Go get smashed

Yes, I got to get smashed. What on earth does that mean? Took the girls over to the radiology center and got my yearly test.

Call them whatever you want (girls, tatas, breasts) but THAT test is a mammogram. I don't have to be reminded, really, even though the Saintarama Medical Record nagged me at my last visit to my doctor.

There are plenty of other reasons why I don't forget. I can't forget that my mother-in-law is not here anymore because of breast cancer. Neither is a woman I went to grade school with, who was a labor and delivery nurse who left behind a little girl. My next door neighbor (also a nurse) who threw hilarious parties and sang on key when she wasn't working at Private U's trauma ICU, is also not here anymore because of breast cancer.

Besides all those missing souls, I think about the ladies I've taken care of who have had breast cancer with metastasis. They became rehab patients, because they couldn't walk (or walk right) anymore.

All because of something that, in many cases, can be detected by taking the girls to get smashed.

Please, ladies, go get smashed. I'd prefer to see you visiting rehab as a volunteer or family member, not as a patient for something that just might be found by getting smashed once a year.

Thank you and good night!