A Breast Cancer Scare

Last month I had a breast cancer scare. I went to the doctor for what I thought was a little problem, and she sent me for an immediate mammogram. There are seven visible signs of breast cancer (and more invisible signs) and I had four of the seven. At the imaging center, my mammogram turned into more mammograms which turned into sonograms, all with doctors coming in and out, leaving the room to consult with each other, and coming back in for more breast pummeling. By the time I left, 2.5 hours later, with instructions to have a biopsy, I was a mess, both physically and emotionally.

I went home and immediately scheduled my biopsy, all the time in shock that this was happening to me. My thoughts were most of all for my children. They are 12 and 15 now, so they've had a mom for most of their formative years, but it would still be devastating to lose their mother at their ages. I worried about what the experience of their mother having to battle cancer would be like for them, even if I survived. And I worried about Ken maybe having to be a single dad.

I felt like I might have a ticking time bomb in my breast that could explode any minute, and if it was cancer, screw vanity, I wanted that sucker cut off as soon as possible. I am way past the age where I desire Playboy breasts. My breasts gave my children life for the first half year of their lives. Boobs may be fun, but their intended purpose is to give life to babies, and they did a great job of that. I won't be having any more children, and my husband loves me for much more than my breasts, so they are expendable. My life is not. I need to be here for my family.

I am about 30 pounds overweight but otherwise am in good health, and I have always done everything correctly: Annual mammograms, pap smears, and my first colonoscopy at age 50. I have no history of breast cancer in my family. So I had nothing to worry about, right? Then I learned that the vast majority of women who get breast cancer have no history of it in their families, plus a whole bunch of other stuff that terrified me.

I was so frightened that I knew if I allowed myself to experience the depth of my fears, I wouldn't have been able to function. I called my wonderful boss to tell her what I was going through, and decided not to tell anyone else at work, because even though I work with a fantastic group of people, I didn't want to even think about the devastating possibilities while I was there. Then the day before my biopsy surgery, I became depressed in the morning. I had been holding myself together for the past week and I just couldn't do it anymore. I fell into bed, emotionally exhausted, and allowed myself to sleep the afternoon and evening away. That turned out to be a good idea because I was well-rested and as relaxed as could be expected for my surgery the next day.

The results came in five days later. I am fine. No findings of breast cancer. It was the best phone call of my life. There were some complications after the biopsy because my incision opened and my breast became infected, but the bottom line is I don't have cancer.

I was always aware of this issue but now I have a deeper appreciation for what the actual experience of battling breast cancer must be like for women, and men, who are challenged with it. This experience has also made me more determined to honor my body. I don't have cancer, but the fact that I could have had it really hit home. Now that I'm past 50 it's no longer unusual to see people my age in the obituaries. Settling into a lifestyle of physical health and emotional peace and contentment is more important than ever.

Why Do the Gosselins Never Learn?

Yesterday Jon Gosselin was spotted on his lawn, by a photog with a telephoto lens, smoking something that looked suspiciously like the evil weed. Although the papparazis weren't close enough to give it the smell test, it was a hand rolled smoke, and not his usual cigarette brand.

Kate was shopping at the Park City Mall in Lancaster. She was approached by a fan who wanted to take her picture in the parking lot, and her reaction was to scream, "Don't you dare touch my car!"

Jon has been caught with his girlfriend, caught getting blasted at the bars, and the road in front of his house is lined with papparazi from all over the US and the UK. He is now getting divorced and he and Kate are working out child custody details. Yet he still continues to take incredible risks. Kate has been called a bitch so many times her picture is now probably next to the word in the dictionary, and she has said Jon literally won't talk to her anymore. Kate says salons all over the country have customers asking for her haircut (I doubt it!) and she has been trying unsuccessfully to sell her talk show idea. Despite tons of feedback about her unearned sense of entitlement, her narcissism hasn't seemed to slow down one iota.

How totally self-defeating can two people get?

Eight Minus Jon & Kate

8:57 PM
TLC's been heavily promoting tonight's episode of J&K+8 all week, and then today there was a big spoiler. Divorce papers were filed in Bucks County, PA, for Jon & Kate Gosselin. I drove by their house yesterday and it was one big tranny mess of photogs, papparazi and rubberneckers dying to get a glimpse of some salacious activity, like maybe Jon doing a coed on the lawn or Kate beating the children with a wire hanger. No such luck. The garage door was open and once in a while a kid or two ran around the lawn a little.

Two minutes after my drive-by, Jon walked down the lawn and had an impromptu press conference with the pappas and r-neckers. They asked what tonight's big announcement would be, and he would only reply that they had to watch the show tonight. Why then were divorce papers filed today, rather than waiting until tomorrow when it wouldn't spoil the show they've been hawking all week? Who knows. No one ever said anything about the Gosselins made sense, right?

If I'd hung around and had a chance to ask Jon a question or two before I drove off, I would have asked him these:
1) Why, if it's all about the kids, are you getting a one-bedroom apartment in New York City? How can your kids visit you in a one bedroom apartment? And why are you getting an apartment three hours from your kids?
2) Why were you looking at a one bedroom apartment at Trump Plaza that rents for $3400 a month, when you could get Berks County's finest for probably a max of $1000, and be a half hour from your children?
3) What financial renumeration are your children getting for having their lives and their psychological and emotional health invaded? California is the only state which has any laws regarding making sure the children are provided for financially when they grow up. You and Kate wouldn't even have the show if it wasn't for your eight little beauties. You both live opulent lives with a great house and property and cars and expensive surgeries and clothes and now expensive apartments. Are the kids getting eight-tenths of the money, being put away as investments for their futures? Or are you taking advantage of PA's lack of child protection regarding child actors and neglecting to provide for their futures?

Well, the show starts in three minutes. I'm going to go watch the announcement that the Gosselins are getting a divorce.

9:50 PM
The papers were filed in Montgomery County today, even though the Gosselins live in Berks County. My question was, why did they file today, when it spoiled the announcement on the show? But now I know, because it's 9:50 PM, ten minutes before the end of the show, and the announcement about the divorce paper being filed was just flashed on the screen. Obviously, they filed at the end of the day, in another county, to coincide with the text which was previously edited into the show to be aired tonight. So much for "reality" TV.

My Lips Have Betrayed Me

Sunday I did too much gardening. I do this every year and never learn. I hurt my back, which stiffened up quite painfully by the time I left work Monday evening. I also noticed that my arms itched and my bottom lip was looking a little puffy. Yippee, I thought. That expensive lip puffer lipstick I bought a month ago is finally paying off. Now my lips don't look like two old horizontal miniature string beans anymore.

By Tuesday (yesterday) morning I could hardly get out of bed to go to the bathroom, and had to take the day off of work. By Tuesday at noon my forearms were speckled with poison ivy, which informed me that soon my entire body would be covered with oozing yellow crusty pools of poison ivy. Furthermore, my bottom lip now looked like the fattest lima bean you've ever seen, only two inches long. And for all you vegy lovers, not an appetizing lima bean, I might add.

Here is a picture of my elongated lima bean lip yesterday morning. The allergic reaction to the poison ivy was starting to spread to my upper lip. This was taken before it reached it's full size of a red pepper. Fortunately for you I didn't take a picture of that.

It was probably a good thing my mouth was too uncomfortable with itchy pain to put lipstick on before I very slowly and gingerly (for my hurt back) went to the doctor's last evening, because I don't think they make a tube of lipstick that could've covered it.

And to think people actually pay to have this done to themselves. That's just wacko.

Now my back is starting to feel better and I am on a heavy dose of prednisone steroids. I took seven last night, I take six today, five tomorrow, and so on until they're all gone. I also got an epipen because every time I get poison ivy it's worse and next time I might have an anaphylactic reaction and suffocate to death on supreme throat puffiness. Thankfully the heavy duty meds have started to kick in, so now my arms aren't quite so itchy anymore, which is good because that makes me crazy and I still have the scars from scratching them last year when I couldn't help myself and scratching it felt so good I swear my arms had orgasms. My lower lip hugeness has begun to abate already, but with my luck by the time I'm done I'll have steroid-induced testicles growing out of my neck.

But I won't mind a testicle-covered neck. As long as my back holds out, I'll be happy gardening.