As with any art form, we have the liberty to explore different dynamics. No matter the medium, the artist engages on a journey designed to entice, educate, emphasize, and heal. It is a world they have created because there is an underlying message that serenades their intended audience in profound ways.

Yet, if the artist did not endure the ramifications of the intended message, this is where the audience might come to an impasse.

For example, I frown upon the cancers of Hollywood who routinely endorse products, organizations, and political messages for the purpose of staying relevant in their industry. The cancer that is Hollywood: actors, publicists, and agents who ultimately have no shame to elevate to the next level based on the disadvantages of others.

Another example: take note of the following conversation:

Friend 1: Bad news from the doctor, I was diagnosed with cancer.

Friend 2: Oh, so sorry! I know what you’re going through! My aunt…….

Friend 1: I’m gonna stop you right there. Put me in touch with your aunt.

With regard to writing, I want the author to relay their stories in a profound way. There is something to be said about writers who write from experience, as it adds a layer of comfort that includes compassion and courtesy. As a reader, I tend to navigate to stories that are relatable, but I also want to sense that the writer has experienced those same obstacles as I, otherwise I am made to feel the author is making a mockery of those experiences, or that they’re writing for the sake of following the monetary evils of a corrupted paradise.

I love to read about other cultures, but I would prefer to stories that populated from personal accounts and experiences. Anyone is free to write about any subject, but I would prefer they engage in some comprehensive research before doing so. A tremendous example of this is Jodi Piccoult’s Small Great Things, who writes from the perspective of two back females with very different backgrounds. Overall, a fantastic read, but I couldn’t help but feel some animosity while reading it. The author is Caucasian. I thought it was really shoddy until I encountered the “Acknowlegments” page that’s filled with prominent black women that assisted the author in shaping the novel in an accurate and tasteful way.

Another example is an excerpt from Toni Morrison in Black Ink, who struggled with writing about slavery, having never been a victim of the oppressed. How can she accurately describe the true horror of the injustice without personal accounts? She had relatives, but she also talked to people. She opened the door to conversation. We cannot learn by our thoughts alone. Conversation is key to opening the dialogue of diversity, and strength.

In conclusion, from a reading perspective, I would prefer the author had those same experiences, or they did massive research, or both. Otherwise, I am made to be uncertain of the author’s original intent, and that makes me very uncomfortable.

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Please note: the books mentioned are meant to be a supplement (examples) to my narrative, NOT an endorsement for the books in ANY capacity.

Today’s subject has to do with America being on a merit-based system.

And when you’re done laughing....wipe the spit off your computer screen and continue reading.

Anyone who says, follow your dreams! Work hard! The More You Know! clearly doesn’t have an understanding how the real world works. Here, in America, “it’s not WHAT you know, it’s WHO you know” that makes all the difference.

We need to have more thorough discussions on this topic. America wouldn’t be the cesspool of the world today if it was strictly merit-based.

Around the time my niece was entering freshman year of college, I provided her with some rather atypical advice. I advised her to make as many connections as she could throughout her academic career. The advice was based on the adage “it’s not what you know - it’s who you know.”

I can’t help but sneer at the people who routinely resort to the typical, antiquated cliches such as “keep following your dreams,”″ work hard and don’t give up,” and “all your hard work will pay off in the end.” To those people, I respond, without a shadow of a doubt, to go fuck themselves. That’s not how the real world works, and somewhere deep inside, people know this to be true. They just don’t want to be known as the “dream killah” the rest of their days.

Cynical? Nope. I challenge anyone if the idea of “working hard” holds true in the entertainment industry. How about politics?

I have been a victim of this discriminatory aphorism all my life. A few years ago, I maintained a blog that chronicled unsettling interview and hiring methods deployed by recruiters, human resources, and online job boards while I was looking for employment. I went through a phase of publicly shaming every bit of ambiguous tactic just to prove the job search wasn’t as easy as some people believed. In this dynamic, the more you know is nothing but a nostalgic, star-and-rainbow visioned catchphrase. Who you know holds more weight in the search for employment.

In 2009, I applied for a position with a major newspaper. In my cover letter, I referred to someone who happens to be a former employee with that paper, and worked under his guidance with another publisher. I got a call back for an interview the following day.

I did not get hired, but I’m still in awe that an urban, mainstream news paper called me as quick as they did to schedule an interview, all because I mentioned a (winning) name. It further proliferated my theory that all you needed was ONE name to elevate to the next level.

My last employer was with a government agency. Again, all I did was drop a name. I did not invent the moon nor did I find breakthrough treatment for cancer. All I had was a name, and I was hired immediately.

If you would like some more proof, look no further than Hollywood privilege. You know, those assholes whose kids are so dumb, they willingly bribe top colleges millions of dollars to admit them, despite grades and test scores.

In an episode from The Daily Show with Trevor Noah,* Trevor Noah admittedly professed ultimate due credit to the man (Jon Stewart) who gave Trevor the opportunity of hosting one of America’s most beloved news shows. You don’t often hear gratuitous sentiments in Hollywood unless it involves receiving an award, and even then, it’s insanely superficial. The entertainment industry can be accurately credited as the inventors of “What v Who You Know” since that industry notoriously hires based on word of mouth and favors. How many stories have you heard about actors not even having to go through the audition process (not counting Oscar winners), but that they were merely “recommended” by the casting director? The entertainment industry, be it acting, music, sports, even publishing, all are realms that work exclusively on a word-of-mouth basis.

America should be merit-based, but it’s not. There’s no room for profit in anything remotely merit-based. Imagine the abominable breakthroughs that would genuinely heal, prosper, and nurture to blossom into a better America. This country would surely reign supreme when it comes to economic success, social justices, and better healthcare. If America were strictly merit-based, we wouldn’t have to endure things like:

Rich parents who bribe colleges to admit their dumbass kids.

Those same kids get jobs via connections and they’re making undeserved seven-figure salaries

Big Pharma being in the business of profit instead of breakthroughs

Big Tech in the business of exploiting user data for big profits

Hollywood, ALL OF IT

The media,  ALL OF IT

We’d have no use for PR firms aka Bullshit Makers - because the individual’s craft isn’t goo d enough to make a tremendous impact on its own.

Canned and robotic PR-related “apologies”

The American shit list goes on. Imagine the glorious advancements in America had it not been for these assholes and its factories from which they originated.

I have adopted numerous projects just to pass the time, but deep inside I desire some sort of notoriety just to justify all the pain I’ve had to endure to make these projects come to fruition. I have already accepted that without being in the right place at the right time, I may never come face to face with relevant connections, and my personal goals may never come to light. Contrary, I saved myself from so much stress dealing with humans and their inane, superficial bullshit. It’s totally a win-win.

My niece still sees life with fresh, auspicious eyes. In a few months, she will be graduating with a bachelor’s degree and begin the “adulting” process for job stability and independence.  I told her that making relevant connections would increase her chance of getting a good paying gig. Contrary, I also told her that people will go only as far as the confines of their innermost circle. If she’s not in anyone’s circle, always maintain low expectations and don’t get those hopes up. The problem with being human is that there is no escaping disappointments, rejections, and depression. When it comes to personal expectations, I’d rather for her to be pleasantly surprised than be in a sudden state of shock. In other words: always expect the unexpected.

I could have used this wisdom when the newspaper decided I was “over-qualified.” When I didn’t get hired, I was shocked, as if I ran into a wall. The interview was culminating in every aspect, and even spoke to four different people. Their rationalization just wasn’t enough to soften the blow. I don’t want my niece to suffer like that. I realize that I cannot protect her from every betrayal and hurt feelings, but at least provide some levity on whatever inequitable situation she will undoubtedly encounter.

Do humanity a favor and ditch the superficial “follow your dreams” advice. After all, that’s not how real life works. Please stop the lying to younger generations.

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Reposted from my blog, brokenpimphands.com

Copyright, JudieLynne 2019

*TDS Trevor Noah on youtube, https://youtu.be/SfYoQK6e6qw

#humanity #society #opinion #millenials #genx

Professional sports organizations need to stop hiding behind the “cancer awareness” excuse so they can make lucrative money off ticket sales and team merchandise. I have lost respect for professional sports long before anyone took a controversial and ridicoulsy over-publicized knee to make a statement. I am making a bold statement of my own. A statement that will never proliferate under the clever tactics of a PR executive, but rather from the imaginings of an everyday individual whose voice is just as relevant and just as pissed off.

Consider this as an open letter to ALL professional sports organizations to cease and desist the insipid pinkwash campaigns, or ANY campaign that claims to be raising funds for cancer. They are insulting because they are profiting off other people’s afflictions while pretending to care. They do not.

They care about levitating profit margins and great PR. After all, it’s hard to take them seriously when they adorn their cheerleaders with *bullshit pink™ poms and slutty outfits (their tiny skirts show their cooch with every high kick), tops that intentionally enhance their boobs, long flowing hair, dewey complexions and overdone makeup complimented with bold red lips. These cheerleaders, or more accurately, dancers, perform sideline routines and halftime shows with choreography designed to increase the male libido. Even more insulting is that these girls didn’t get these gigs because of genuine love for the team. They got these gigs because of the publicity, hoping whatever spotlight they steal on the field will propel them to something even more lucrative, as in the case with Paula Abdul (former Laker girl), Cheryl Burton (former Luvabull, now a newcaster) and many, many more. During the season, these dancers take advantage of the DISADVANTAGES of others for the chance of moving up in their career.

I’ve been to auditions. I’m NOT wrong.

So when a pink decorated dancer retorts with redundant excuses like “raising awareness for cancer screening,” it’s all the typical PR canned response you would expect from a huge organization. The “Raising Awareness” justification has been on repeat for the last 40 years, meanwhile the 1950’s version of cancer care is still prevalent in 2019.

Baseball doesn’t have dancers, but what they lack in strippers, they make up for in merchandise such as jerseys, where they convienantly have a very large array to choose from.

Baseball and hockey acknowledge certain milestones and occasions by wearing the applicable jersey throughout the season. For example, the Chicago Cubs come to mind, as they have worn coordinating jerseys commemorating many different occasions. Is it just a coincidence they all happen to be for sale?

Pinktober is certainly no exception. In addition to jerseys, they have a substantial selection of other items to choose from. The proceeds go to cancer organizations, where they might receive 2 cents on the dollar at the most. Pink bats, gloves, socks, hats, and other merchandise are flooding the market, going after the consumer’s conscious like prey, and they go in the kill (the almighty dollar) the moment they pull out the wallet.

I vow not to support any variaton of cancer awareness and fundraising as long as the 1950’s version of cancer care is still in use.

To all those dancers, athletes, and especially Hollywood, and anyone else that insults the cancer community with the bullshit pink™ facade, please know I am giving you not one, BUT BOTH OF MY MIDDLE, FULLY EXTENDED FINGERS as my heartfelt appreciation for your “advocacy.”

LESS TALK. MORE ACTION.

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* Bullshit pink™: The NEW NAME for ANY shade of pink that claims to symbolize representation for cancer and its patients. It’s nothing more than a questionable, unethical marketing tactic that is seen throughout the year, most noticeable in October.

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Reposted from my blog, brokenpimphands.com

©JLynne, 2019

Image credit: Reuters/nydailynews.com

Tags: #cancer #breastcancer #opinion #charities

A firm reminder from the Jew lingo police: stop mispronouncing “Judaism” unless you’re referring to Judy Garland.

Even the mightiest of Jews have fallen victim to the painstaking abuse over the pronunciation of Judaism. Consider this post as an educational piece, as I’m here to provide some insight, wisdom, and a bit of history. And a plea: it’s pronounced JUDAH-ism.

My thirst for theological knowledge increases by the day. During my mission of spiritual enlightenment, I came across some rather interesting documentaries on the Gospels on Netflix. I figured I would begin with “the big one” (The Bible) and work my way around. Following the Bible, I then moved on to The Gospel of Luke, and I was excited as I’ve kickstarted whatever algorithm Netflix uses to encourage me to watch “like-minded” shows. After reviewing what they had offered, I concluded that Netflix is horribly misguided and is operated by heathens.

For example, under the category because you watched the Bible, Netflix suggested:

- some show about Trump and how he ruined the American dream.

- The Flash. Is it because the trailer has the keywords “believe in the impossible?”

- Supergirl (another superhero? Maybe Netflix are a bunch of atheists)

With the exception of Trump, Netflix is grouping Jesus with superheroes. Are they trying to imply Jesus was never real? Blasphemy! Do your history, Netflix. Jesus is more real than the superheroes you suggested. Otherwise, if you had paired up Jesus with the likes of Stan Lee, then all is forgiven. You have my blessing for a Stan Lee documentary.

Later, I came across The Secrets of Noah’s Ark, an interesting tale of archeologists that throughout history that have tried to piece together (pun intended) what went into the construction of the actual arc. I was a bit perplexed at the idea that some archeologists were reading off bits and pieces of various tablets, believed to be the “how-to” manual of constructing such entity, and they were interpreting them in different ways. This demonstrates that conflicting interpretations have the ability to create chaos. After all, I would hardly consider the new age arc as a reconstruction. The “how-to” manual is broken up into hundreds of pieces, and you’ve got old man eyes trying to decipher the tablet’s inscription. Even if it’s deciphered properly, can one really consider it as a “reimagining ” when you are using power tools to construct it in the first place?

I stopped watching halfway through. The persistent butchering of pronouncing Judaism is largely present. Ever since I read Judaism for Dummies, I’ve posted about this chaotic anomaly many times, and I find myself again having to correct the masses and make them see the error of their ways. Just like Jesus.

It’s pronounced JUDA-ism.....not JUDEE-ism.

JUDEE-ism is present in all its horrible vernacular throughout the documentary. I turned it off, putting an end to my frustration. From there I vowed to correct any and all wrongdoings. I will be like that pesky gnat in the social media realm and correct those who cannot be bothered with the correct pronunciation.

Naturally, Hollywood is too self-absorbed to educate their audiences properly. The proper pronunciation of Judaism may never see the light of day unless it is written in an actor’s contract for them to endorse and influence the masses accordingly. I tend to change channels anytime there is a Steven Spielberg interview approaching, as his persistent mispronunciation of Judaism is heavily flavored with great indolence. And by “great,” I mean he is obviously not ashamed to be wrong (Judeee-ism) on camera.... but he is wrong, as well as anyone else who pronounces it in this way.

Now would be a good time to get into practice. You’ll have the ability to wow! the crowd around the world with your newly acquired knowledge about Judaism and its linguistics. Rabbis will bow to the ground in your presence just because you’ve preserved the rich and ancient histories of our people! Pesach is approaching, where the Jews celebrate their freedom from Egyptian slavery.

To Steven Spielberg and all other Jews: TALK RIGHT and chant with me:

JEW DUH! JEW DUH! JEW DUH!

Now put them together: Jew-duh-ism.

Congratulations! You have achieved the absolute and correct pronunciation of Judaism. Go, and pass this great knowledge to one and all!

In conclusion, I realize that “Jew Duh” can take a very unflattering turn for the worse. If you do go that route, then it’s very telling of your characteristics, and karma is coming for you fast and hard. Don’t make this ugly, you heathens. Have fun and don’t be afraid to add some extra celebratory panache!

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Reposted from my blog, brokenpimphands.com

©JudieLynne, 2019

Image is a screenshot taken from the book, Judaism for Dummies Rabbit Ted Falcon, PhD and David Blatner

tags: #judaism #religion #linguistics

If you are of the human race, there is a good chance you’ve been affected by cancer in some way. Whether it is someone you know personally, such as a family member or a dear friend, or perhaps you’ve been a direct target, the disease (especially in its late stages) rarely hits any high notes, and it never concludes with a happy ending. The closer the relationship you have, the more it hurts to see that person perish in an astonishing and passive way. And when their time comes, their survivors are left with nothing but all the stages of grief and constant interludes of the glory days, where the sun was always shining even on the gloomiest of days.

Every time I accompany a beloved family member to the cancer center to get monthly treatments, the place is always busy. The waiting area is a fairly sizable 20 x 15 room with plenty of pliable loveseats and chairs. As you enter the waiting area, nearly every chair is occupied by people in disquieted states. It’s never an exuberant sight to witness. There is a part of you that wants to comfort them in some way, but being close to people is an extreme risk as there is no way to know if they are sick themselves, ergo, putting your own loved one at risk. Since it would be impolite to ask directly, it’s better to seek for the farthest chair so my family member doesn’t become a cootie victim and put her own immune system in peril.

As we wait for the doctor for a consult, I look around to find patients of all sizes with varying afflictions. Nothing is truly more heartbreaking than walking into the treatment area and see patients wrapped in blankets, either pale or xanthic in skin color, emancipated, and hair that so thin and/or falling out. They can barely talk. The look in their eyes is indicative of pleas with God to silence their suffering. Nothing I can say or do can alleviate their anguish.

Last month, I noticed the nurses were putting on paper scrubs. This was new to me, so I asked, “Why are you wearing paper scrubs? Is this a new policy?” The nurse responds, to paraphrase, “Yes. We’re now required to wear these to protect ourselves.” She didn’t elaborate further.

However, by “protection,” I secretly knew what she meant. But I wanted to play dumb and pretend all this cancer stuff was new to me, so I asked, “protect yourself from what?” The nurse responds, to paraphrase, “Because we work with chemicals that are considered toxic, the hospital executed a new policy that the nurses now must wear these disposable scrubs.”

At the next appointment, we had a different nurse. I decided to play dumb, yet again, and inquired about the new dress code. So I asked, “Why do you have to wear paper scrubs?” She provides a similar response as the previous nurse, but this time she expounds, to paraphrase, “Due to the toxicity of the chemicals, we have to protect ourselves. If any part of it gets on our skin, it can cause burn damage.”

The nurse sensed my degree of shock by my facial expression. I respond, “And yet you’re putting those chemicals IN people?”

The nurse responds with a hint of remorse and a “yes” indicating she and I were on the same page.

If there is any light to the situation, it’s that sometimes you can sense the level of empathy from nurse to patient. Even they know this level of treatment does more harm than good, with a 95% chance there won’t be a happy ending.

I have been accompanying my family member for awhile. Since 2016, to be exact. As someone who have lost several family members to this disease, I can attest to every detail associated with cancer: from the initial diagnosis, the second opinions, different kind of treatments, the surgeries, the side effects, the emotional and physical toils that affects everyone, and sadly, to the very finish where everyone in the vicinity of the patient is greeted by the Holy Spirit.

There is one thing about cancer you can be certain of: it discriminates NO ONE. It hides from NO ONE. Cancer is the kind of disease that does whatever it wants and arrives whenever it wants. Of all the ailments, cancer is the one of the few diseases that simply does whatever the fuck it wants. Cancer assaults EVERYONE.

EVERY. ONE.

The disease affects men, women, AND children. Even pets. Cancer violates and rapes you in ways you wouldn’t even think of bestowing on your worst enemy. This is the kind of disease that pulls the soul right out of you, twists and turns in every direction, and reinserts itself just for kicks. All that’s left are the repercussions that alters the patient into a completely different and solemn individual.

In the current age, society seem to be hung up on expressing outrage for all kind of wrongdoings. Yet, there are crickets en masse in the cancer community. It’s disheartening to feel I’m the only advocate speaking out against the medical iniquities in the community. What’s more disturbing are the alarming number of people who believe there’s such a thing as a cure for cancer. It doesn’t exist. It never did (For more information, simply refer to your Biology 101 textbook).

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what these injustices are: cancer organizations hide under the guise of empathy and concern with their fundraising efforts, where more of the proceeds go to “administrative expenses” than research, and maybe 3 cents on the dollar go to research; oncologists are still profiting from the sick and nearly dead as well as overly-diagnosed cancer patients getting unnecessary chemo treatments; Medical groups who specialize in cancer treatment and care uses aggressive marketing strategies and immoral tactics to lure vulnerable cancer patients with the use of false testimonials and fictitious hopes; big pharma (lobbyists, salespeople) are rolling in the big bucks and laughing all the way to the bank and their Mercedes, and no one (the media, society, and not even victim’s families) is expressing any outrage.

Something is fucking amiss.

Stage 1- Chemical Warfare Begins

Cancer chemotherapy, in its traditional form, is poison. Because there is so much biased information on the internet, it’s hard to differentiate who or what to believe in terms of its intricacies. However, I feel it would be prudent to provide a bit of background, so let’s examine one of the more popular chemotherapy regimen, cisoplatin, which further begs the question: where’s the “therapy” in chemotherapy?

Cisoplatin contains platinum, a metal that is typically found in jewelry and the automobile industry. Cisoplatin is in the family of antineoplastic drugs (any drug that is platinum-based). Essentially, any chemo drug with the “platin” suffix is a drug where platinum is the star ingredient. I was curious about this drug’s main attraction. Platinum, while wonderful to wear on your finger, is toxic when ingested. According to elementsdatabase.com:

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“While the metal is non-toxic, platinum salts can be harmful for human health. They can cause hearing damage, bone marrow and kidney damage, cancer, and DNA alterations. Platinum salts also cause damage to the intestines and allergic reactions. Short-term exposure may cause irritation of the throat, nose, and eyes. Long-term exposure to platinum salts leads to skin allergies and respiratory problems. The side effects of platinum should be studied further as the metal is used for the production of different types of implants. These include vascular access ports, joint replacement prosthetics, breast implants, and lumbar discs.”

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Obviously, platinum is not used as a primary agent. It’s cleverly reformulated and mixed with other chemicals so it doesn’t kill you instantaneously. It just kills the patient over a prolonged period of time.

How did this type of cancer care come into play? Let’s revert to the beginning. Please take note and consider that these chemicals went through several incarnations before they became the norm for treating the disease.

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“The era of cancer chemotherapy began in the 1940s with the first use of nitrogen mustards and folic acid antagonist drugs. The targeted therapy revolution had arrived, but many of the principles and limitations of chemotherapy discovered by the early researchers still apply.”

In terms of the success rate, it states the following on its Wiki page:

“The discovery that certain toxic chemicals administered in combination can cure……”

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WOAH WOAH WOAH. STOP RIGHT THERE.

First, let’s review the definition for “cure.” Its primary definition, be it in the form of a noun or verb, is to restore to health. That’s never the case with with aggressive forms of cancer. Second, let’s make something clear: this entry came from Wikipedia, and it’s not intelligent. But this explains why the general public would be confused. Allow me to repeat myself: THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A CURE. NONE. Cancer can go into remission, and the remission can last for a very long time, but once those rogue cancer cells re-emerge, the “cure” turns into a relapse. Continuing on….

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“……certain cancers ranks as one of the greatest in modern medicine. Childhood ALL, testicular cancer, and Hodgkins disease, previously universally fatal, are now generally curable diseases….”

“…… In the United States, overall cancer incidence rates were stable from 1995 through 1999, while cancer death rates decreased steadily from 1993 through 1999…”

“… Again, this likely reflects the combined impact of improved screening, prevention, and treatment. Nonetheless, cancer remains a major cause of illness and death, and conventional cytotoxic chemotherapy has proved unable to cure most cancers after they have metastasized.”

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Interestingly, the conventional use of chemo is still widely used and still recommended by oncologists as the first course of treatment.

With regard to “improved cancer screening” according to a blog post from Dr. Robert H. Shmerling, MD at Harvard Health Publishing(1), that subject is still up for debate, making this entry from Wikipedia even more dubious. Even some of the comments are doctors, who remain in a constant flux about what steps to take for a more thorough and logical approach to screening.

With patients entrusting their well being in the hands of generously paid medical professionals, blessed with prime academia in their respected field, this is disturbing on many levels. After all, who are we, as common folk, are supposed to know the intricacies of how the A bone is connected to the B bone? We don’t, and that’s the advantage doctors have over common folk.

Stage 2- The Mindfuck of Chemical Warfare Statistics

I have been trying my best to locate some statistics as it relates to the diagnosis and treatment, and locating such intimate information have been challenging. TINA’s post (2) seems to believe that cancer is on the decline, while the National Cancer Institute, the same government agency that brought us cisplatin, reports that cancer diagnosis are on the rise in the US. Who to believe? Eventually, I came across the below excerpt indicating there may be a reason these stats aren’t readily available. According to Metavivor.com, an organization exclusively focused on metastasized breast cancer and research, writes in the following blog post (3):

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“How many of us are there nationwide? Hard to say. Statistics for our disease are often not collected … or if they are … they are not being made public. In 2005 there was a rough estimate made in the report “Silent Voices” by Musa Mayer and Susan E. Grober that we numbered 150,000 to 250,000. But there is no exact count.”

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The stats for breast cancer may be an enigma, but the numbers are in plain sight regarding cancer as a whole: taken from a report from the National Cancer Institute: as of 2008, more than 1500 per day in the US will die from cancer. Throughout their lifetime, one half of men and one third of women will succumb to a cancer diagnosis. On a global scale, cancer is responsible for 7.9 million deaths in 2007 and that figure is expected to increase to 12 million by 2030, per the World Health Organization.(4)

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While statistics remain persistently indistinct, the effects of standard chemotherapy are not. In an editorial for the Journal of National Cancer Institute, published on May 26, 2017, decrepitated effects on the neuro and cognitive functions on the human body during and post chemotherapy continue to be as present as ever. In the last 40 years, all cancer types and its treatment regimens were used in these studies, and they all concluded with similar findings. Varying groups were used for these studies over the years, but most interesting were the A and B groups. Group A chose surgery only as treatment, while group B were treated with chemotherapy in addition to surgery. In an editorial from The Journal of the National Cancer Institute, it notes the effects of all cancer types using different treatment regimens (5).

Overall, these studies have found:

• Within the chemotherapy-treated group, poorer overall cognitive performance correlated with decreased small-worldness and local efficiency, demonstrating potential functional significance of the observed network alterations. Lower estimated premorbid intellect was also related to decreased local and global efficiency and clustering in the chemotherapy-treated group, consistent with prior work suggesting that patients with lower cognitive reserve are more vulnerable to post-chemotherapy cognitive declines.

• in one study chemotherapy-treated patients showed a greater frequency of impairment than those receiving surgery only.

There is rising evidence in that cognitive and neuro-psychological functions are significantly impaired with those who’ve received the traditional chemotherapy regimen. There have been various studies conducted in the last 40 years, and each study produced very little variance going in the way of a positive outcome.

Stage 3- Greedtherapy

So, with very little impact in the survival rate using traditional regimens, why do oncologists still recommend these treatments that have proven unsuccessful time and time again?

Oncologists who are self-employed or who are not on a fixed income have the luxury of additional monetary incentives by prescribing chemotherapy. In addition to oncologists favoring the monetary incentive of standard chemotherapy, many familiar news sources (of which I bequeath the banal task of searching on your own. I have sacrificed more personal data than I care to admit) have reported the unethical practices by oncologists raking in large profits just by administering chemotherapy in their offices.

The cost of cancer “care” has increased significantly over the last 40 years, partly due to new diagnostic and treatment technologies. In a report from the Journal of Clinical Oncology, Medical Oncologists’ Perception of Financial Incentives, “the annual cost of cancer care in the US exceeded $124 billion in 2010, and is projected to be $173 billion by 2020(6). The purpose of this study is to invoke discussion (and concern) for physicians responsible for the rising cancer healthcare costs in the US. A startling amount of oncologists have reported that their income would increase with giving chemotherapy in office. The report continues, “In all, 40–50% of oncologists whose income is based on fee for service or consulting services indicated their income would increase when they prescribed chemotherapy….”

The Obama administration have made a gallant effort in curbing the unethical practices of profiting from the afflicted community by instituting its drug payment program by Medicare, which scrutinizes the way doctors receive reimbursement for giving chemotherapy. Surprise, surprise: the program’s loudest opponents of the program are inhabited with soulless, angry, vulturous humans of the lowest grade. This includes representatives of Big Pharma and hundreds of physician groups, some of whom receive funding from drug companies!

(As of this writing, that program is now defunct.)

Much of the challenge to curtail these unethical practices has and always will revolve around one unfortunate roadblock: money. Imagine the abominable breakthroughs that would see the light of day had it not been for the “commanded” seven-figure salaries of the top cancer organization’s CEO’s in the US. Considering the overall cancer survival rate, I’d say that kind of salary is repugnant, unwarranted, and undeserved.

According to Metavivor.org, as it pertains to breast cancer:

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“Scientists know that research specifically focused on metastasis is crucial to significantly reduce the breast cancer mortality rate. Metastasis research is challenging for various reasons. However, the biggest obstacle is lack of funding: only an estimated 2–5% of the funds raised for breast cancer research is spent on studies of metastasis.”

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Funding for cancer research overall has been stagnant since 2004, with increasing costs of biomedical research taking a large chunk of the blame. Additionally, with President Trump cutting $13.3 million from the National Cancer Institute further adds insult to injury. There is, however, a very simple solution: take it from the pocket books of CEO’s making SEVEN-figure salaries.

Withal, many insurance companies mandate poison-therapy before starting any target-therapy treatment. Because target-therapy is still in its infancy in the industry mainstream, there are many areas of research yet to unravel. Immunotherapy research is ongoing, but parts of it is being delayed due to financial constraints .

Stage 4- POISON-therapy

The image of the nurses’ donning paper scrubs just to avoid chemical burn is a memory that will be etched in my mind forever. I can’t stop thinking about what these toxic chemicals are doing, and the mass attenuation that takes hold with no promise of a recovery. If we undeniably have no insight as to how the treatment will progress, why are patients and their caregivers forced to endure and witness these abjections when our loved one may end up dead anyway? Given the aforementioned study and its inferior findings, I fully support targeted therapies now more than ever.

There is no doubt that the promise of targeted therapies for all faces some illuminating challenges, even though the original concept was developed in the 1800’s, and resurfaced again in the nineteenth century by way of serendipity:

________________

“William B. Coley, a nineteenth century surgeon at the Hospital for the Ruptured and Crippled (now the Hospital for Special Surgery), developed the first immune-based treatment for cancer at the end of the nineteenth century….”

″….Despite impressive clinical results first published in 1893, Dr. Coley was viewed with suspicion by the medical establishment of the day; and while Paul Ehrlich would propose the cancer immunosurveillance hypothesis only 16 years later (19), contemporaries didn’t make a connection between “Coley fluid” and the nascent science of immunology….”

″….His initial observations have in large part led to the discovery of the soluble signaling factors that modulate immune function, the pattern recognition receptors responsible for the detection of infectious organisms (21–24), and the state-of-the-art checkpoint inhibitors that have become the mainstay of modern immuno-oncology...

_______________

Yet, despite the outsized role that Coley’s discoveries ultimately played, little happened in the field between Coley’s death in 1936 and the advent of immunology’s modern era some two decades later.

(Did you happen to notice a pattern? Whenever there is some sort of breakthrough of treatment and/or justice, outrage always seems to ensue by way of “medical professionals.”)

The other challenging aspects for immunotherapy include:

Immunotherapy drugs are expensive (My solution: look no further than the cretins at Big Pharma, who is infamous for price gauging life-saving drugs. Regulate the shit out of them and don’t look back).

Unknown cancer biomarkers and pathways

Identifying the treatment resistance to stay one step ahead.

Cancer immunotherapies work in only certain cancers, but not all; unpredictable efficacy.

As well as among others that are strictly biomedically related. The truth remains the same no matter the excuse: more money is needed for research.

So many questions, so little time, but think on this: the standard cancer chemotherapy most people are familiar with was developed during World War II and became the standard treatment regimen by the 1950’s. I bet it wasn’t even ten years from the time these toxins were introduced to the time they were approved as treatment for cancer. Remember: psychologists once used SHOCK THERAPY to treat patients with mental illnesses in the 1950’s. That form of treatment is long gone, yet the 1950’s version of cancer care is still in use in 2019.

We have great minds creating technology that turns off our lights, handle mundane tasks by voice recognition, read bedtime stories to kids, online shopping, remotely start engines on a cold winter’s day, and listen and watch anything our hearts desire at any time. Yet, with all this wonderful technology, the medical industry hasn’t been able to catch up.

Here’s a good plan to catch up with the rest of 2019: We need to phase out all toxic forms of cancer treatment in the same manner shock therapy was demolished as means of treating mental illness. Put a stronger emphasis for targeted therapies as well as implement and enforce a cancer patient’s bill of rights.

Between the mixed and biased information coming from doctors, cancer organizations, and the horrible internet, it’s no wonder finding the best course of action is extremely daunting. A good place to start is to write to your US Senator.

A proposed outline might look something like this:

STAGE 5 — THE LONG-AWAITED CURE: LEGISLATION

A. Update Cancer Care for 2019

Phase out toxic treatments

Offer surgery and/or targeted therapies as first line of treatment.

Require ALL doctors to be concise and clear within a few consultations about rates of survival for each recommended treatment.

For many patients of aggressive cancers, the standard care does more harm than good, and more often than not, these patients die from the toxicity than the illness.

(Based on both personal experience and hearsay, doctors will strongly persuade the patient to undergo the standard chemo as a precaution. This shit needs to stop.

B. Marketing/Advertising

Enforce strict regulation for marketing and advertising campaigns. We need to lay down the gauntlet on the marketers and advertisers who shamelessly rely on false facts and testimonials just to get more business. More regulation is needed to alleviate aggressive advertising done by assholes like the Cancer Treatment Center of America. In terms of diagnosis and treatment, they are no different than any other hospital that provide cancer care.

BAN THE OVERUSED “CURE” CATCHPHRASE AS IT RELATES TO CANCER — this popular cancer catchphrase has been used as a prop to lure in millions of dollars a year to pay off undeserving CEO’s as well as other insane “administrative expenses.” Just as Susan G. Komen went after smaller charities for using the “for the cure” motto on their marketing materials, the public reserves the right to abolish this type of cancer language altogether after 40-plus years of persistent lies and deceptive marketing practices deployed by Komen and their ilk.

C. Funding

COMMAND CEO’S of Big Pharma and Cancer Non Profits to donate more funding to research. Scientists are starving for funding as there is so much to explore and disclose, and possibly life-saving. Mandate cancer organizations to give more to research than “administrative expenses” and CEO salaries.

Mandate non-profits to be transparent with disclosing the amount of proceeds in their materials. An exact percentage must be disclosed as well as document other organizations who are benefiting from the proceeds.

Fundraisers haven’t done shit for the cancer (especially metastatic, where both doctors AND people rush to judgement in losing all hope for a salubrious outcome) community. I implore society to become more dynamic and freely interrogate any organization that claims to be raising money for cancer research. We are living in the age of suspicion where no entity can be trusted and everything must be questioned (this is especially true of any charity). We, as a society, need to be as vigorous, if not more, as the disease itself.

Of late, I frown upon all cancer fundraisers because I don’t have much confidence in their calls to action. History has PROVEN they make for a good, flashy show and fantastic for public relations (such as the pink-adorned NFL cheerleaders, see image), but haven’t done shit to advocate for better treatments. (Enlighten me: how much was paid in advance for the luxury of participating in a Komen walk?) Don’t even get me started on the pink ribbon campaigns, of which I’ve already expressed my sentiments about the ribbon campaign being nothing pukey pink sham of a SCAM.

THE AFTERLIFE

It is with immense hope that whoever took the time to read this post considers this as a mission of achieving fair and humane medical practices and put an end to evil and greedy practices in this industry. After all, this subject matter affects everyone, and if it hasn’t affected you yet, you’re blessed. I may not be certain of a lot of things, but I can attest to this: cancer hides from no one. Society is going into a deadly downward spiral if we do not speak out against the evils in every capacity. If the aforementioned report about the rising costs and diagnosis proves right in the years to come, you’re going to be BEGGING for anyone to help put an end to these medical injustices.

When it comes to cancer, NO ONE IS EXEMPT.

_______________________________________

Reposted from my personal blog, brokenpimphands.com

©Judie Lynne, 2019

_______________________________________

References:

1: Mammogram screening: https://www.health.harvard.edu/blog/rethinking-the-screening-mammogram-2018062814151

2: TINA: https://www.truthinadvertising.org/cancer-care-the-deceptive-marketing-of-hope/

3: Metavivor: http://www.metavivor.org/blog/speaking-out-on-metastatic-breast-cancer/

4: WHO: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC5527778/

5: Different treatment regimens: https://doi.org/10.1093/jnci/djx096

6: $173 billion by 2020: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3565179/

Credit:

image from NYdailynews/Reuters: https://www.nydailynews.com/opinion/yellow-flag-nfl-pink-article-1.1182077

Tags:

#cancer #essay #opinion #health #chemotherapy #breastcancer #nonfiction

In the spirit of Hanukah, I’d thought I’d share the following giggle: My husband loves to poke fun at people’s instinct to respond with religious affiliations than geographic details. For some reason, this has become prevalent as more people are caught responding with the wrong answer. For example, one might ask:

“What nationality are you?”

“I’m Jewish.”

“Oh, alright then. Show me ‘Jew’ on a map.”

I take partial blame for this indiscretion. I can show you where a mass population of Jews reside, but I cannot locate an actual piece of land called “Jew.” Regardless of where or how the term originated, when you ask for geographic details and the person responds with a religious affiliation, it sounds weird.

___________________________________________________

The challenges of being Jewish doesn’t always come from the masses. Sometimes, it comes from the very inner circle of confidantes. In fact, there is an underlying, invisible sense of peer pressure that lie deep within the high structures of the Jew DNA. As far back as I can remember, when my stream of consciousness became nonstop, I was led to believe I was supposed to do something innovative and magnificent. My culture mandated a college education, or at least a partial one, then retreat to the world and make necessary, innovative changes. Jews are prominent in almost every sector of entertainment, including Zuckerberg, the leader of social media dominion.

This belief was a concoction of my own doing. I never felt these pressures from my parents. There were the uncles with successful business ventures that started when they were young adults, and their business still thrives today. My uncles didn’t have the luxury of an expensive college education, but they were business-smart. My mother’s brother became the honorary recipient of a lighting fixture company sometime in the 1950’s from my grandfather upon his retirement. My uncle didn’t start this company from the ground up, but he kept it thriving. Business-smart. That’s what most people think of when they hear “Jewish,” at least from my personal encounters.

My uncle was not shy expressing concern over a family member’s lack of planning, lack of concern, lack of innovation. My uncle was the king of narcissism, who frequently looked down on his son-in-law for not wanting to be a better provider for the family. My father, a humble and excruciatingly hard-working man, was a delivery man under my uncle’s employ. Every night he would come home frustrated and winded, as if the frustrations alone was enough to knock the air out of him. I didn’t understand it then, because I was briefly enamored with my uncle. Not only did he have a successful business endeavor, but he had the prettiest family with a luxurious condo in Water Tower Place. Of the few times I met my cousins, they were very gracious. That was all the relationship ever was. No mentoring, No hanging out. No hey let’s see a movie sometime and hang.  They treated me as if I was a charity case, all because I was the daughter of a man who was perceived as “lazy” because he didn’t have a college education, or smart enough to start a business of his own, at the very least. I didn’t realize it then because I enjoyed being treated with kindness. As I grew older, there was a part of me that wished it was something more. These are supposed members of my own family, so wishing for such things is not out of the question.

I have only been in contact with my cousins only a few times. They never had the desire for a close family bond, as they were under the oblige of my uncle, who mandated a solid college education. They shifted their focus away from the “riff raff” in order to gratify the perceived notions from the culture. I grew up with repetitive teachings of being a proper Jew: you’re either a doctor, lawyer, or CPA, and a successful one, at that. I didn’t take these teachings to heart, and I feel a sense of guilt as a result. Am I supposed to do something more with my life? I don’t drink or do drugs, and I have held a steady job for more than 20 years. I am a predictable constant. For Jews like my uncle, being a predictable constant is not good enough. You must satisfy the criteria of the ultimate Jew status quo if you want to be respected in Jew society.

It seems at every turn, there is a haunting of dishonor to the religion if you don’t succeed with every venture. Even Zuckerburg, who went out so far out of the spectrum of approved occupations, but proved stellar in capitalism, and can provide for his grandkids and on and on. Stephen King, Spielberg, et al., Jewish and successful, and rich. Meanwhile, I’m left feeling like I’m supposed to change the world, because that what’s expected of me by my own ancestry.

It is safe to assume that my uncle’s lack of nurture concocted some sort of damaged goods. The feelings of resentment are stored in the furthest depths of the Jew DNA hierarchy. Once in a great while they reemerge for cathartic purposes, albeit the desire to shame him for his use of segregation within own members of his family.

Contrary, my father raised me with nothing but the best wisdom. True, funding was not always there to pamper the youngest brood with the best of material things, so nicknames i.e. “Jewish American Princess” never took hold. He did, however, instill me with some fantastic philosophy. Wisdom such as “Stupid comes in all colors” when referring to race. This is the kind of stuff that lasts a lifetime. If my father would have bought me a car for my Sweet Sixteen, it would never reach the age of his words and teachings. The car would eventually break down and become scraps of metal in a junkyard. But his words --- words are forever.

My father is not (physically) around to help erase the feeling sporadic disappointment to my culture. I hold no remorse for my mother’s brother, who was quick to point out every little flaw in the Jew DNA. He is long gone, buried in the flat terrain of a Jewish cemetery. His teachings went with him (at least I hope that none of it rubbed off on his brood). My uncle was a terrible man, who was terrible to even his own sister. In time, I will ask God’s pardon for having to type this: as far as my uncle’s demise, to that, I say.....good riddance.

Meanwhile, I consider myself to be an “incompatible Jew" that beams with pride. I don't meet the preconceived notions of ultimate Jew-dom. I’m a Jew with a partial college education, and I’ve done nothing astronomical on a global scale. My father taught me that it’s okay to be awkward; it’s okay to be a Jew who is poor; and that folks will genuinely cling to you based on your level of weird. That is the wisdom I cling to, and my father has yet been proven otherwise.

To Harry.

#jews

#jewish

#jewishculture

#hanukah

#chanukah

#famous_jewish_people

There will always be love, and the best kind of love is unconditional.

Humans succumb to the failures of their words under pressure toward one another. Dogs always succumb to the delights of their masters. If someone were to tell me they didn't love me, I turn to the delights with no hidden agendas. The dog.

Okay, and cats as well.

A robust desire is in progress, to initiate a progressive plan for divine restoration. Peace, by way of serendipity, is a wonder for the consciousness. Stella has been in great need to pursue such restoration. There’s a lot of mush in her mind, and it needs de-cluttering. It’s been advised by her closest friends that she take a road trip. “Go anywhere,” one friend said. “Go and clear your head. It will do you some good.”

Her car is about four years old, with only about 35,000 miles. It is a prevailing vehicular device that is up to the challenge of any elected destination, she just knows she needs to go somewhere…. anywhere.

Life is too much right now. Her recent break-up with her boyfriend of four years was a lot harder on her emotions than she ever imagined. Her career as an Administrative Assistant was going backward, not forward. This became evident when her supervisor claimed he was trying to “save” her job when he offered a receptionist position. In her mind, it was a demeaning downgrade of her current role as Legal Administrative Assistant. Though the pay would have stayed the same, she opted out of the downgrade and left the company. The definitive downfall of the nerves occurred with the demise her cat, Bree Wee, age 20, who Stella had since Bree Wee was newly weened at six weeks old. With all these events occurring in a short matter of time, it became conspicuous she needed to go on a trip of this ilk. She needed to be alone and cry with the tears to be taken away along with the autumn breeze.

She packs a small suitcase of overnight items. A thorough and prepared woman, she hinges on the what-ifs. After all, she has no definite destination, what if her car breaks down somewhere along the way? What if she needs to stay overnight somewhere? What if something so brazen occurred where a change of clothes is necessary? All the common worries of travel invaded her mind, so a better way to evade them is preparation.

Stella is already feeling relaxed while packing her suitcase, as she didn’t have to worry about choosing the perfect outfit. She wasn’t worried about colors clashing, patterns conflicting, or even worry about smell. It was just going to be Stella and the car. Stella found great comfort in this rumination alone. It was going to be a weekend of impressing no one.

She packs the necessities: a pair of dark blue skinny jeans, a cotton pink graphic tee, a black tank top with spaghetti straps (to wear in lieu of a bra since she was flat chested); two pairs of undergarments and socks, and ankle boots. She peruses various playlists on her iPhone to subconsciously select the winning playlist, making sure the list was no less than an hour in length. Unspoken congratulations were in order, as she was about to embark on a journey that would conquer both the road and her spiritual dynamic.

Stella places the suitcase near the front door as a reminder of her healing expedition. She retreats to the kitchen to prepare a consoling cup of chamomile tea. She grabs the tea and a book on her way to the bedroom, where she would become lost in another person’s chronicle. Mildly irked by the eyelids stubbornness to remain light in weight, she reads a few sentences over, and again, so her mind can stay in pace with the story. Finally, she gave in to the bolshie demeanor of the eyelids, and fell asleep losing her place in page.

Stella wakes up with the closed book on her lap. The dimly lit indigo sky denotes that it must be early in the morning, so she uses this time to make herself coffee without bothering to look at the clock. One sip of strong and bold-flavored coffee is enough to set her on her way. She concocts a “to-go” cup of the caffeine, grabs the suitcase, and heads for the door as if she has settled on a destination.

Stella is two hours into her journey, and a long line of grey cement and assemblage of vibrant and lush foliage greets her. By now, the indigo sky she woke up to is now placated with lightened hues of blues and greys. The scenery greets her like an old friend, along with the pre-selected playlist of soothing piano music. Scareltt’s Walk was deemed one of the winners. Clouds started to emerge to its melodies, and they seem to drift along its majestic delights. Stella was always intrigued with the chords of piano, as it encompasses both melancholy and idyllic attributes. While Stella’s focus remained on the road, she couldn’t help but be caught in a momentary period of serene enchantment. When it comes to auditory rapture, she favors the piano, because it can be interpreted different ways, even without lyrics.

The road to nowhere continued, and so did Stella’s thoughts. The most noticeable color is red, and her mind transcends toward the realm of obscurities.

That time she dyed her hair. She went from dark brown to strawberry red, and her boyfriend didn’t approve. A big fight ensued, all because he was lost in a delusional state and insisted she was a different person. Stella assumed most men like that sort of change, but he turned out to be the exception. He became irate over a change in hair color. Red. Red flag. Stella should have known then that moment was a red flag, but she stayed in the relationship unconvinced there was no other match for her.

Red. The color of blood when exposed to air. Stella wondered about blood as her mother suffered from internal bleeding. Flashbacks of her mother lying on the floor when she came home from school one day. The expression on her father’s face the moment he saw his spiritual better half on the floor is etched in Stella’s mind forever. Recollections of a dreary hospital setting and “Code Red” blaring on the loudspeakers was mindfully on repeat, and visions of doctors and nurses that rushed to her mother’s hospital room because the patient went under cardiac arrest. She was pronounced dead.

Red. The red lipstick the mortician applied on her mother. She really did look like she was sleeping. The mortician did a good enough job; lips were full, the hair tightly curled with a bit of silver, and the skin looked smooth like the texture of cold cream. Stella wanted to hold her hand and feel a squeeze in return. That never happened, because she is gone. Red and dead.

Orange. Orange is also amok. Orange, as in the “Orange One,” a moniker that is responsible for the brutal schisms happening everywhere in the social media realm. The “Orange One,” a tireless and mundane precept used by comedians everywhere as if it will propel them to instant fame. The comedians she favored emitted jokes that morphed into a potpourri of picayune cackles, and no longer found them funny. The divide that took over the social newsfeed was not informative in the slightest, but saw them as signs of a rancor way of thinking. Rows of posts surfaced with photoshopped memes to advance the message of the perpetuator. Stella finds herself in disbelief that she associates with people like this, and a mass purging of the friend list soon followed.

Orange. That horrible acidic fruit with the intrusive odor. She can smell them just by thinking about it, and the very thought has made her queasy. She pulls over to do a mass purge of her own.

Green, the dominant color. Also, the color of money, and that she has none of it. Large portions of money have already been designated to pay back student loans. A constant worry since graduating from college, the recent job loss makes the payback more challenging. She shakes her head in disbelief, and the eyes become blurry with dejected fluidity.

Disappointment looms toward her confidantes for suggesting such things like a car run as the recollections of hard times and bad memories came to sudden fruition. She wondered how could this be possibly therapeutic if she is under constant attack by ugly ruminations. She sustained a mental road age, as if the mind wanted to focus on nothing except for the long line of cement and surrounding tinges of melancholy. The hues were the assailants in every direction, reminding her of memories she had deeply stored away. A bit of color was enough to accuse her of wrongdoing; to serve as a reminder of an invented persona of superiority; to shatter her mind with memories of her dead mother, a horrible fight with her ex-boyfriend, and an alarming collective of sheepish demeanors on her social media feed. The weapon of choice lies within the pigment of the slumbering leaves.

After the bodily purge, Stella walks around to the back of the car and reaches for her suitcase. She finds a washcloth and bottled water, which she uses to clean off any remnants. She takes in a deep inhale and discharges any toxins she might have incurred.

Stella thought it would be best not to antagonize the mental road rage further, so she decides to return home. She selects another playlist, this time something techno with some heavy bass. Skrillex. That’s about as good as it’s going to get, as any song played by this artist is the best depiction of her brain right now: loud, noisy, and confusing.

An hour and a half into the drive, and not too far from home, Stella settles on a break. The clouds gently glide along the sun, and she takes advantage of the sporadic warmth and parks her car on the shoulder. Beyond the shoulder is a huge lake catching the sparkles of the sun. Her plan is to stay for just a few minutes, just long enough to stretch her limbs and enamor the small talk of the cool, intermittent breeze.

After ten minutes, she returns to the car, and on her way, she notices a fluttering leaf dancing along with the breeze. She takes notice of the leaf as it inches closer, and is immersed in a sentimental gaze. It finally lands on a small rock situated with a family of nature’s stonework and tall vegetation. Stella initiates a descend toward the earth to take a closer look, and sees two long black threads protruding from the front. It was a Monarch butterfly, the police to her mental road rage.

She whispers, as to not startle the tiny creature, “Hey, little one. You must be on your way to Mexico.”

The whisper was enough to startle the creature, and it flew away far off into the grey blue skies toward the sun.

Stella saw this as a spiritual sign to denote things have a way of working out in the end. She thanks the butterfly in silence for policing her own road rage, and says a brief and silent prayer that the butterfly reaches its warm housing for the winter.

When Stella arrived home, she was greeted by Connie, a neighbor who were among those who suggested the trip. She was surprised by Stella’s quick return.

“Back so soon? That was quick! I hope everything is okay?” Connie asks with a bit of concern.

“Hello Connie. Yes, everything is fine. I decided against going on the road trip of my dreams.” Stella replies with an innuendo of humor. “The drive allowed me to clear out my mind, but not in the way I expected. I thought about my ex-boyfriend. And my mom.”

“Oh, I’m sorry hon. Your mom is always with you, no matter where you are.”

That night, as Stella was settling for the night, she had thought about the butterfly. It’s been said that butterflies are the beloved souls of the deceased. If that’s true, her mom made an appearance earlier that day. Stella was comforted by the very thought her mom was in disguise and came to her in a troublesome moment. Each tiny flutter relayed these ponderings: Don’t be afraid of the beauty that surrounds you. Don’t turn the good into bad. Don’t succumb to the dangers of this road rage, for it is a waste in time and energy. There are no winners, you gain nothing but sorrow. With these notes of contentment, Stella’s eyelids fluttered in the way of the butterfly, and fell asleep.

Copyright © 2017 by Judie Lynne / JCLynne

therealjudielynne@gmail.com