to look at what this might do for breast cancer prevention. We have a LONG way to go, but if starting discussion became my goal, then I want to acknowledge that

Here I am, open-eyed dreaming. It is coming true as Breastless reaches out to the world.

As the next step is about to be taken.

It’s Dress Rehearsal Day!

The first-ever virtual performance of Breastless is tomorrow, Saturday 14th March. I shall voice my story across the ether via Zoom, casting its net further, accessible to all (depending on your time zone and sleep habits!). We shall gather, I shall tell my story as artwork embellishes meaning and emotion, and we will converse post-performance during Talkback.

It’s happening!

Tickets are still on sale. Please consider this opportunity to share with others as a way to expand the conversation.