Dancing Naked

By Molly MacDonald

To all the survivors out there in post treatment land, this is my first post.  A former journalist, I am certainly not new to writing, but blogging, well that is a whole “nother” thing.

Blogging is the new journalism! In this The World is Flat world we live in, each of us has the opportunity to report to the world, whatever is on our minds.

The thing that concerns me about blogging, versus traditional journalism, and I am not just talking print, is that there is no one sitting nearby in  my virtual world to edit content, check facts, correct any misspellings or grammatical errors.  And while this is generally point of view kinda stuff, I for one do not care to mislead whoever might stumble across it.

Like the Wilkepedia,  here’s my disclaimer . . . . I will do everything within my own personal power to see that my material is factual, and where appropriate, will clearly indicate when the writing may have nothing to do with facts at all, but simply be stating my opinion, which is pretty much the case in what I am about to share.

Most of what I write will have some kind of link to breast cancer, our community of survivors and our stories.  And most of it will address the requests The Pink Fund receives daily from women recently diagnosed or from their advocates, be it social workers, nurse navigators or patient advocates from other foundations . . . .but some of it will reflect my ADD issues in staying on task.

Okay, okay, you may be nodding your head in agreement, but what does any of this have to do with dancing naked?

Lemme explain?

Yesterday when logging into my email, I was distracted by the Entertainment News brought to me by People Magazine (a publication I like to disdain for all it’s Andy Warhol 15 minutes of fame reporting, but which I must admit is my first pick when waiting in line at Target) and the headline “Princess Eugenie dancing in her birthday suit . . . .” on which I promptly clicked and learned Fergie’s second born “Princess Eugenie, the daughter of Sarah Ferguson, the Duchess of York, and Prince Andrew was given a “wrist slap” after being caught frolicking  (that’s what’s called a making nice term for dancing naked) at her boarding school, PEOPLE has confirmed. ”

Clearly Eugenie was not thinking, as reportedly she had been drinking . . (hey that rhymes!) otherwise she would have considered the reputation of the Crown . . . . her current Princess status and the day when, should all the other Royal’s have a premature demise, Eugenie herself could by default find herself Queen of England,  which in that case a personal history of dancing in The Royal Birthday suit, would be, well, unbecoming.

But this is not the first, and certainly will not be the last time, the Royals have been caught in acts unbecoming their Royal status, but which are generally promptly forgiven, though not forgotten. (Afterall, can anyone forget Prince Charles’s intimate desires to find himself connected to Camilla!)

But again, I digress.

The moment I read this, however, my heart went out to Fergie, whose own past discretions have been all but forgotten, as she has become a spokesperson for Weight Watchers and an author of Children’s Books, because Fergie and I share something in common . . . . we both have second born “Princesses” who have been caught frolicking naked on the lawns of their respective schools.

Now mind you, the lawn upon which my daughter was caught and might I add arrested, (her mother would have been happy to give her a slap on the wrist, at the risk of her own incarceration for child abuse) along with the others in her party, was not at some pish posh fancy schmancy $50K a year boarding school, but instead on the lawn of a pish posh fancy schmancy public school in the second wealthiest county in our nation.

My daughter’s “slap on the wrist” cost her a little face time before a Juvenile Court Judge, where she was put on probation and ordered to perform so many hours of community service, and attend an alcohol awareness program, because, clearly one does not dance in broad daylight or after dusk on the lawn of one’s school without having indulged in a couple of cocktails or some JELLO Shots!

So what does any of  this have to do with breast cancer . . . .you might ask?

Well, my dears, dancers, those found frolicking in clubs all across our nation, are prone to the same 1 in 8 disease the rest of us dread every year when we have our annual mammograms.

And believe me, a breast cancer diagnosis, delivered to a woman who makes her living dancing (by the way I personally do not approve of this career path, but I am not passing judgement) may not be fatal, but it certainly kills her career.

These women, just like the rest of us, can experience financial distress as a result of a breast cancer diagnosis.  Just like the rest of us their income stream is definitely and most likely permanently interuppted when they become Survivors.

They fall victim to the same issues of financial distress The PinkFund addresses.  Those issues of not being able to pay for one’s health insurance premiums, make a mortgage or rent payment, a car payment, risk having their lights shut off (The Pink Fund just wrote a check to Detroit Edison for one Survivor!) . . . you get the picture.

As a breast cancer Survivor and Director of The Pink Fund, it is my pledge to dance as fast as I can, fully clothed of course, to do everything in my power with the help of our generous donors,  to provide financial support to women and their families, who are dancing as fast as they through treatment and recovery.

Naked or fully clothed, each of us deserves a little help when as a result of a breast cancer diagnosis our topless dancing career is over!

I

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