Oh, where to begin? So much to catch up on – the YSC conference and the awesome pink ribbon balloon I “borrowed” from the Komen people – the impending IRS audit and the potential for an Ativan Bundt Cake – the job tips that include an elevator speech based entirely on statements by Charlie “I’m a rock$tar from Mars!” Sheen. But first, we must go back to a dark day in my past, one that brought me to tears, to laughter, to tears again….okay, but without the laughter or tears. I was just plain pissed off.
I know. Me, pissed off? Nay! But yes, it’s true. I won’t rehash the whole Bat Girl saga from last year – because you can read about it here. My original post where I made my Bat Girl plea…..then my outrage at the end upon learning that it was all about how much one sucked up to Komen, to the extent that the winner for the White Sox was a fricking WALKER, i.e. someone who raised a boatload of money for Komen. But who never had cancer. Which, sorry, just doesn’t work for me, m’kay?
Plus originality and composition were supposed to count the most, and her entry was a poorly written piece of garbage, which offends my wordsmith sensibilities to no end.
Which brings us to this year, and the composition of what I refer to as Tasha’s Opus. Below, my entry for this year’s contest, which is sure to bring everyone who knows and loves me to tears…..
Little did I know those many years ago when I first joined the other women on my hockey team in putting together a team for the Komen 3-Day, just how prophetic this would turn out to be. Little did I know….that just a few years later, in 2008, I myself would be diagnosed with aggressive stage II breast cancer…..and would find myself joining Komen in racing for a different goal – a goal of finding a cure that would benefit the amazing women I’ve gotten to know through this horrible disease.
I don’t recall how many thousands of dollars we raised that first year in our 3-Day journey, but those memories came flooding back to me after I was diagnosed, with the irony of having worked so hard for a cause that was now working on my behalf. That summer of 2008, I found comfort in not just going to White Sox games with my beloved brother, a huge fan himself, but also in my amazing friends who rallied around me to form Team in Bacon for the Komen 5K that fall. Not only was I undergoing cancer treatment, but I had continued to train for an Ironman even after my diagnosis, which was foiled when a bad bike crash landed me in the hospital with a broken collarbone and brain injury. Needless to say, the pictures of me from that race wearing a sling and sporting a badly bruised face were a sight to behold – in part because the smiles of everyone on my team that sunny day were transcendent, as we felt part of something bigger than ourselves. Okay, so I was pretty hopped up on drugs too.
In the two years since then, I have spent countless hours doing what I can to help other young women stricken with breast cancer – from spreading the word about Komen and what it stands for, to volunteering with Imerman Angels, to being part of the local leadership team for YSC, the Young Survival Coalition. And while I am not a mother – yet – I celebrate Mother’s Day in my heart not just with the White Sox, but with all the other young women touched by breast cancer, and I have hope that we will all be given the opportunity to realize our dreams. And in the meantime, I go to bat against breast cancer every day through volunteering and raising money for the Cure, knowing that it would be an honor and privilege to come full circle as an Honorary Bat Girl, going from that traumatic day two years ago when I went to a White Sox game with my brother the day I was diagnosed – to a day this year, returning as a survivor with a message of hope for those just beginning this journey.
….of laughter, yes, because that’s the biggest load of horseshit I’ve ever written. Really. Oh, the whole thing is FACTUALLY correct, but it’s also total horseshit.
It could be my finest work ever.
Now, the super-sad part is that they seriously constrained how much one can write this year, so I had to keep chopping and hacking away at the above, until I had a mere shell of my masterpiece, at 900 characters WITH spaces. Bastards. It doesn’t have nearly the same pathos as the other one, sigh. And they’ve changed the way one can vote, so it’s not even clear where you’re ranked in the voting process – which is fine, because I had my poor friends voting ad nauseum for me last year, and I still lost to a Komen suckup. Who, by the way, entered the contest again this year – apparently LAST year her aunt or someone tripped at the game so they had to leave and take her to the doctor, though she turned out to be fine. And Walker thinks she should get another shot. Which she’ll probably get, considering ALL THAT MONEY she raised for Komen.
So I’ve learned my lesson. The page to vote is here (for Miss Tasha) – if you want to vote for me, please do. But I’m letting the chips fall where they may – and hoping the picture puts me over the top. Who says I don’t love Komen with all my heart??