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Where Would You Like Your Nipple?

There, that got your attention, huh? And no, I’m not writing erotica now – not that there is anything wrong with that. LOL Sorry, slipped into Seinfeld for a second there. No, Where Would You Like Your Nipple? is my latest release and my first foray into the scary world of self-publishing. A lighthearted memoir guide to navigating the breast cancer abyss with humor and hope, it was a a poignant project for me, but hopefully I’ve succeeded in my goal of offering a bit of common sense guidance to those women and their families, facing the breast cancer battle.

Talented artist, Lisa Scholder graciously provided OPEN HEART, the image for the cover and I couldn’t be more pleased with the results. Lisa has a heart for survivors and is currently body painting breast cancer survivors for “Faces of Courage“, a non profit that provides free camps, outings, and events for women, children and families touched by all cancers and blood disorders. Open Heart is part of the “Bodies of Courage” Arts in medicine project.

“I hope you all read this book- it’s her story, it’s moms story, it’s my story, it is so many others story. Hopefully it will never have to be your story, but if it is, I hope this story will help you be as strong and amazing as Mac is.” ~ Debbie Pickett Worman ~ survivor

“One of my best friends just finished radiation. I wish I had read this book before she went through it.” ~ Dragonfly-girl


Available in e-format at Amazon

or if you prefer print at Creatspace

 The following excerpt is from the opening pages of Where Would You Like Your Nipple?

Cancer.

Though it’s not a four-letter word, it sure conjures up a lot of them. I won’t say the first word that popped into my mind, and out of my mouth, when I received the diagnosis of breast cancer — it’s a bad word, my mother would be horrified. I can tell you it wasn’t Whoopee!

Crap. That’s like seven letters. My bad.

Many other four-letter words quickly joined that first, shocked sentiment. Fear, sick, pain, loss, hell, dead… You get the drift. If you’re reading this and have received a similar diagnosis, or know someone who has, I don’t want to scare you. You’re scared enough already, and have probably experienced many of those words yourself, but, though your fears are justified, I can share one four-letter word that trumps all others.

Hope.

Okay, so it took me a little while to get from those nasty words to that one. But I did eventually get there. I’m no longer the same woman I was when I began my journey, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Sure, I faced some incredibly crappy stuff, but I also learned a lot about myself in the process. Let me tell you, living like you’re dying has some unexpected benefits; once you get past the “holy crap” factor.

To do that, I needed to get through the first few weeks. They passed in a haze of doctors’ appointments and terror. Shortly after receiving the diagnosis, I met the first of many breast cancer survivors. Suddenly, like pink ribbons during Breast Cancer Awareness Month, survivors were everywhere. They seemed to come out of the woodwork like members of a secret society, calling to me to enter into the fold. But I didn’t feel I belonged. I wasn’t anything like those women. They danced, victorious, on the other side of an abyss, while I staggered under quiet disbelief.

Their acceptance of such a devastating reality made no sense to me. Here were women who had been where I currently stood, and yet, they seemed so confident and upbeat, almost serene. Honestly, I thought they were nut jobs. I certainly didn’t feel like a survivor. I felt like a victim.

A wise person once said, “Life happens. It’s time to pull on your big girl panties and deal with it.”

Big girl panties in place, I took those first, staggering steps toward survival. Somehow, during the last five, life-altering years, I managed to navigate the abyss to join the survivors waiting for me on the other side. The following pages are my personal observations of my odyssey.

I am a survivor. You can be too. Victory is ours.