Drinking in the Pink

Thank Jebus, October is over. I can safely return to the supermarket and not be bombarded with pleas to buy pink, eat pink, think pink, and drink pink. This Breast Cancer Awareness Month is a burden that gets more and more onerous as the years go by.

This year, along with pink drink coolers, pink ribbon faux carabiner key fobs, and pink cereal, I could buy a fifth of vodka in a bottle that sports a pink ribbon and claims that a portion of the proceeds will be donated to breast cancer research.

GetHammeredForTheCause

Funny, the vodka pictured at the link above isn't the one I saw while shopping in a market recently. Nice to know there's more than one way to give while getting hammered on "pink" martinis.

And let me just say that I was sorely tempted to respond to the checkout boy's rote question "would you like to make a donation to breast cancer research?" by whipping out my Foobs™ and declaring that perhaps I've given enough already. It's not his fault that he was instructed to ask this of every customer he spoke to while ringing up their groceries.
I would, however, like to spend a few minutes alone in a room with the genius MBA who thought that it was a good idea for all checkout people to ask that question. I'm just trying to buy some food, maybe a magazine, and I've gotta think about breast cancer? Again?? Would that genius MBA like to be reminded of some trauma he/she suffered every time he/she wants to buy a pint of ice cream and a copy of Vanity Fair?

Note to self: next year, stock up at the end of September, then send the spousal unit to the store for anything I might need in the dreaded month of boob corrosion awareness. It's amusing that our awareness ends with Hallowe'en. Trick or treat! Tricky tits!

Oh, and re that article Carny mentioned about the time it takes to get back to normal - word.

October madness

A couple weeks ago, I had an interesting conversation with an acquaintance who developed colon cancer in her 30s.


"I am kind of jealous of the ones with breast cancer," she said, "because NO ONE wants to talk about colon cancer."


We did find many things we had in common, however:


We both wish people would treat us like we've never had cancer... except when we need them to understand that we've had cancer.


We both find we've reached a broader perspective on life... you can't really call it enlightenment, because it sometimes involves wanting to smack the shit out of other people for being so stuck on the petty stuff.


And we've both made bargains with the Universe to do whatever it asks of us, anything at all, just as long as we get to see our kids reach adulthood.


And speaking of long-term survivorship, I read this article in Cure magazine last week while waiting to see my oncologist for a follow-up. It's pretty badly written, so I'll cut to the chase for you: New studies of survivors suggest that it can take years for life to go back to "normal" after cancer. Pain, fatigue and fear of reocurrence can persist even 11 years after diagnosis.


All I can say is: O RLY?

Signs of the Apocalypse No. 7

Madden NFL 09 Pink: Yes, Virginia, it's a video football game that "fights" breast cancer.

If I had a rocket launcher...

The place where I get my mammograms done is rescheduling mine because... they've decided to stop doing diagnostic exams on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons.

This is the same place that sent me a form letter a few months ago announcing when my mammogram would be. Without consulting me first about what times would work for me.

So, I'm wondering what the message is? Because it feels something like this: Hey, cancer survivor. We know you are just sitting at home with your gold AmEx card flipping through the home shopping channels. Since you're not capable of doing anything worthwhile, we expect you'll be happy to come have your boob hammered flat whenever we feel like doing it. And, yeah, we have Saturday appointments... with openings sometime in 2010.

Another country heard from

"You just have to decide if you're a Tigger or an Eeyore. I think I'm clear where I stand on the great Tigger/Eeyore debate. Never lose the childlike wonder. It's just too important. It's what drives us."

Randy Pausch, 1960-2008 (pancreatic cancer)

A Junior brain trapped in a Misses body

I went clothes shopping. Again. This summer has found me in a fruitless search for a cute little summery dress, some cool casual tops, and maybe a nice button down shirt or two for dressy casual.

Here's the challenge: my flat-chested temple of a body doesn't lend itself easily to this year's fashion trends. Low cut bodices that show exactly what color my fake boobs (foobs!) are won't do. And the dresses that don't have the low cut V neckline have the deep U little milkmaid style bodices with puffed sleeves that are so not flattering on fifty year old arms. And the foobs are visible in either one.

That said, I'm not ready to give up and start wearing men's T-shirts. I'm going back to my sewing machine. We've been apart for awhile, but we need to get back together and heat up the sewing room.

Stay tuned.

Why so serious?

"What doesn't kill you makes you stranger."

--Joker, "The Dark Knight"