“Just used my boobs to get out of a speeding ticket”
is a post I’ve read now a half dozen times
by both men and women
that is supposedly part of a game being played
on the social media
to raise awareness for breast cancer.
The boob thing is among other random and bizarrely
uncharacteristic quips to choose from,
many having nothing to do with boobs,
such as, damn diarrhea, or, anyone
have a tampon, or, I decided to stop wearing
underwear, or, I’m sick of hiding it: I’m gay,
or, my personal favorite, why is no one
ever around when I’m horny.
Now, the rules of the game seem to be
that when someone likes or comments on such a
ridiculous post, they are then asked to make
a similar ridiculous post and it goes on and on.
This is supposed to raise awareness
for breast cancer. How it does this,
however, remains a mystery.
I doubt not the good intentions
of all those who claim to have used
their boobs in such a way,
but my awareness of breast cancer
has been made quite vivid of late
(without the aid of a silly internet game)
as I’ve watched my love go through a
lumpectomy, a sentinel node biopsy,
a barrage of tests, appointment after
appointment with the primary care doctor,
the surgeon, the oncologist, the radiologist,
nurse upon nurse upon nurse, and one
more lumpectomy scheduled in for good measure,
and none of this takes into account
the real bitch about breast cancer,
the fear, the inevitable and often
early taking stock, the coming to terms
with one’s mortality. This is how our
awareness has been raised, and might
perhaps offer a different model for
the consciousness raising of others
truly interested in the endeavor,
the way many of our dearest friends have done it:
get to know a survivor, take care of those
in the throes, cook a meal, run a relay,
sing a song, write a poem.
michael jarmer 