The dress’s white, pleated, satin skirt  falls halfway between my knee and calf. The black strapless top has a beautiful black flower design embroidered on the right breast. I do a little spin in it and the crinoline under the skirt crinkles a little as the skirts lifts and spins out. I stop and look at myself in the mirror again. It is the most lovely little dress I have ever owned. The sales lady that has been standing back a little ways while I admired myself in the mirror now steps forward and stands behind me while she grasps the extra material that is loose around my waist. I still remember the way she smiled at me in the mirror while she said, “such a tiny waist for such a tall girl, we will have to take this in a little but otherwise this size 2 fits perfect!”

That is not a typo, a size 2.

I was 16 and it was my dress for my junior prom. I wore it with no bra, no control top panty hose and flats. I had a sixteen inch waist and weighed about 110 lbs. Granted I had no children, but I had what I thought were a lot of responsibilities. Honor classes, a job, a boyfriend, a lot of after school stuff, very dramatic friends, and the parents from hell. My diet consisted of Devil Dogs, Chocolate Chip cookies, microwave popcorn, fruit, cereal, pizza and a few real meals. And what ever I didn’t want I had a handy-dandy toothbrush that took care of that!

A few years later I went away to college and that was freedom that was exciting, scary, refreshing and my downfall. I had an apartment off campus. I lived above a Dominios pizza and an ice cream parlor. Bad, bad choice for a girl who had been so controlled by her parents. My college freshman year I gained 50 lbs and I have bee on the weight see-saw ever since.

I bought my wedding dress for my first wedding off the rack and in the weeks between buying the dress and the wedding itself I lost too much weight and had to stuff my bra on my wedding day with tissues so when I got hugged the chest area of the gown didn’t stay pushed in. Three years later when David was born I had gained 130lbs and was up to a whopping 266lbs. While pregnant for him I had friends that went to the Entenmann’s day old store in the city and would load up on goodies. They would stop by and drop off stuff at my house. My day would start off with a whole lemon meringue pie, minus the crust because I really thought it would be fewer calories. Chocolate eclairs, table talk pies, cream horns, breads, cookies, strudel, cakes, pies, think of all the yummy stuff they make and that is what I ate. Right after getting married I had moved to upper state NY, rarely saw my family and was in a bad marriage. No family, very little support, no money, most of the time no phone because it had been shut-off again, but I had food.

The year is 2000 and David is five and in kindergarten. His father, my first husband has left me for another woman. I get a call from David’s school. The teacher is concerned because David seems to be having some troubles at school. They all know what is happening at school and poor David is not taking it well at all. Mornings are hell, getting him out of the car is a fight and now his teacher is calling me to tell me David is telling lies. “What did he lie about?” I ask. “Well, we are doing a lesson about healthy eating and we had to tell everyone what we had for dinner last night and what we had for breakfast this morning.” She tells me. Oh crap, I think, “David doesn’t lie.” I tell her. Now she says, ”He told us he had chips and dip with cold pizza for supper and a brownie sundae for breakfast.” Some thing about the tone of her voice just made my skin crawl, but I did smile to myself as I tell her, “well you will be glad to know he did not lie to you, that is exactly what he had!” I was depressed and I was doing the best I could and David was so excited to have ice cream for breakfast! As for me, I ate what ever was in the fridge and I lost weight, the down fall, I was pregnant. Bummer.

Today I do not even have a mirror in my bedroom. My mother says there are two types of people, ones that eat to live, the other live to eat. Can you guess which I am? I love to eat out or order out and bring it home. We do not do it very often because it is expensive, but it works out well because I usually get two meals out of it. I am a chocolate fiend and I always have a stash some where, which is one reason I have no mirror in my room. I would not be a good candidate for the stomach stapling surgery even if I was 850lbs. I am missing the most important element that I think a lot of the people who get this surgery are missing and that is will power. I read that up to 65-70% of those who get that sugery will require another surgery within 15 years for weight gain. One radial surgery wasn’t enough, another surgery is now needed.

I know myself and I know I could not say no to certain foods. John and I laugh about how he would come home and find stale headless peeps all over the counter because that was all could eat of them before they swelled up in my tiny stapled stomach. America tunes into the biggest loser to see who will win and then the go see what happens six months, year later, how about three years later? How long has the show been on? Go visit some of the first contestants see how they are doing.

Turning 40 has not had a huge impact on my life except for one thing, my health. According to medical science around the age of 40 the body starts to slow down and muscle mass starts to break down, skin starts to thin out, metabolism slows down and you get the point. This can be a big problem for me having hypothyroidism already, this is a slow metabolism already due to a wacky thyroid. Now is the time to get moving.

Enter stage left … Zumba, I take three classes a week, By the end of the third class I want to lay on the floor and weep. I ride my stationary bike and walk. Every other saturday I am attempting to hike with the Antrim rec dept. John takes a karate class on Mondays he wants me to join.

I used to love when Oprah came out in her new slim body. Remember the time she came out with the wagon full of fat and told her viewers that this is how much fat she had lost? And single every time she went back to her original size or bigger. If Oprah cannot keep the weight off how can an ordinary person with no personal trainer, or house hold cook expected to do any better? But buck up Oprah and all those struggling with their weight because round is a shape too, and it takes an awful lot of work to keep those curves soft!

How many of us have heard this statement? And we know how it is supposed to end, in lemonade. I have tried, really tried to follow this path, the lemonade path. I have come to the conclusion that some of us just are not meant for the path of sweet, light juiceyness. Some of us, me included, are meant to find other uses for these lemons. We want to see what kind of damage citric acid does to say, paint jobs on new vehicles or as a pepper spray substitute. Or maybe we just want to throw the suckers at something or someone.

My mom gave John this book a few years ago called Don’t Sweat The Small Stuff…and it’s all small stuff. By Richard Carlson. Basicly his book is saying people should be more patient, let others be right, be kind, pretend that everyone has something to teach you, ask yourself will this matter when your dead, smile more,do not criticize, let others have the glory, and avoid arguing about whose turn it is, when in doubt do it yourself.

I read a couple of chapters of this book everyday. And after a few chapters I recognized the voice. The words were not the same, but the principle behind them was the similar. I had heard these sentiments most of my life. A nice smile will open doors, honey will attract more bees than vinegar will (kind words vs harsh ones), men like a pretty face, not a sharp tongue Colleen! Anna Mae Marshall, my grandmother. And she worried so much about me finding someone who would love me.

My mom and I called my Grandmother St. Anne behind her back. She would not say shit if she had a mouthful of it, another old saying.

She was kind to everyone, even my grandfathers ex-wife. My grandmother hated “slacks” of any kind, never left the house without her “face” on and her hair done, only wore red lipstick from Coty and loved long red nails, she drank Highballs when she drank. And she hated it when I swore. “Colleen, Why must you swear like that?”, at the time I had my commercial drivers license and I said, “Grams, I have my truckers license, I will swear like one!” She would point at me and tell me it was rude to be fresh to my grandmother. I was her favorite and we both knew it. My sister was my mother’s favorite, it was only fair I should be hers I was after all the oldest. When I met John my Grandmother would tell him he should leave, run away from me because I was very fresh. He told her that was how he liked me. She liked him a lot.

She died nearly six years ago at 94, but an evil had stolen most of her mind from us before the Goddess took her spirit home. Even towards the end she remembered me and how fresh I could be and she reminded me that those damn bees liked that honey…

I’m so sorry Grammie, I tried, but I never really liked bees. It seems my strength never came from my inner goodness like yours did, mine comes from something darker, a seething over the injustices I see all around, the unfairness, the pain shoveled out in uneven doses. I have no calm center. It seems this world has become so politically correct that everyone has become afraid of hurting someones feelings that chaos seems to reign, honesty and truth have become a rare commodity. The shift happened so slowly no one really noticed, but just turn on the tv, or read the paper and know that our innocence is lost.

They have a show Doomsday Preppers, I think they go a bit overboard, but some of these people have whole groups that they are prepared to gather together for the end of the world. My son likes us to think up groups we would have. For the end of the world I would assembly a team of heavy hitters that would rather say sorry later than ask permission now. At least I see them as heavy hitters.

My A-Team would be:  The Ginger, The Babysitter and her mom, The NRA Shooter and her Grease Monkey Husband, Crazy P from down south, The Gun Totter Across the Way,  The Angry Panda, Mr.V., The Stikes (the blue collars always have the rage), ALBE, Gorgeous J from no where, The new Gilf and her 2 Wicked Sisters, Pretty Miss E with her pappoose,  Captain Hair Gel, Baby brother and his blonde bombshell, Sister Robert Anne and others that have slipped my mind at this moment.

My son who is a sexist pig, says mom you have women on your team. Not just women, I have mom’s. MOTHER’s. A big difference I tell him. I have told him again, and again, and again, I would kill anyone, ANYONE that caused him serious harm. Now maybe some of you on my list will take offense and I am sorry, it was not meant as an insult, it was meant as the highest compliment. It means I trust you with the lives of my most precious treasures. My children.

I am a society warrior as most of us are, whether we started out to be or not. We exit a building and check our surroundings, hold our keys at the ready either for easy access to our car door our in our fist as an instant weapon. We look at the face of every person who approaches us. Looking away quickly, but looking long enough.

I didn’t start out like this and in my heart of heart I wish I was more like my grandmother was. My sister is a lot like my grand mother, I have friends a lot like her BD who I worked with and SV who is a close friend. When these women go out to face the world they do it as themselves. No pretenses, no masks, open hearts and good intentions, filled with goodwill towards all.

There has to be big, bad, bitches as well. Ones ready to do the dirty work, ones that make the tough decisions, sign the legal papers, mop up the blood choose the coffins, commit the loved ones, wipe the brains off the walls, make the call at 4am to not to do anything to prolong her life…

I am hoping the calm comes with age or at least I can learn to fake it better.

When my son was younger his father (my ex-husband) told him he didn’t want him riding his bike around Antrim because gangs might steal his bike and kidnap him. I choose to ignore the ex and allowed my 12-year-old son to ride his bike all over our small town, to the lake that has a life guard present, the library, and GASP even to a friend’s house about 6 miles away one town over.  He always had to tell me where he was going, who he was going with and what time he would be home. A few times there was trouble at the skateboard park or at the playground and David was there, but he stayed out of it. David was a tall kid, but he was never imposing. He was always calm and cool-headed and I knew he and his friends would keep themselves safe.

Last year my daughter and her friends started riding their bikes around town.  Mel is lucky to have a friend that lives right across the street so she always has a buddy that is ready to ride into town with her. The two of them usually ride up to the town hall and meet up with their other two friends and ride around all together. It doesn’t hurt that all the cops in Antrim know Mel by sight and all of the girls have lots of friends here in town. The girls are too young to ride to the lake, but they ride to the playground, the library and they ride just to ride.

Until this year. Our town has a gang. Ha, Ha, very funny Colleen y’all got a group of rogue cow tippers running wild out there going crazy tipping goats and sheep now! CHAOS!!! Call in the National Guard!

Stop now this is serious. We do have a gang and it sad to say it is happening more and more across the country because there is very little that can be done about it. Our gang is made up of a group of teenagers, boys and girls. These kids have been suspected of breaking car windows and stealing stuff out of the cars, starting fights, stealing bikes from little kids, “borrowing cars”.

I was bringing Mel home from school one afternoon and I saw this gang. They made straight line across a side road. Around five or six boys and one girl, all smoking, walking and making two little kids ride up on someone’s lawn to avoid them. Now I knew at least five of them and I knew only two were over 18 and they were all smoking, isn’t that against the law?

Where are the police? Why are they not doing anything?

The police follow the law, the law pertaining to juveniles. When these teenagers misbehave the police arrest them, not with cuffs. They do not go to jail. They get released into their parents, it is called parental custody.  No cuffs, no pepper spray, no jail, no spanking.  When we were kids there was always the whispered “Juvey Hall” a scary place they sent bad kids. In our area we have Sununu Center in Manchester, but kids have to be really bad or be turned in by their parents. The center is so full already with juvenile offenders that they do not have enough room for everyone.  A child gets arrested, turned over to PC and gets a court date which can be up to three months away. And then…

And then…

And then these presumed innocent until found guilty teenagers go out and cause more chaos in our town while waiting for their court date. They cause trouble, get arrested, get PC’d, get another court date.

Here is the kicker about our legal system. Until the teenage suspect has their first court date they are still seen as innocent, so every incident or crime they commit until their first court date is listed as a first offense. Over and over and over again.

Jump ahead to the court date and settle yourself on to those uncomfortable wooden benches and let’s watch the wheels of justice spin. And spin they do. All out of control! The judge comes in; he is so old he was around when dirt was invented. He looks at the defendant, who now looks like a tall, dorky teenager in over sized sweater and khakis and in this judges court, this judge only wants to hear what he is being accused of right now, not what he did yesterday or what he did two weeks later, but what he is here for right now.

A little joy riding, the judge says, kids will be kids!

Community Service, released to the parents.

The same the parents that were not there when all this happened in the first place because they were working. Of course the kids become model citizens and start and after school program for the arts. The end.

On TV.

Not in Antrim. We still have a gang and a fast approaching summer vacation. I do not know what we as a town can do. What I hope is that the police will make the adults in town more aware of what is happening, set up a neighborhood watch. We have lived in Antrim for over 11 years and we just started locking our doors this year. We can not let our town bow down to children in fear, we need to stand up and say enough I do not care how unpolitically correct that sounds. It is time to be the adults and punish the children, because obviously the time-outs are not working.

As for the bike rides,  I do have a solution, one I do not think our girls will like, but it will keep them safe and give the mom’s a piece of mind; a chaperone.  So come on mom’s dust off those roller blades, drag out those bike helmets, I am going to start pricing Segway’s because hills and I do get along!

Mammogram The Final part.

I really wish after surgery, even day surgery they could put people into a quiet private room. There is something so annoying about waking up , but not fully and falling back to sleep with the constant buzz of voices all around. Or even better when you first come into recovery they call your name and want you to respond. Jeez, just leave me alone for a while, if I am not dying just let me be.I woke up rather quickly from this surgery. I went in for surgery around 11a.m. and I was sitting up in bed by 1p.m. asking where John was. For some reason they would not let him come sit with me while I was waking up. They did go tell him I was out of surgery and everything went well and that I was sleeping. For those of  you that know I suffer from insomnia you will understand why John told them to let me sleep. We will probably be charged for the extra bed time! The nurse got John and he came into the room. The nurse asked if I wanted anything and I said I wanted to go home. Within  the hour I was in the truck on my way home. The pain killers they gave me were great, I felt nothing all day. We had also got our kitten fixed the day before so John and Melly went and picked Devi up from the vets. So Devi and I hung out on the couch for the rest of the day just chilling.

The worst part of those two weeks was having to wear a bra to bed. The hospital gave me a really cool velcro bra and I got to keep the sexy socks! No showering for 72 hours and when I did finally shower I could take off the bandage. The bandage was huge and covered part of my nipple, no ripping this thing off quickly! So I made John come in with me. He helped me wash my hair and then helped me pull off the bandage when I couldn’t. Boy, the stuff that guy does for me! I had two little knots sticking out at each end of the cut and a stitch in the middle. The surgeon did follow the original scar, but I am not really vain about that stuff. The wound ached once in a while and then it itched like crazy. Our kitten Devi kept chewing on her stitches and pulling on them, I couldn’t blame her I wanted to scratch mine out.

After a week we went back and Dr.Vuocolo checked the stitches and said it was healing nicely. He then sat down to tell us the results. The two little lumps were benign lumps, but, BUT, BUT, I am 98% great, but 2%, 2 millimeters, it is called Focal Atypical Lobular Hyperplasia.  Atypical hyperplasia isn’t cancer, but it can be a forerunner to the development of breast cancer. Over the course of your lifetime, if the atypical hyperplasia cells keep dividing and become more abnormal, your condition may be reclassified as noninvasive breast cancer (carcinoma in situ) or breast cancer. © 1998-2012 Mayo Foundation for Medical Education and Research. This is that condition that is causing some woman to rush out and get a full mastectomy to completely avoid breast cancer. I asked Dr. Vuocolo what this meant for me, he reassured me that the little spot they found was not life threatening, but I would have to be more vigilant about lumps in my breast. More breast exams, a yearly mammogram. He explained that because this condition spread like buck shot through the breast tissue not a whole lot can be done. If I started to exhibit more of these clumps in larger sizes and numbers I would have to act, unfortunately Chemo and Radiation are not options, but a full mastectomy would be needed.

I looked over at John at this point and he smiled at me and said, “I would rather have you than your boobs Baby!” Thank goodness because as of right now we are very much attached.

The rest of the story is rather anti-climatic. Dr. Vuocolo said I could not get the samples back in a jar to keep, (I really thought they would be a real conversation piece!). I went back a week later and saw a nice new doctor a Dr. Peppers, we did refrain from singing the commercial to her! She pulled out the stitches which hurt more than just about the rest of the two weeks with them. We had no questions, so home we came.We laughed about the fact that just last year I had walked for breast cancer, our team was Walker for Knockers, who knew I was walking for my own research money!

How do I feel about this potential time bomb in my boobs?  Not much different then I did before I knew. This FALH condition may never come to anything or it may explode next year, I don’t know. What I do know is I have had 12 years of extraordinary happiness with the man I married, I have two great kids ready for anything the world might throw them, I have a family who I love so very much and I know love me. I have made some tremendous friends that have made this earthly journey richer, happier, and perfect. I have faith in a higher power that I know will get me where I need to go no matter where that may be. And I figure if I do ever need to get that mastectomy I know a great store that sells very, realistic breasts and I will get a few pairs in different sizes for different occasions. Of course I will make sure they are dishwasher safe so they will stay fresh and clean and ready to go. I mean really friends when haven’t wished we could either shrink our boobs or our butts to get into that perfect dress and all of you will be so jealous that I will be able to do that, at will!

Thursday night before my surgery I put a motion sickness patch behind my ear. It helps with the symptoms of the anaesthesia. Of course I hardly slept, I envy people who stress about very little, because I stress about a lot of things. I was not really worried about the results of the surgery because I would deal with that when the time came. I always worry about the anesthesia. I always write a letter to John and the kids before I go under the knife. It may sound morbid, but I lost my mom when I was very young and I have one letter she wrote to me a few weeks before she died, it is all I have that came right from her. I just want my family to know how much I love them and how happy they have made me. John told he wasn’t worried, but he always says that. He told me later he had dreamed that I died in surgery and the hospital was trying to cover it up and he was very angry about that.

Friday morning we got to the hospital, I am starving, fasted all night and now it is 9am and I have been up since 4. I get another lovely johnny and some really sexy pressure socks! With the socks came a cool pair of slippers that hook up to an air pump. These keep the blood moving in your legs so no blood clots! Gee, I wasn’t really worried until RIGHT NOW about blood clots. Best part by far are the heated blankets they cover you with, I asked for two of them! John was with me and he always makes me laugh, we were discussing all the places we could go while I was wearing my lovely surgery outfit. The nurse was asking me questions, again read my damn answer sheet I filled out in the waiting room. They asked me about the meds I take, any drinking I might do and any recreational drugs I might do. I told her I had only smoked a little grass in the car on the way over, but I did not ingest any pills since the night before. She just stared at me, then she points to John and says “isn’t he a cop” and I said “yes, where do you think I got the drugs from”. John and I are complete straight-faced, and then I smiled at her. We had her going for a minute. She told us she has had patients come in and tell us they were only a little high,but they had not eaten a thing! I always tell John that the world needs stupid people so we know a smart person when we see one. The other nurse in the room is trying to put in the IV. I have terrible veins. The nurse tries to find one in the crook of my arm, nope, on the back of my hand, nope, right in between those two spots, just right! Now that the IV is nicely jammed in my arm I am ready to begin.

Dr. Vuocolo came in at about that time. He came to check on me and to tell me that I would be meeting the anesthesiologist , head nurse and OR manager before I went into surgery. He also came to see if I had any questions, yes; Did you sleep well last night?, yes, Did you eat breakfast yet? No but I had 3 cups of coffee, at this point her starts to shake all over to show me the amount of caffeine he has in his system. Great a funny surgeon. Did you kill anyone since last time we spoke? He was pretty sure the answer was no, Are your sure you cannot take a little extra flesh out of both breast, lighten up a bit? No, I am not a plastic surgeon. Damn and Double Damn!

Off to the sonogram room I go, alone. The poor nurses were not sure which room I was supposed to be in so I got a ride up and down the hall a few time before they found the right room. Hey, it is my old friend Catherine! poor John he couldn’t come with me. I am in this tiny room with Cathy and a new tech Michelle and in comes the radiologists a doctor Blah, Blah. I am not really listening because Cathy is setting up the pins for the lumps. These are not your sewing pins. These suckers are at least 10 inches long and are put into you through a giant needle. I get that orange stuff all over my breast, the stuff that is antibacterial. Then the Dr. looked at the sonogram machine to where the lumps are and made 2 little x’s to mark where the pins will got. He gave me a shot of Novocaine. Why do they tell you it will pinch a little? A little pinch feels like a little pinch, a needle feels like a friggin needle!

The Novocaine numbs it up really well, I feel nothing as he gets the first needle into the first lump. I am watching the whole thing on the sonograms screen, the Dr. keeps apologizing for all the little pulls and jabs. I tell him I feel nothing. He gets the needle through the lumps and say loudly “and the egg is fertilized” the Dr. starts laughing. Really! that is exactly what it looked like. The Dr. tells me I have to stop making him laugh because he still has to get the pin set. Two seconds later I have this huge pin sticking out of my boob and when I laugh it shakes around funny so I laugh even more. I stop laughing when he starts the second pin. I tell him I can really feel this one going in, he says it might be close to a nerve and they cannot really do anything for me. As the needle goes in it feel like it is going right through my nipple and it burns. I gasp and hold real tight to the bed, I am wishing John is there to hold my hand. I will not cry, I will not cry, there are people in this hospital right now that are way worse of then you, suck it up! I was ready to go home right then and screw those lumps. And then I was done, two pins sticking out of my boob, a giant gauze covering them and back into the room with John.

Now comes a stream of people who will be with me in the OR. My head nurse, an intern that will watch, the OR manager that promises me he will do all he can if I should start dying on the table. Dr. Vucocolo comes back and tells me he has had even more coffee and I meet the anesthesiologist . I tell the anesthesiologist  I do very poorly with the anesthesia drugs and I tell him a story about when I was 16 I got my appendix taken out and while I was in the recovery room the nurses tied me down because I became violent, trying to bite the nurses and throwing my pillow. He told me that was normal for teenagers. I also told him I get very sick and I showed him my patch behind my ear and he said that it would help a lot. He asked if I had any questions because they were ready to go. He had two shots for me one for nausea and one to help me relax. I asked him to make sure I didn’t die otherwise I was already! He said no dying today. I kissed John goodbye and the Dr. gave me the drugs. He said he would see me in the OR, I said no, I wouldn’t, those drugs would knock me out. I don’t remember finishing my sentence. I remember a few seconds of big lights with lots of bulbs, me yelling it looked like a giant UFO and then nothing…TBC…

Turning 40 last year wasn’t really a big deal for me. I did not feel any different then I did when I was 39 or even 34, I just now have a 4 in front of my birth age. So trying to be the responsible female adult I called and got a mammogram scheduled. I was a bit nervous because I had been told by other older females that it might hurt. Who likes pain, even a little? My OBGYN helped me set up the appointment and within a week I was sitting in the little waiting room for the radiology waiting for my turn. A really nice radiologists named Michelle came and got me. She gave me the ever sexy johnny to put on backwards. She led me to a tiny little room with a no windows and odd-looking machine with what looked like a tiny little desk attached to it. A little ways away from the machine stood a full length frosted glass like panel. She asked me the normal health questions, which I find some what irritating. Why did I fill out all the paper work that came in the mail if the tech’s and the nurses are going to ask me the same questions over again? Anyway, after answering the questions she explained how the procedure works. I stand in front of the odd machine and place one breast on the little desk. While she is telling me this she is putting these little pasties like stickers on my nipples. I told her if I ended up on You-Tube I would be back for her. Michelle warns me that she may have to take several pictures of the same breast in different positions. I am thinking to myself, how many positions can my boobs go in?

Finally we are set to start. I am not a small chested gal, my girls are DD and not in a perky, I am a 22-year-old stripper sort of way. Just that morning while getting out of bed I rolled over onto one of the girls and pinched the hell out of it, so really the idea of a pinching mammogram, not such a big deal. So Michell finally gets my breast situated and she goes behind her glass shield and snaps a few pictures, she comes back readjusts a little, take more pictures. The third time she goes back to take pictures the light flickers off for maybe 5 seconds and comes back on. I laugh nervously because my right boob is on the little platform and being squished flat at that moment. I ask Michelle what happens if the power goes out for good and she tells me, the back-up generator should kick in. Should? I saw construction going on outside the hospital while I was going in, what if they had to shut off the generator for a while for some reason? All I could think of was the lights would go out, I would be stuck with my boob squished flat in this machine and Michelle would have to leave me in the dark to find some greasy, little, janitor to wrench my boob out of the machine. Suddenly the urgency to finish became nearly unbearable, I practically yelled at the poor woman to finish up. We finished up in record time with no more problems. Michelle explained to me that a follow-up sonograms may be necessary. The first mammogram is a base-line x-ray so that the doctors can see any changes with all the subsequent mammograms I will get. I told her after today, and my fear of getting stuck, I might go with a mastectomy and skip all the mammograms from now on.

The very next morning I get a call from the radiology department. They need me to come back in because they found a shadow on my right breast. No problem, I am not worried. When I was in my 20′s I had lumps removed from that spot, must just be the scarring. I go in the next day for a sonogram. I have a new technician named Catherine and she is young and beautiful. I also brought John with me. John comes into the room with me where I lay down on the bed. Anyone who has ever had a baby has had a sonograms. They dim the lights and the room is a comfortable temperature, for me I just want to get it done, for John though, he had a different view. Really hot girl using gel and the sonograms wand to check out his wifes breast. Good thing the light was dim!

Catherine finished up and told us she was gong to take the results to the radiologists right then and he would come and talk to us about them. Now John and I are REALLY good at amusing our selves. When Cathy left she left the door to the connecting office open. So as John and I contemplated how much of that gel would be needed on the floor to make it like an ice skating rink a very stern voice came from the office, “don’t even think about it” Damn, busted. Still alone and waiting we set out eyes on the sonogram  machine, we were discussing the prospects of trying to see John’s brian when the doctor came in. Denied.

It turns out the shadow was not scar tissue, but two new lumps, so small I could not feel them even if I pressed real hard, which I did over the next week which only made my breast sore and tender. Th doctor explained because they were still small I would have to come to the sonogram room where they would insert these really long pins into the lumps so the surgeon would be able to find them. Of course I asked the dumbest question possible, “so the will have to stick giant pins in my boob to get to the lumps?”. No dumbass they will have to stick them in John for them to get to my lumps. They set up my appointment to see the surgeon the next week to make an appointment for the surgery.

My surgeon name is Dr. Vuocolo and he is a mountain of a man, in fact I keep calling him Dr.Versuvuis, like the mountain/volcano in Italy. He explains to John and I what will happen before and during the surgery. John was not as impressed with Dr. Vuocolo’s examine of my new lumps as he was with Catherine and I did tell the doctor this point. He explained that he would try to go along the same scar line that I had gotten with my first surgery when I was younger. I told him it did not really matter because the scar could hardly be seen among all the stretch marks. My breast look like the have the map of downtown Boston on them, one more mark was not going to ruin them. He asked if we had any questions, the first thing I asked was how long had he been doing surgery?, 19 years, how many kids? five, five holy cow! Did he like his job? yes, had he ever killed anyone? No. In or out of the operating room? No. Good to know. I also told the doctor that I respond very poorly to anesthesia, he told me to make sure to discuss that with the anesthesiologist. I got an appointment for the next friday and John and I went home.