Apparently October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, and many businesses and individuals are showing that they are AWARE.
On the main street in my little town, there is an abundance of pink displays, all bringing attention to keeping the boobs healthy.
Years ago you didn't hear people talk about boobs. Oh maybe, if your female posse was having a girls night or a pajama party, the subject of boobs might come up, along with plenty of self conscious giggling.
|Local hotel pink decor|
And so, I'm just gonna go ahead and talk about boobs. My boobs, others' boobs.
Breast cancer is no stranger to my family. My grandmother had a double mastectomy, due to lumps and cancer. My mother-in-law and my husband's sister both had treatment for cancerous lumps. My brother's wife is mounting a valiant fight against breast cancer as I write this post. I myself have had suspicious lumps biopsied.
There is probably not a person out there that hasn't been affected in some way by breast cancer - either by experiencing it first hand or having a loved one who has. It is a good thing that the awareness of this disease is increasing, and likewise its preventions and treatments.
In fact, as I walked in our downtown area the other day, I couldn't help but notice this "advertisement" for Breast Cancer Awareness:
Not only that, one of those lower hanging brassieres nearly snagged me by the nose as I walked by.
Ironically, my yearly
So I went and did the deed.
Getting a mammogram is never pleasant, and usually is downright painful for me. However, I do what I need to do, every year, because I'm convinced it's right to do so. Studies have shown that getting regular mammograms can possibly catch cancer before it is too far gone, enabling a plan of treatment and hopefully cure.
Notice I wrote the word "can." I also know of numerous cases of cancer that mammograms didn't detect.
Even the waiting room at the hospital where I get my annual mammograms was decorated with boobs for the month of October:
Waiting for the test in a hospital waiting room, wearing nothing but a flimsy hospital gown that doesn't quite tie shut enough over the body parts it needs to cover is stressful enough. However, this little busty pumpkin gave me a chuckle while I waited.
Now I wait for the phone call that more tests are needed, or the "see you back in one year" letter. Of course, I, like every other woman, hopes it's the latter.
The husband/lover/bringer of great comfort met me after I got home with this in hand:
What a guy! Every year he encourages me to go and get the test. And every year he brings me flowers afterwards and takes me out to dinner.
I'm a lucky gal, whatever the test results may be.