“Hello, this is the Women’s Center calling about your mammogram.” At that point I stopped breathing and didn’t hear much more of what she said, other than I had to come back Tuesday, September 9th at 9 AM and this time the appointment would take longer, as the doctor would decided immediately if I needed an ultrasound.

What did I do? Drank strange Martinis I wouldn’t normally order. Chased by Licor 43. Breakfast was prescription strength ibuprofen.

I went, it’s over, I’m fine; it was scar tissue from a surgery I had in 1980. The doctor said, “See you next year.” But the thought wreaked havoc with my psyche for the 24 hours between the call and the test. What did I do? Drank strange Martinis I wouldn’t normally order. Chased by Licor 43. Breakfast was prescription strength ibuprofen.
Click on image to view full size


The breast cancer in my family has all been on my dad’s side. My maternal grandmother, my mom and my sister never had issues, and my mom had only brothers so things seemed quiet in the branches of that side of the family tree, the one they say matters the most. And I know the universe has a sense of humor but could it be that sick to give a CML patient breast cancer? Really? Like one chemotherapy drug a day wouldn’t be enough? So I thankfully dodged a bullet this time, and now feel much more empathy for my “sisters” who’ve gotten that call and heard bad news. If anyone took my earlier post with the proverbial grain of salt I suggest you have that conversation with yourself, your sister, mother, girlfriend, wife, daughter, or any woman who’ll listen. Get your mammogram. Do self-exams. Take care of yourself!
This has been a community service announcement from Deborah Dishes, whose author will personally kick your ass if you don’t listen.

Deborah