Telling loved ones you have the Big C is almost as horrific as hearing the news yourself, so I sat on it for a couple of days, going through the motions, hoarding the news like a nasty, infected secret.

My ex-husband Michael and I are spoiled only children. Since our split many years ago, we feel like siblings, and share just about everything with each other. When I finally ladled out the bad news, his response was surprisingly and thankfully upbeat. He told me that if anybody could thrash this wicked thing, it would be me — Pamela Miller Des Barres from Reseda, California. When he reminded me that I now had a blazing opportunity to put all my years of spiritual work into practice, I began to thaw a bit and slowly come back to my glass-half-full self. And after an initial period of disbelief and “Why you, Mom? You take such good care of yourself!” type responses, my 25 year-old son Nick rallied ‘round and became a calm source of humor and strength for me.

I had been with my much-younger boyfriend, Mike Stinson, for a mere 4 months when Tragedy Struck. He’s a stellar country singer-songwriter, ripe and ready for lift-off. I can really pick ‘em, trust me, dolls. My sweetheart and I were in that moony, heavenly, almost-in-love stage, so I hesitated to toss a diseased wrench into the works. I made light of the situation as long as I could, but I had to tell him about the biopsy because my right tittie was black and blue, not to mention achingly sensitive and sore.

The day Kristi broke the news, Mike had an important gig, so when he asked about the test results, I told him we could talk about it later. But later, as the romantic candles burned, I just couldn’t bring myself to divulge the scary possibilities. The next day I was chatting with my ex and he demanded I tell my boyfriend exactly what was going on, that he was probably “thinking the worst.”

Turned out he was right. I knew for certain I wasn’t going to die, so I told Mike everything, and he became my knight in cowboy clothes. He insisted that no matter what transpired, that in his sweet hazel eyes, I would always be the sexiest woman who ever walked into any room.

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