Have you ever been in a car accident? When every cell in your entire being goes into High Alert? Smash! Crash! Crunch! You can almost hear the hum in your charged-up blood pressure as it surges to the shocking occasion. Whatever you may have been blithely daydreaming about shatters like your once-perfect windshield, and you know that for weeks, and perhaps months to come, you’ll be dealing with fickle insurance companies, cagey auto mechanics and all types of people you would never encounter in your every day life.

The same thing happens when you’re told you have cancer. The Big C. One minute you’re blissfully unaware of the impending drama, and the next, your whole existence takes an unexpected turbulent roller-coaster U-turn into retailored territory.

I was on the phone, excitedly gabbing away with my dear friend Catherine when another call beeped into our sex-charged chat. When I didn’t recognize the number on my call-waiting, I decided that telling her all about last night’s orgasm-festival with my new boyfriend, Mike was infinitely more important. On and on I went about his magical, adoring tongue. But this insistent unknown caller kept beeping into our flow, so begrudgingly, I told Catherine to hold on and clicked over.

"This is Kristi Pado," the interuptee began, "I’m sorry to have to tell you this on the phone, but the test results came back. You have cancer." Dun-duh-DUN-dun….… Every single cell vigilant and on fire. Brain unable to compute. Eyes wide and unblinking. Mouth hanging open and powerless to utter simple syllables. Heart slamming like I’d just been rear-ended by Motley Crue’s tour bus going eighty zillion miles an hour. The first word to finally form and blow out of me like fear itself, was "WHAT!!?!" It’s probably the initial sound that most people expel when given such cataclysmic news. And it was news I was definitely not anticipating.

The day before I had had a biopsy, and the perky blond Malibu Barbie of the Beverly Hills breast cancer set, Dr. Kristi Pado, told me that she expected to be calling me tomorrow with "Good News." Oh well, everybody makes mistakes, right? As I clutched the receiver tightly, the good doctor gave me all kinds of info about surgery and chemotherapy and radiation, but my mind was too entirely blown to grasp any of it. I was actually clammy and numb with shock. I clicked back to the impatient Catherine and told her I had breast cancer. I’m sure you can guess what she said -- "What?!!?!" I’ll give you a bit of history leading up to this momentous occasion. Four years earlier, my annual mammogram picked up some scary itty bitty dots, which turned out to be something called DCIS (Ductal Carcinoma In Situ). I had a lumpectomy and the unseemly dots turned out to be "pre-cancerous." The doctor cautioned, however, that I was "cancer-prone," a term I instantly disregarded as negative thinking, and went on with my life.

Hey, I take care of myself, haven’t eaten meat in 30 years, no breast cancer in my family. I’m a positive thinker. I meditate, chant, do yoga and pray to Jesus and Yogananda, along with a plethora of gurus and saints, for my continued well-being. A year and a half ago, an iridologist peered into my baby-blues and told me I had wicked gobs of hormone-infested chicken fat clinging to my lungs, so I turned to free-range eggs and poultry. I even gave up my beloved coffee laced with half-and-half and maple syrup, as well as yummy gooey cheese, hoping to extend my health, beauty and vivacious va-va-voom as long as humanly possible. But way back in the black-and-white days, as I sat cross-legged in front of my revered TV set, watching the ”Mickey Mouse Club”, I learned it’s always "Anything Can Happen Day," dolls, and I never forgot it.

One balmy beach afternoon a couple of months ago, I was sitting on my recently acquired deep, fluffy, oh-so shabby chic Salvation Army bargain couch, ensconced in a raucous conversation with my forever friend, Victor Hayden. As I am fond of fondling myself, I had my arms folded over my chest, either hand resting on my titties, when I suddenly felt a small lump on my right breast. That’s Lump with a capital "L," dolls….

To Be Continued……….

If anyone reading this has anything she wants to say to Pamela, or share with us, please e-mail us at postmaster@dishmag.com