Hey girlllll! 🙂
I read your Op-Ed piece on your preventative double mastectomy. OMG! Who knew? That sneaky Brad – such a secret keeper.
So it’s funny, but I did the same thing. Yes! Seriously! Back in 2009, I had a double mastectomy because, sit down for this, I have the BRCA2 gene. You’re 1 and I’m 2 – ain’t that always the way – lol. This was about a year after we adopted our son from China. GET OUT, I know! So much in common. And you’re with Brad Pitt, and I’m married to a man who thinks he looks like Brad Pitt. You write a letter about your mastectomy, and it’s read by the world. I am posting a blog about my mastectomy, and my mom and 25% of my siblings will read it.
The similarities are uncanny, really.
Down to the nitty-gritty. First, let me start by saying that, of course, good for you. Sympathy for the breast cancer cause has taken a hit lately, thanks to those girls over at Komen who let their politics get in the way of their mission. Tsk Tsk. Second, these pesky faulty BRCA genes are a big deal. Hooray for you for putting it front and center.
I have read your letter a few times now, and haha of course, I have some constructive criticism. Your letter, “My Medical Choice,” was emailed to me by about 50 people in about two hours. I will turn my thoughts into an acting metaphor because, girlfriend, I got your back.
(Ok, so here comes the metaphor!)
I felt like I went to a superrrrr-hyped up Broadway show where the leading lady (that’s you, metaphorically speaking) came out in a killer, hand-stitched, disco ball of costume. Let’s stick to the theme and say it was a bedazzled gemstone bustier that glittered like the night sky. We all “ooooh’d” and “aaaaah’d,” and while we were absolutely mesmerized by that kick-ass bustier, the actress yanked out a 3×5 notecard and read, line by line, without looking up, a paragraph from a text book. Which text book? Who cares, they’re all boring. And I guess we were all supposed to be looking at your fancy bustier anyway.
When the reading of the text-book paragraph was over, the audience Stood Up! Applauded! Standing O! (Some rows did the wave – so fun!) Flowers were tossed, lighters were lifted. The press junket started iPhone-ing in their rave reviews and accolades for this brave performance. And the actress took her final bow in front of teary-eyed people who had their hands clasped at their heart, and their eyes looking towards the heavens. There might have been a chorus of angels somewhere, I’m not sure.
BUT WAIT…WHAT? Am I the only still waiting for the performance? My fake boobs and I are confused.
Angie. Amiga. Long-winded (and, admittedly, stilted) Broadway metaphor aside, what I missed from you was emotion. You have a huge public persona, are one of the most recognizable women in the world, and you chose to take the stage with this issue. You could have given us a profound performance, a powerful piece of reality. And instead, you said … well, close to nothing.
Homegirl! You cut off your boobs. You know I totes heart you, but because I’ve been there, done that, I know there is a little more to it than what you expressed. You and I either had experiences completely different from one another, or you, ummmm, chose not to share some of the most important details. Like, for example, the pain (oh-em-gee the pain), the tremendous stress on your family, your child’s overwhelming anxiety that broke your heart, but couldn’t be soothed with a hug because you couldn’t move your arms, the finances of it all, the blood, the scars, the uber-annoying fluid drains connected to your sides, the emotional toll of mutilating your body even in the interest of self-preservation, the constant insurance battles, the limbo of not really being a “survivor,” but sometimes feeling like one – Girl, you know I could go on and on!
I know what you’re saying – lmao – I am such a stickler! But I kinda sorta have a problem with an article that urges women to make an informed and educated decision, and then does not share some of the most informative and educating details. Just saying.
I mean, Ang, we can be honest with each other, right?
Because if so… I call bullshit.