My Valentine’s Day Massacre  
        -Robin Tetrault

In 1980 I began taking bellydancing lessons because I needed to exercise to keep my scoliosis under control and keep myself pain free.  Bellydancing has brought me many friends and gotten me through several of life’s ups and downs.  Little did I know what an important role it would play following surgery to remove a small breast cyst that was refusing to be aspirated.  Over the past thirteen years I have had several breast cysts aspirated and it had become a “ho hum” sort of occurrence for me so I was totally unprepared to find out that I had breast cancer.

Valentine’s Day has never been one of my favorite holidays, probably due to the fact that it has never lived up to my expectations.  February 14, 2003 was definitely the most awful Valentine’s Day that I have ever had – it was the day I heard the worst four words of my life - “you have breast cancer.”  Four words that have the power to turn your life upside down. 

My surgeon believes in balance and he immediately followed those awful words with five wonderful words - “you’re not going to die.”  Shocked and numb, I listened to a description of the type of cancer I had and what was to happen next.  God, family/friends and dance got me through the next 2½ months. 

Six and a half weeks of radiation began on March 6 and I was told that the biggest side effect would be fatigue.  I had planned to perform at Katina’s CNY Bellydance Festival that was scheduled for April 26, but decided not to since my last treatment was scheduled for April 21.  During the second week of treatment, I felt God suggesting that I dance cancer out of my life and I decided to perform at the festival.  My radiation therapist told me that I should forget about performing because I might not have the energy.  Many times, due to fatigue, I almost agreed.  Then, I would feel Him nudge me off the couch and into my dance studio and it always lifted my spirits and made me feel better physically.  I figured that this may not be my best performance, but it would definitely be my most meaningful one.

My mom, my friends and even my surgeon and his nurse came to the festival.  I began my performance wearing a pink survivor’s t-shirt over my costume.  As I removed the t-shirt and tossed it aside I knew that I had thrown breast cancer from my life.

All in all, I had an easy cancer experience; many women do not.  Last year another dancer/survivor, two dance friends and I donned shimmy belts and walked the course of the Race for the Cure.  We were a sight to see and hear.  We will be there again this year; so, if you hear jingling – it will be bellydancers from Syracuse walking to help eliminate breast