I'm super nervous. On Thursday I have been asked to speak briefly on one of our local radio stations about the importance of colorectal cancer screening.
Why me, you ask?
Apparently there is a staggering number of men and women in their later years who do not take the necessary steps in early cancer detection, a fact that only leads to complications when cancer is present and grows and festers and takes over. Which is scary. Scarier than sticking a camera up your butt.
So about 6 months ago (I remember this only because it was right before the wedding) a group from the cancer center at our local hospital came in to talk to my boss and let her know of a campaign they were kicking off to combat these statistics and, ultimately, save lives. And I, being interested in everything involving healthy living and deathly afraid of cancer, became the contact person for any and all updates on this project.
It was possibly my interest and enthusiasm for the project, or the fact that I am a representative of the Senator of this area that lead me to be volunteered for one of three radio spots throughout the month of March, also known as Colorectal Cancer Awareness Month.
So on Thursday I will walk into the Stewart's shop where the radio station will be set up for the day (they are targeting a population that is least likely to be screened, although I know my dad does not frequent Stewart's and he is currently fighting my mom on this very topic, but that's for another day's post. Yeah, daddy. You see that? I will talk about your colon if you don't get your butt..hehe...to the doctor.) and I will give a little schpiel on why gettin' your poop shoot checked out is a good thing.
Now back to the reason I'm nervous, I say dumb things too. Most especially when I am on the spot.
When I first started working for my favorite New York State Senator I had to go to events on her behalf. I was always deathly afraid some city or county official would ask me about the topic of the month and I would have no idea 1.) what they were talking about, and/or 2.) how to respond. I managed to avoid these conversations somehow, but that still did not take away the panic.
One day during the summer I was asked to go to a picnic lunch for the YMCA where they were celebrating the end of a successful teen program. It was very informal. We had lunch, mingled, speakers said a few words, the Congressman even showed up to congratulate everyone. This is when I started to get nervous. "If the Congressman and Assemblywoman spoke, does that mean I have to speak??"
I writhed in my seat as my introduction came.
"And this is Stacie from Senator Betty Little's office."
I walked up to the announcer. No. I tip-toed up to her, in front of at least 75 people, and whispered into her ear and the microphone, "I really don't have anything to say." She looked at me and said, "I know. I was just letting everyone know you were here." I then tip-toed back, paused half way to wave to everyone, then sat back down. The Congressman's rep's look of horror told me what I needed to know: I was the doofus of the century.
So maybe you can see why I do not look forward to those moments when I have to speak extemporaneously?
I also don't trust myself with the topic. It is dangerously close, literally, to about a million poop jokes and references. What if I say something like:
"...just don't fart in your doctor's face."
"...have 'em pop in a Glade when they're done. Then your sh*! really won't stink!"
I picture myself uttering profanities in my spur of the moment panic.
So, if you're in the area March 25th between 11am and 1pm, please don't listen to 107.1. Thanksomuch.