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Archive for the 'Boobies&Parts' Category
We’ve reached the end of National Breast Cancer Month.
And as I pack away the pink, and return to airing out my personal drama, I have a few hopes that I would like to share.
I hope that you were touched by the stories that were shared, and challenged by the groups that are doing what they can to bring awareness.
I also hope that you came away from this month with a little more knowledge. A little more info about what you might want to do, or change, to protect yourself.
But, my primary hope is that as October fades, breast cancer awareness does not. This is not a disease that saves itself for a once-a-year event. Women (and men!) face this on a regular basis.
Please, remember to check yourself, keep up your regular exams, and encourage those around you to do the same.
Stay safe, and have a happy Halloween!
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Today’s (and yesterday’s) guest post come from WhyMomDrinksRum who blogs over at http://www.whymomdrinksrum.net. Just don’t call her a mommy blogger, she gets all stabby. She shares with us about being speculum-ed, and why she forced herself to go through it.
Oh yeah…I lived
It was as horrific as I imagined it to be. I was ‘speculum-ed’…ugh. And wouldn’t you know it? I totally had to fart the second he put that thing in there. I didn’t….but only because I have the muscle control of Chuck Norris in my sphincter. Total ass-ninja.
Aaaand, he also shoved his entire arm and half his body up there…then jumped around on my stomach with his feet ‘feeling my uterus and ovaries’. Dude, they are still there. In fact, if you wait a week the hormone surge that causes me to rip off hubby’s face and fry it up with some garlic and onions will prove it to you. No really. Take my word for it.
Also, the blood pressure thing…it’s still high. So, I earned myself an echo cardiogram and blood screening. Oh.What.Fun.
I got a call from hubby yesterday afternoon at work saying that his Mom (the one who lives in our basement forever) was having bad stomach pain and he was going home to take her to the hospital. Meaning I had to go pick up the kids from school….a task which time and time again proves to me how much I DON’T miss staying at home and playing chauffeur to children who think they are entitled to an after school treat from the store. Hello???? I’m not grandma. So…good luck with that.
The thing is, before she was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma her symptoms were exactly the same. They ended up removing half her small bowel in the end….and they can’t take anymore. Of course, the resulting ‘freak-out’ was understandable. She still managed to go to her hairdressers before calling for the hospital ride.
Her hairdresser who just got back from Mexico. Great idea. Compromised immune system? Check.
Hubby texted me from the waiting room…or HELL as he referred to it.
Hubby: SHE IS TALKING LOUDLY. ABOUT HOW THE PEOPLE IN THE WAITING ROOM AREN’T REALLY SICK. OMG.
Me: GO UP TO THE DESK & TELL THEM SHE IS FROM MEXICO.
Hubby: HAHAHA.
Me: NO SERIOUSLY.
Hubby: OMG. SHE JUST LOOKED AT THE GUY ACROSS FROM US AND SAID ‘HE CAN’T HANDLE PAIN CAN HE? ITS HIS ETHNICITY’ OMG.
Me: YOU POOR POOR MAN.
He came home shortly after that to eat. I think there was some guilt that he left her there…some. Not alot. She got in really quickly after that and by that time it had almost completely resolved itself. Probably a bowel obstruction. She’ll have to follow up with her oncologist.
Lessons learned? Inbreeding will eventually bite you in the ass. Maybe not in your generation….but eventually.
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Today’s (and tomorrow’s) guest post come from WhyMomDrinksRum who blogs over at http://www.whymomdrinksrum.net. Just don’t call her a mommy blogger, she gets all stabby. She shares with us about being speculum-ed, and why she forced herself to go through it.
Well, Shit…
There are certain experiences you share with people in life, that not matter what amount of time passes will always bond you.
Like? Watching porn for the first time.
Growing up in a little village on an island, there wasn’t much to do. In fact, some of my best friends were trees. Not even kidding. So, when I was 8,9,10ish (’cause I can’t remember) and a girl OMG-MY-AGE moved in down the street I attached myself to her and insisted we were the bestest friends ever. Luckily she agreed, seeing as her choices were me, or trees. And her standards were just a little higher than mine. She insisted on real people for friends.
Her mother was living (in sin!!! gasp) with a guy…which to my little narrow world was scandalous! And awesome. We played at her house alot since her parentals were always working and my ‘evilbitchfromhellmother’ was always at home. And it left us time to get into trouble. Trouble such as finding her parent’s naughty drawer. That contained a naughty BETA tape. It took us at least a week to work up the courage to do more than just open the drawer.
So, needless to say we bonded.
At 12 I moved to England, came back to Canada, and never saw her again. Then Facebook came along about a million years later and here we are. 5 kids between us and shockingly not working in the porn industry.
I sent her a message yesterday because I had a funny sinking feeling in the pit of my tummy when I saw the cancer awareness sticker thing on her profile. She replied.
Stage II Cervical cancer.
She just had her third baby. Jade Goody just died from this shit. And do you know what the symptoms are of this? Numbness in the leg. A swollen foot. I fucking hate cancer. She starts her treatments next week. I wish we were back on that street, running around like idiots and watching bad 80′s porn.
I haven’t had a physical in 10 years. I emailed the clinic yesterday. Seeing as I’m a day older than this friend I can’t really kid myself into believing I’m not at risk for this shit.
But it sucks.
Part 1 link
******
Cue the doomsday music….
Tomorrow is D-Day. Actually….more like E-Day….examination.
Invasive examination.
Pity me.
Dear Lord, please don’t make me fart in the doctor’s face. PUHLEEEZE.
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So what are some of the risk factors for cervical cancer?
The American Cancer Society gives us a look at some of the risks. These are the highlights. (For a more detailed list, go here)
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Disclaimer: If you are related to me, you may want to skip this one. It mentions certain body parts that certain relatives may not be interested in thinking about. You have been warned!
Everyone remembers their first time. The music playing softly, the lighting, nervously removing your clothes, the cold, hard, steel of the speculum.
I’m sorry, you thought I was going all soft-core porno on you, didn’t you? Pervs.
Look, I’ve had two kids. In a military hospital, which pretty much guarenteed that I saw a different provider at every visit. My girly parts have been speculum-ed so often, it’s not even a teensy bit nerve wracking anymore. It seems like every doctor’s visit involves stirrups. I swear I went for a strep test, because of a sore throat, and wound up on the Bed of Torture, waiting for the Speculum of Doom. Not real sure how that one happened…
But there was no time more memorable than my first time. I was 17, and randy as hell. (sorry mom)Which meant I needed some birth control. So Mrs. Berth took me down to the women’s health clinic. You know, the low-income one with the dingy carpet, and waiting room furniture that looks like it was attacked by feral cats.
I’m led back to a room, and I get myself situated. I’m incredibily nervous, because I’ve heard stories of this speculum-thingy. But I know that in order to get ahold of the Holy Grail of Birth Control (thus avoiding that whole teen motherhood thing) I need to make it through this part.
The provider walked in. A solid woman, she reminded me of George Costanza’s mom, on Seinfield. (Estelle Harris)
I fidgeted while she prepared her supplies.
She turned around, holding the largest bottle of lube I had ever seen (I still haven’t seen a bigger one, fyi. She was totally shopping at Costco) and this scary looking metal device, that I have since come to know well.
I must have looked uneasy. She put her hand on her hip, and said, “Come on now, your boyfriend must be bigger than this, right?”
My mind stuttered at that, not willing to discuss something like that with anyone. Never mind the strange lady in the dingy exam room. My tounge however, did not stumble. My mouth opened, and out came, “Well, yeah, but he buys me dinner and a movie first!”
I hope you enjoyed this trip down memory lane with my vagina and I. Stay tuned for a post on why I continue to submit to this, and why you should, too.
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heh…I always wanted to use that phrase.
Knowledge is power, especially when it comes to your body, and your health.
A lot of women lack that knowledge, especially when it comes to the lower half of their body.
Funny story, up until 6months ago, I couldn’t spell vagina correctly. And until I was pregnant with my first child, I didn’t know *where* exactly my vagina was. Like a lot of people, I assumed the whole shebang was my vagina. Yeah. Not so much.
I’ll spare the squeamish, and those who are related to me, and send you over to a very informative site that @Mother_Tongue was kind enough to share with me. The following link is NSFW This site has excellent anatomical diagrams and photos. Very well labeled, and very in-depth.
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The following guestpost comes to us from Anne54304. Anne usually blogs over at her personal site ForeverAYounger.com and at the bottom of her post you’ll find links to that blog, and her others. Today, Anne writes about her own personal breast scare.
Why My Boobie Has A Divot
Yes.
You read that correctly.
My right boobie has a divot.
You know, a spot where something is missing.
In my case, it is tissue.
And oh.
That golf ball size tumor I had removed.
Yes.
I had a scare with breast cancer.
5 years ago, right before my kids were to start school
I was in SEVERE pain and had a neighbor drive me to the ER.
I had a gut wrenchingly awful kidney infection.
Little did I know this kidney infection would be a blessing.
While I was in the ER, I had a CT scan of my abdomen.
To my luck, the technician was new and scanned more of me than needed.
I didn’t know this until my family practitioner called me a week later and suggested I come in.
I thought he was just calling me in to make sure things with my infection were clearing up.
I went to see him.
He asked if anyone had told me about the large mass the radiologist had note in m report from my xray.
I said nope.
Next thing I knew was I was having an ultrasound on my right breast the next morning.
Yep.
Here I was, 25, having an ultrasound on a large mass in my breast.
A mass I have never detected before.
I never knew this mass existed.
Then the ultrasound started.
From that moment on, I always felt it.
They still could not detect what it was.
A week later, I had a lumpectomy from my right breast.
The golf ball size mass was removed.
The next week of waiting for the pathology report was hell!
It was benign.
This experience made me more aware of taking care of myself and checking myself regularly for lumps, tenderness, redness etc.
I love my twins (even if they are no longer identical).
I look at that scar on my breast everyday and thank God that everything was and still is okay.
Anne Younger
www.foreverayounger.com
www.fromourtabletoyours.info
www.mymommyreviews.info
Tweet me @ www.twitter.com/anne54304
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This, just for the record, is a COMPLETELY unsponsored post.
I? Am a fan of alcohol. We all know that by now. I am not a fan of being “wasted” though.
Most of the time, I just want a little something to relax with, while doing something completely non-productive.
Mike’s Hard Lemonade is an excellent choice for that.
I hear you out there, scratching your head and going, “Wait. I thought you were blogging for boobs and vaginae this month…what does that have to do with lemonade??”
Ah, let me explain. Mike’s Hard Lemonade nearly brought me to tears the other day. (Okay, it might have been an emotional day.) I walked into the store and saw they had pink lemonade. Which, cool. I like that.
Then I read the box.
At Mike’s, we’ve got a reputation for being hard. But that doesn’t mean that we don’t have a soft side, too. To help mark our 10th anniversary and in memory of Jacqueline S., a part of the Mike’s family since we were founded, and a really great woman who left us way too soon, we will be making a contribution to The Breast Cancer Research Foundation. Our contribution of $250,000 will fund research aimed at preventing and curing breast cancer, and is our way of helping fight a fight that’s very personal to us here at Mike’s.
How could I NOT buy the pink one?? Bonus: It tasted excellent, too!
So if you’re looking for a little something to wind-down with, give Mike’s a chance, and do a little good while getting your drink on.
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We have royalty among us! PrincessJenn is the guest poster today. She’s writing about breasts, breast size (and reductions), and whether they are the body part that defines us, or not. PrincessJenn normally spreads her Princess Prose over at http://www.princessjenn.com
Breasts, bewbs, or as my daughter calls them, boobies. I’ve got them and enough to share with half the flat chested population of the continental US.
I’ve had a love / hate relationship with my lovey lady lumps since I was 8. That would be the year I started wearing a bra. None of this training bra cup stuffing for me. I’m talking a full on Wonder Bra special from Sears in which I almost died of embarrassment as the 60 year old woman working in the department took my measurements. Skip A and B… go directly to C. Do not pass Go, and don’t forget your under-wire.
The only up (perky?) side of having enormous ta-tas was the attention. Oh the attention. Did I mention I’m an attention whore? And not just from the little boys. We’re talking high school teachers drooling over my… huge tracts of land. Oh, who am I kidding. It was gross, and they were slimy and it gave me a total complex.
Which is probably why, when I turned 21, I decided to say ‘hasta la vista, baby’ to my breast friends, my bosom buddies. The constant back spasms *might* have had something to do with it too. Maybe.
If you ever want a good laugh, go in for a plastic surgery consult to have your boobs done. You’ve never known fun until you’ve stood topless in front of a complete stranger and had him draw all over your chest with a sharpie marker. Really. I dare you to do it and keep a straight face (and not pass out from mortification).
The day before my surgery, the guy (idiot) I was dating at the time decided to break up with me. Evidently he was more attached to the girls then I was. Nothing like getting rid of all your useless dead weight in one go. But the surgery was a success. I didn’t magically go down to an A cup. I’m still very large chested, in fact. The difference being, now, I can’t rest a dinner plate on those puppies anymore. And I don’t have to wear clothes that are three sizes too big to be able to do up the buttons on a shirt.
Would I do it again? Yeah. I have to say I would. All the pain was worth it. And the fact that they do a little lift while they’re in there lopping them off, doesn’t have anything to do with that decision.
Going through all this, makes me more aware of my breasts, I think. Having gone through reduction mammoplasty (the official name of a breast reduction) made me consider what it would be like to have to make the decision to have a complete mastectomy done, in the case of women who are diagnosed with breast cancer.
A good friends mother had to make that decision. I talked to her about it after and she said that by choosing a mastectomy she made the decision that her breasts weren’t what defined her, or made her a woman. I’m just glad she chose life over perceived beauty.
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