A Little Rant: “Perfect Boobs” Seriously??

I kid you not.

While channel surfing through Dish Network this Sunday morning, I was struck by this wording:  Perfect Boobs.  First and foremost, let me say I find the title a little very demeaning, inappropriate, and demeaning, particularly on Sunday at 8 a.m.  Second, just the title alone is enough to perpetuate the myth that one (uh, meaning female) should strive to be perfect.  Third, well, let’s just say there are many more things I’d like to say, but I’m going to be a lady and keep them to myself.

I love pretty things, and most days (today not being one of them) I want to look-if not good-then at least presentable.  But perfect?  Do I really need to be perfect?  Or is that just certain parts of my female anatomy need to be perfect? And whom determines whether or not they’re perfect?  What an advertising ploy for a bra.  Call it “Perfect Bra” or (shocker) it’s name: Genie Bra, and maybe I’d have checked it out.  I hope and pray a man came up with this title and not a female because that might put me over the e.d.g.e.

Dear Mr. Idiot (please, please be a man):

You are sexist and you insult consumers (and don’t even get me started about breast cancer survivors).  I do not need to be perfect to love myself or have someone love me.  What exactly is your definition of perfect?  Let me tell you something, no female’s “boobs” are perfect, and I don’t give a rat’s rear what bra you slap on her chest.  My “boobs” will never be perfect. . . because one is half-missing and was filled with cancer.  No bra can or will ever make me perfect in your eyes.  That’s okay because in Better Half’s eyes I (not my body parts) am perfect (most days….) and better yet, I am alive.  I have fought the hard fight and I am winning.  To me, that is perfection.

Mr. Idiot, perhaps you should concern yourself with making some body part on yourself “perfect.”

P.S. to Dish Network: shame on you for allowing that wording to be placed right above the cartoon Angelina Ballerina–just great for little girls (and boys) to see. . . .

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Knit-A-Tit

© 2005 Beryl Tsang

Oh, you read that right!

Knitters and persons who support fundraising for breast cancer are my favorite people!  Combine the two and wowza: Knit-A-Tit!  The knitting of soft, comfortable fiber prostheses (a Tit-Bit) was “invented” by a breast cancer survivor some years back.  Beryl Tsang was a 37 year-old breast cancer survivor who inspired a legion of knitters to help their fellow sisters not only in the fight against this horrible disease, but the right (and privilege) to wear something soft and comfortable, as opposed to rubbery and bulky, against their skin.  Now women are knitting sweet, sassy, cool Tit-Bits, Knit-A-Tits, etc.   I encourage you to visit Tit-Bits and read Beryl’s inspiring story.

Now what is even more inspiring to me are the women and men holding knitting parties wherein they make and give away dozens and dozens of these awesome, made with love, knitted prostheses!

If you are anywhere in the Ozarks on October 8, please visit the über cool yarn store One City Market in Rogersville, Missouri.  Starting at 10 a.m. you will witness approximately 100 women (and men!) knitting away for women they don’t even know. . . .  How cool is that?

Want to help, but won’t be in Missouri October 8?  Grab your needles and check out the pattern on knitty.com!  I guarantee there is a woman in your life who would be honored to wear your tit!

Major, major karma points.

“Dear” X-Ray Tech

Just do your job.

“Dear” Becky (aka x-ray tech),

When Lovely Daughter, who is barely 21, visited your fine establishment yesterday to have an ultrasound on her breasts, she did not need your passive aggressive comments. Yes, she is only 21. Yes, we realize it is not “normal” for a 21 year-old to be screened for breast problems (aka CANCER), and yes, we realize she was referred by HORRORS, “a nurse practitioner, not even a doctor,” but shut your pie-hole and do your job.  You didn’t need to consult with a radiologist before administering the ultrasound because you had ORDERS to perform the procedure.  Her healthcare provider ordered it.  Insurance approved it.  Her mom approved it.  Her medical provider was concerned enough that she was finding multiple lumps in Lovely Daughter’s breasts and concerned enough that Lovely Daughter’s mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer that she was being proactive and wanted additional testing to rule out any problems.  You scared and intimidated my child.  You are so lucky Lovely Daughter did not hop off the table to retrieve me because you so do not want to get into a cancer dialogue with me.  My doctors’ estimate cancer was growing in my body for approximately seven years before it was caught, which meant I developed it in my early 30’s.  Seriously girl, do you really believe the stereotype that breast cancer only hits “older” women?  Have you ever heard of early detection?  It is not your place to attempt medical counsel; it’s your place to perform the tests you were directed to perform.  Thank God for every one of you, there are millions of x-ray techs out there who are compassionate, caring, and understanding.

Please ask the director of your facility to send you to sensitivity training.  Oh, and by the way, my daughter-in-law is a nurse practitioner and for years my immediate medical provider was my beloved nurse practitioner.  You really are clueless.  Lastly, my breast cancer was not detected by ultrasound which both an x-ray tech and a radiologist performed.  So, take that.

The Cancer Club

A New Kind of Sisterhood.

In the 70’s and 80’s  sisterhood meant stealing my older sister’s diary and telling my younger sister all the juicy details.  It meant tattling.  It was Barbies.  It was hunting for Easter eggs.  It was building a raft to float a river drainage ditch.

It seems I’ve been placed in a new category of sisterhood that five years ago I didn’t even know existed.  Honestly, I kind of miss the days when ignorance was bliss.

It’s not that I don’t have commonalities with these new sisters.  Chemotherapy.  Radiation.  Pink.  Surgery.  Scars.   Pain.  The list goes on and on.

I notice these new sisters at the grocery store.  At the gas station.  At  doctors’ offices.  We instantaneously  recognize each other, which I don’t understand because my hair has long since grown back.  How do they tell I’m one of them?  Urgh, tell me how do I leave this club?  Can I tell them I don’t really belong in this “exclusive” club? There must have been a mistake.  No one in my family has had cancer.  Seriously, it must have been a fluke.  Let me out of here!

Nope.   They won’t let me leave.  They hug and embrace me (well, if I don’t hug and embrace them first!).  They understand (and help) my fight to raise funds for breast cancer research.   They listen to me when I tell them my aggravation with the American Cancer Society.  We talk about doctors.  We share tips.  We speak in secret code that no one from the “outside” can understand.

We’re always praying that we’re closed to new members.  To put is simply kiddo, we really don’t want you in our club.  However, for me, I think I’m staying.

The Big C and Double Fs

Cancer.  Friends.  Family.

Yep, they go hand in hand; at least they do for me.  Lucky me.  You heard me right.  Lucky me.   I can’t imagine going through something so horrific as cancer and not having the love and support of friends and family.  They are what get you through the rough days and encourage you that You Can Beat This.

Even though it’s been four years since my breast cancer diagnosis, my friends and family continue to support not only me, but all the other women (and men) diagnosed with this awful disease.  These dear supporters have so much good karma coming their way.  I’m thankful for each and every one of them.  You know who you.  Please know that my family and I adore and love you.   Here’s wishing each and every one of them (and yourself included) a lovely holiday season and let’s pray 2011 is an amazing year for all.

Peace and good karma.

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