Dorita. Not Dorito. (I was hungry this morning)
And she wasn't actually fondling them...she was positioning them between two pieces of plastic so she could smash the hell out of them.
(How in the world do women with A cups get mammograms? That would be a bitch. Not that it's any more fun when you're my size. There's a lot more to SQUISH.)
I found myself being a stage mom when I happened to catch a glimpse of the screen. "Geez, that's really not the right one's best side...it just doesn't look perky enough...maybe I should ask for a re-do."
I kid because I'm terrified. I've been through ultrasounds, MRIs and even a biopsy in the past decade. One of the most riveting female body parts to men is the cause of such concern to women. My test today wasn't scheduled out of concern; I'm simply of a certain age that needs to get checked once a year. But look at the seemingly outbreak of celebrity breast cancer:
Olivia Newton-John, Edie Falco, Melissa Etheridge, Giuliana Rancic, Cynthia Nixon, Sheryl Crow, Robin Roberts, Christina Applegate, Kylie Minogue, Sharon Osbourne, Judy Blume, Richard Roundtree, Suzanne Somers, Betsey Johnson, Kathy Bates, Jaclyn Smith, Angelina Jolie.
Cancer can hit anyone.
And it hit close to home for me. I woke up one day from a dream that I was going to die from breast cancer at the age of 46, to a phone call from my mom that my aunt had been diagnosed. I want to say she was 45, but I could be wrong. I was 30, maybe. My aunt is now a 10+ year survivor...and Evan's godmother. Only made the most sense: He was born on her 50th birthday!
Because of my aunt, I know that, should bad news come up, I will be able to survive. She is one of the strongest women I know...and a perfect example of survival with the help of grace.
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