Logic? Schmogic.

I swear, it feels like it has been WEEKS since I've written in this blog.

So in the Seattle P-I my horoscope lists me (Sagittarius) as having a perfect '10' of a day. My first thought is that by some stroke of horoscopial magic *if* there is cancer anywhere else in my body, it will be spontaneously cured today, before the bone scans and CAT scans. Or, if that doesn't work, the fact that I had a great workout yesterday and my body feels really really GOOD today means that all will be clear (as if, if I HADN'T worked out, the bad stuff would all still be there).

But you know what? Smarter more cancer-educated people than me have been spreading some of the non-logic this week as well. I told my breast surgeon that I would really like a simple mastectomy on my left breast when she does the modified radical mastectomy on my right. Apparently that's called a 'prophylactic mastectomy'. (And here I thought those were all about men and their sexual tools!) Anyway, she told me more and more women are requesting this, and she would do it, but unless there is a medical reason, she couldn't professionally recommend it.

I told her I just didn't think I would be able to find a good running bra for a uni-boob. Especially a BIG uni-boob. (Now, when I use running bras that are not special ordered from Montana, it does, in effect, create a uni-boob effect, with a large single sausage mass swinging back and forth, THAT's a BIG uni-boob....) But after listening to me complain about the big uni-boob problem, she tells me I could get a lift and tuck and reduction and all sorts of fancy options for my breasts afterwards. (Tassles? Did I hear someone mention tassles?)

So I'm trying to be open...hmmmm....new boobs. Made to order boobs. Cute little frenchie looking boobs?

So I open up their packet and start reading about breast reconstruction.

Holy mother of Jesus!!

If the breast surgeon can't professionally 'recommend' a phophylactic mastectomy how can she professionally recommend reconstruction!! Man, snipping that baby clean off seems much easier than salvaging fat and muscle from other parts of my body to mold into a non-feeling breast shape.

My breasts have served me well. I've enjoyed them. My children have enjoyed them. My husband thinks they're OK (actually, when I was younger, they were GREAT) but he's always been a legs man.

I'm a bit mystified about the whole reconstruction argument.

So I guess I'll be cold-calling strange women and asking them about their breasts today.

"Excuse me Madame, I don't mean to bother you this afternoon, but I was told you are a breast cancer survivor and would be willing to talk about your breasts?"

"What shape are your breasts currently in now?"

"How do you typically use your breasts?"

"Do you take your breasts on runs? How do they perform?"

"How many people are involved with your breasts? Would you be willing to talk about their feeings regarding your breasts?"

One of my very dearest friends' mother-in-law is a breast cancer survivor. This woman is just beautiful, inside and out. She's the kind of person you feel you know deeply as soon as you meet her. She's probably one of the women I'll talk to this afternoon.

My mother-in-law is also a survivor. But the funny part of the conversation went like this:

Friend: "So you've never talked to your mother-in-law about her reconstruction?"

Apparently, my friend has talked with her mother-in-law about this.

Apparently, they've talked a LOT about her boobs.

I just guffawing with laughter in attempt to picture this with my mother-in-law.

I mean first of all, the woman is FRENCH. Have you ever tried to pronounce 'boob' in FRENCH?

The word is one of those nasal, closed mouth vowel combos that just kill me. (And yes, I must admit now that because of this same pronunciation issue, I cannot even pronounce my own last name with any dignity!)

And secondly, the Lepeintre's aren't really the kind of family that sit around and talk about their body parts.

So I'm imagining the big, festive, french family dinner at their country house in Normandy and my attempt to make conversation with my mother-in-law about her boobs. You've got to add in the bad French and the thick American accent.

But you know what, I know she would be very open to sharing with me. She's a marvelous, empathetic and intelligent woman. We've travelled a lot together and we've shared some intense stuff. She was probably the very best with me when I suffered a bit of post-partum depression after Delphine's birth. It's not her.

It was just the idea of me, before all of this, bringing up the topic of her boobs. That image just still gets me rolling.

OK. 25 more minutes and I can start that barium smoothie.

hugs to everyone out there!

Suzy