The State of the Booby Address

One year ago today I was diagnosed with stage IV metastatic breast cancer. It was the beginning of an amazing year for me. Believe me, when somebody tells you that average survival is 2 years, you start looking at life differently. As I've said before, cancer is a life changing event, but it's only a life ending event when you give up.

How am I? I am the same as I was a year ago--just a year older. Although the chemo and hormone therapy have not cured my cancer, it may have prevented it from moving into other organs. A PET scan has showed less density which indicates that the metabolism in the cancer cells has slowed. A CT scan last month shows that it's static--no movement. So it's a half full/ half empty deal---I choose half full. I'm no worse than I was a year ago, and with cancer, that's a very good thing, Martha.

Have you ever thought about the words to the 23rd Psalm? "He maketh me to lie down in green pastures..." This took on a whole new meaning for me last June. This illness forced me to slow down, look around and think about my life. Everyday is a gift--period. The worst day imaginable at work is a gift. The hanging over the commode calling Ralph day is a gift. And the glorious days with family and friends are a huge gift.

You guys have been the wind beneath my wings this last year. Not a week has passed that one of you didn't call, send a crazy card or include me on an inspiring e-mail. Thank you so much! It's meant the world to me. And Judy, I'd never have believed that a trip to MD Anderson could be so much fun. Thanks for being my partner in crime on that adventure. By the way, Judy, radiology almost has the tire tracks cleaned off of my chest films.

On a lighter note: It's the little things that have changed in my life that crack me up. As you ladies know, most of us have boobage of unequal sizes--one's usually larger. After my lumpectomy, the larger boob became the smaller boob, causing me much confusion. I considered purchasing a Global Positioning System because I no longer could get my bearings. With the larger boob and smaller boob exchanging identities, everything believed to be constant in the universe was called into question. Even worse, my bras quit fitting.

Not being one who enjoys trying on lingerie, I have been known to grab a bra, and mutter ,"That looks about right," and scurry away from LingerieR Us. Unfortunately, I often got home with something that smashed my boobs up just under my chin and made me look like a pole dancer. At 22 I might have endured that, but now....not so much.

Someone at work suggested to me, as I tugged at my underpinnings hoping for a whiff of fresh air, that I needed a bra fitter. A bra fitter? People actually do that for a living? Wonder what her degree plan looked like... So off to Dillard's I go in search of said bra fitter.

Let me tell you, this lady looked like my childhood memory of the librarian at the Abilene Public Library, smelled like mothballs, and had this breathing condition that reminded me of Darth Vader. And I'm supposed to surrender my boobage to be measured by the bright yellow tape measure draped around her neck? Well, measure she did. Not one measurement, but about 3 different areas she assaulted with her trusty tape, and then it was off to find me the perfect bra.

After a period of time just shorter than my labor with Kara, she returned brandishing this bra that was made out of canvas and two tiny forklifts. I tried it and although it did lift and separate, it also lowered my IQ 10 points and caused discomfort from the neck down. Not to be discouraged, off she went to look again. This time she was back in a period of time just shy of a semester in Dr Joe's American Public Education class at dear old McMurry. "This is the perfect bra for you," she crowed. I tried on this configuration of parachute material and viola! We had bra! Now keep in mind...she watches me put on the bra. Apparently my bra putting on was lacking, for she at once began giving me directions, with demonstration, on how to put on a bra. Guys, I'm 58 years old and I've worn bras for nearly a half century...And I was doing it all wrong! Oh, the humiliation! Oh, the shame! Oh, the humanity!

Anyway, you'll be glad to know that I am adequately supported now. I have learned to properly put myself into a bra, and all is well in Lingerieland.