Life in Boobburgh

The Killing Must Stop

The Killing Must Stop

By Kathy Reschini Sweeney

No boob jokes.  No snark.  I look like the same person, but inside I am a piece of fragile glass, teetering on the edge of stability and shatter.

Yesterday, in Pittsburgh, my town that I love, someone opened fire in a hospital lobby with a 9mm handgun.  Maybe two guns.  I know this happens all over the place, all the time.  But not here.  Not within a few block radius of schools and other hospitals.  

I'm not an idiot.  We have shootings here.  We have tragedies of all kinds.  They are senseless in their own way - gangs, violent crime, relationships gone bad.  We lose young kids here who get caught in the crossfire.

But this one got me.  Partially because my son and many of the young men and women he grew up with were on lockdown in their schools.  I understand the reason.  I accept that it is standard protocol in post 9/11 America.  But do you have any idea what it does to a mother bear to know that she is not only powerless, but forbidden, to protect her own?  Never mind that my cub has been taller than me for years.  Never mind that he has the brains and the strength to take care of himself.
Someone with a gun threatened what is mine to shield and cherish.

Upon reflection, I realize part of my reaction was based on the recent focus on Joseph Kony.  If you have a teenager in the house, you probably already heard about this - these kids have some kind of social media insider network and they were on top of this story a a full two days in front of the media - and in our days of 24-hour news, that is saying something.

Joseph Kony is a Ugandan war lord. For way too many years, he has cut a swath of terror in Africa by kidnapping children and turning them into soldiers or slaves to power his army.  I had never even  heard his name.  Now I see his face.  I see faces of kids who could be mine.  There is a 30-minute movie, and lots of other information out there.  I don't know enough about the organization to post it here (learned my lesson from the Komen Foundation) but I encourage you to at least find out about this evil man.  He needs to be stopped.

Tired of hearing "no" from the alleged powers that be, a group of people started a campaign to raise awareness.  They are calling it "Kony 2012" and their goal is to make this murderer a household name, giving him no where to hide. The International Criminal Court at the Hague has him listed as their #1 War Crimes Criminal.  I think it's a damn shame that I had to learn about his reign of mutilation and horror from my 16-year old, while every "news" source out there is more content to tell you who the Kardashians are fucking this week.  And it's an even worse shame that the only reason the politicians are paying attention to this is because it's an election year and they have a bunch of angry voters to appease. Nauseating.

WHAT THE HELL?

Maybe that is the answer.  Maybe we all have to start talking about guns and killing until we find some answers.  I freely admit that I don't want to talk about it.  Hell, I don't want to think about it. Denial is one of my people's greatest tools.

But this cannot continue.  We cannot abide the killing, on any scale.

We can no longer be content to pray for peace or hope for an end to violence.  We need to do something.  SOMETHING.  And life experience, as illustrated by the Kony 2012 program, tells us that our governments, left to their own devices, will do nothing.  

We need ideas.  We need a plan.  We need to come together to stop the killing.

I have no idea how to do this.  I am asking for help - ideas big and small.  Because alone, we are potential victims.  But together, we can be a force to be reckoned with.  The killing must stop.

New Sex Questions for Boobs

New Sex Questions for Boobs

By Kathy Reschini Sweeney, who (for once) had boring answers

Recently, I went for my regular OB/GYN exam.  After 40 years, they become routine.  A bit uncomfortable at certain moments (let's just say the cervix does not like to be disturbed, and leave it at that) but no big deal.  I have been seeing the same PA for years.  Love her.  We have similar backgrounds as well as builds.

This time, a new twist.  New questionnaires - and then they asked the same questions in person.  As a lawyer, I assume they are trying to impeach the witness (catch the patient in a lie) but I learned yesterday it has more to do with (surprise) institutional bullshit.  Because no one checks to see if you gave the same answer.

So here are the new questions:

1.  Are you sexually active?

2.  Have you had any new partners since your last appointment?

That's right.  Look out sluts, you are in for an interrogation.  Virgins, the frigid, and people who are such asshats that they only get off by flying solo need not worry.  I am looking at you, politicians - except if you were prone to tell the truth, you'd have to disclose the whores.  There is more than one form of currency that buys sex, so just because you all learned from idiot Spitzer who used his real credit card (but not condoms - whuh?!) doesn't mean we can't find out.  Remember that decimation of the 4th Amendment you nads called The Patriot Act?  Look into it, pigs.

But I digress.

The first time I saw the sex questions, they were on a written form. I do not make wisecracks on written forms. (See, Uniting and Strengthening America by Providing Appropriate Tools Required to Intercept and Obstruct Terrorism (USA Patriot Act) Act of 2001, Pub. L. No. 107-56, 115 Stat. 272 (2001) aka The Patriot Act).

I had to grit the good side of my teeth to answer them straight, but I did.

Then, because life is good, they asked me again in the exam room.  Let me point out that they wait until you are covered in the equivalent of half a dozen paper towels before they ask you any questions.  And because this is a teaching hospital, there is always someone else in the room.  This time, it was a computer expert because the office was finally going "live" - meaning they were officially taking all notes on the computer.  It was a mess.  Forget the actual physical exam, this was a logistical nightmare in real time.

And it provided me with my opening.  Because nothing challenges me more than the chance to make stressed out people laugh out loud.

 PA (frowning at the computer screen): "Are you sexually active?"

Me: "Like, every day?  Not since my boob was sliced."

PA (typing the answer and only half listening): "Not every day."  She looks over her shoulder at the IT person: "Is it every day?"

IT person: "No.  I mean, that's not the question."

Me:  "Okay then, I am sexually active.  I'm married."

PA: "Any new partners since your last visit?"

Me: "You mean, in real life?  Because you know, when I see George Clooney in a tux, I really can't predict what's going to happen when I fall asleep."

IT: Coughs to cover the laugh because the PA is still totally stressed out.

PA (Typing then looks over at me):  "Did you say George Clooney?"

Me: "Yes, but not in real life.  I am trying to be totally honest here.  There may have been others during the last year, but I can't tell if that's relevant or if this is like confession and I have to list them all."

IT (crosses herself and has to sit down.  She is obviously RC).

PA (giving me the full eyebrow arch and a smirk): "There's no place on this screen to list them, Kath.  But I would love to hear more about it over a margarita."

Me (to the IT):  "You know, you need more space for these answers if you want people to tell you the truth."

PA (to the IT, and finally starting to laugh): "Ignore her.  She's a smartass."

Me:  "Yes I am.  Is that another question?  Or do you want to know more about my sex life.  Because I am thinking of trying something new once my jaw heals."

Mission accomplished.  They both had to take a seat.  Just for good measure, I mentioned Stephen Colbert making margaritas with a transvaginal ultrasound wand, because if you can't kill that bit with an audience in an OB/GYN office, you don't want to try it at the church Fish Fry.

As a post-script, I learned from my young doctor friend (Happy Birthday, Doc E!) that the fastest growing population segment for HIV and STDs is the elderly.  This makes perfect sense to me because not only do they have no need to use birth control, but when the memory starts to go, every day is the opportunity for a new one-stand, even if it happens to be the same person.  After some awkward phone calls from senior centers regarding my great uncles, I thought this was just an Italian thing.  But with Viagra in the gum machines, everyone can get in on the fun.  But that's another blog.

So, my friends, how about if you answer the questions?  

 

 

 

Boobs With Pliers

Boobs with Pliers - I wanted to call it No Boobs Near My Teeth but was a bit sketchy on how that might translate if you put it into Google.

By Kathy Reschini Sweeney, 2 teeth lighter

First off - I was one of those unfortunate kids who had a dentist who didn't believe in Novocaine.  As a result, dentists still scare me - and I don't scare easily.

I love my Dentist - although his office is in deep shit today.  Finally got comfortable with him.  He referred me to another group and they did two root canals in the past three years which were painless and a real relief.

Then there was today.  As I mentioned on Facebook, this blog fucking wrote itself over the last four hours.

Problem #1: X-Rays

My Dentist's office was supposed to e-mail them yesterday.  I stood at the desk while it happened.  Turns out there was a SNAFU with the email address or whatever, and the oral surgeon's office didn't have them.  They just wanted to forget it and give me new X-Rays.  I said no.  I was nice.

Then I called my Dentist and stayed on the phone while they re-sent them.  Confirmed the address letter by letter.  This is me doing this, in the chair on my iPhone.  I was nice.

They sent the wrong X-Rays.  Because I have a small mouth (loud, yes: big, no - it confuses people) they couldn't get a good shot of the back teeth so I had to get an X-Ray on the big, more powerful machine that takes a panoramic shot.

Oral surgeon tells me no big deal, I just need to have another X-Ray.  I declined again.  Mentioned the cancer thing and directives from the oncologist (no unnecessary XRays).  I was still nice, but firm.

I called my dentist's office AGAIN.  They told me they couldn't find the other XRays and that they had been deleted.  Wrong answer. I explained that they were not permitted to delete medical records, at least within a 24-hour period, and that the XRays had to be there.  They promised to look.  I was civil, but determined.

Dentist's office calls Oral Surgeon's office to tell them they simply did not have the XRays.  Oral Surgeon says they have to take a new XRay.  I refused and explained why.  This time, I was more intransigent than determined.

I called my dentist's office AGAIN.  Directed them to the exact computer the tech used to take the XRays, reminded them of the time frame yesterday afternoon and told them to find the damn thing wherever it was misfiled.  At this point, nice is out the damn window, my blood pressure is going through the roof, and I am ready to rip someone a new one.  I did not do that, but I did make my displeasure evident. Without swearing.

Eureka!  Five minutes later they called me back.  Duh.  They found the XRays - exactly where I said they would be.  I kept them on the phone until the Oral Surgeon got the right ones.  Dentist's office is apologizing profusely.  I told them we'd discuss it later.  

Problem #2: Anesthesia

So - I was supposed to have nitrous oxide with a local anesthetic.  In that order.  This is because half the time the injections for the local are more painful than anything.  Getting a shot in the roof of the mouth is a bitch - no cushion there.

Oral Surgeon tells me there has been a mixup - no anesthesiologist there, so no Nitrous Oxide.  I called bullshit immediately because I know you don't need an anesthesiologist unless the do something that is injected.  Oral Surgeon tells me that it is their (UPMC - the Dark Overlord of Pittsburgh health care) policy.

By this time I am visibly shaking.  Can't tell if I am have a panic attack for only the second time in my rather eventful life, or it's just rage.  Either way, Nurse #1 notices and tells me I should not have the procedure done today.  I should wait and come back Saturday to have it done with real anesthesia. She shows me the XRays and explains why.  

Now THAT is the proverbial straw.  

Me: "Please bring the surgeon in here now."  Nurse #1 leaves to get the surgeon.

Enter Tech #1: "Well, I need to set up your tray, so are you doing this procedure today?"

Me: " Not until I talk to the surgeon."

Tech: "Well I need to know now.

At this point, I take off my sunglasses (the lights in there exacerbate the headache from the tooth, so I have had them on for over an hour) and give her a look.  I learned this look from my old man.  Tech actually took a full step back.

Me: " I know this is your job, but you need to listen to my words.  See this yellow paper (the informed consent form)?  Until I sign this, you cannot touch me.  I am not signing it until I get some straight answers.  I am sorry if it upsets your schedule, but this is non-negotiable."

Tech leaves to get Nurse #1.

Nurse #1 says the Surgeon is doing an exam and will be in shortly.  I hear her out in the hall talking to Tech #1, wherein Nurse advised Tech that she checked my chart and that, as they were beginning to fear, I am a lawyer.  I never saw Tech #1 again.

At this point, in an effort not to blow a gasket, I am on Facebook.  My status update: "The nice Kathy has left the building.  Advocate Reschini is here now."

I started doing every calming exercise I know. Lamaze. The breathing thing.  Praying the whole time. When I felt tears running down my face and couldn't keep my hands from shaking, I even called for the big guns, Michael and Gabriel, the Archangels.  I prayed for calm and not to hurt anyone.  It was a very bizarre sensation.  I could feel the rage building, feeding the fear and panic - the whole circular thing.  Scary - because my temper scares even me.

To make a long story tolerable, I will cut to the chase.

I had two teeth yanked out of my head with a local anesthesia only.  Non-fused roots.  I have the teeth, and it is a damn good thing I didn't see how big they were until after it was over.  

And just to show that Mother Nature knows what she is doing, I am sure the adrenaline from the rage helped me manage the pain.

Why did I do it this way?  Because I am not pumping my body full of unnecessary narcotics for two more days because UPMC is fucked up.  Because the pain was intolerable over 36 hours ago and getting worse, even with the painkillers.  Because I had no real alternative for treatment.  Why?

Because I live in a medical monopoly.  UPMC is the only game in town.  And frankly, they don't give a shit about patient care, or the experience of the Docs. You really want to know how the system operates?  Ask your Doctor about contract negotiations.  I got the inside story while I was in for my breast cancer surgery, and it will make you sick.  They are cutting salaries of experienced docs and surgeons so they can replace them with younger, less experienced docs because they can pay them much less.  As if UPMC, the "Non-Profit", isn't making record fucking profits that go up every damn year.

Shit - this is way too long. Let me just say one more thing.  This is why I never carry a weapon of any kind.  Other than my brain as connected to my voice.  I feel a little bad about being mean, BUT if a group of people -  who have a sworn and fiduciary duty to provide CARE  - are going to put me in a position where I am actually shaking with rage, then everybody else in the room is going to be shaking too.

ARRRGGGHHHHHH. 

 

 

 

 

 

Post-Op Boobs

Post-Op Boobs

By Kathy Reschini Sweeney, who has one and who was one

Had my post-op appointment yesterday.  Everything went fine.  I will now report to the Hillman Center's High Risk program.

Which reminds me - I need all my aunts, uncles and cousins with any cancer history to e-mail me the details, please.   I am going to be part of a study on heredity and breast cancer and I need to take all the info with me.  Your name will NOT be included, just our relationship.

Okay - so the PA (love her - and if you don't know the Physician's Assistant at your Doc's, you really need to wake up) checks the incision and makes a few comments about whether I have been lifting weights.

Me: "Well, you just can't quit training for triathlons."

PA: "Ha ha.  You understand what subcutaneous layers of sutures are, right?"

Me: "Oh yeah.  My Dad's head was totally open to the skull last year and I saw all kinds of shit."

PA: "Okay, wow."

Me: "Yeah, that's why I am not picking at the sutures that are sticking out like a bee's stinger.  I learned from that."

PA: "Well, I guess we're grateful then.  I am going to let the doctor yell at you because I can't keep a straight face."

Me: "Fair enough."

PA: "Plus, thanks for the cookies."

Me: "Finally, the truth comes out."

Enter the Doc.  She says "Hi, Thanks for the cookies- you didn't need to do that, now let's take a look"

Me: "I love cookies."

Doc: "Good try.  Want to tell me what you've been doing to test my careful work here?"

Me: "Nothing personal, Doc.  My people aren't really good at following instructions."

Doc: "Uh huh."  Then the Doc starts talking to me in a very stern voice about how I didn't do any real damage, but I was back on serious restrictions, and not to be messing around with my health.  Her voice started rising a little, and then she paused and looked at me.

Me: "Yeah, I know and I'm sorry.  I am behaving better now."

Doc: "Usually when I yell at a patient,  they look a little scared or at least intimidated."

PA: "It's true. She hardly ever does this."

Me: "Listen, you have no idea what I deal with every day, in terms of yelling and nutty behavior.   I grew up on this stuff.  If I got upset every time, I'd be a drooling mess by now."

PA (trying not to laugh): "Well, THAT's a nice picture."  

Doc (trying not to laugh): "Okay, okay, as long as you listen and do what I tell you from now on."

Me: "Nothing personal Doc, but I hope I never see you again in my life."

PA: "Bwah!"

Doc (full-out laughing at this point): "Absolutely understood!"

Then the PA gave me a note to go to a secret hideaway to get fitted for a special bra and camisole.  You have to have 'script to even get the number.  I'm very excited about it and I have all kinds of ideas about what to put in there.  But that's another blog.

REMEMBER - learn from me:

1. EARLY DETECTION saves lives - do your monthly self-exam and get an annual mammogram.

2. DIGITAL MAMMOGRAMS made the difference for me - they never would have found it so early without this technology - when you call to schedule your mammogram, ask if they have digital machines and use them.

3.  LISTEN to your doc.  Your body will want to return to normal right away.  You will want to do the same.  But it turns out (duh) there is a real reason for imposing limitations and if you don't heed them, you will pay for it in terms of more extensive recovery.

xo

 

 

 

 

Post-Op Boobs

Post-Op Boobs

By Kathy Reschini Sweeney, who has one and who was one

Had my post-op appointment yesterday.  Everything went fine.  I will now report to the Hillman Center's High Risk program.

Which reminds me - I need all my aunts, uncles and cousins with any cancer history to e-mail me the details, please.   I am going to be part of a study on heredity and breast cancer and I need to take all the info with me.  Your name will NOT be included, just our relationship.

Okay - so the PA (love her - and if you don't know the Physician's Assistant at your Doc's, you really need to wake up) checks the incision and makes a few comments about whether I have been lifting weights.

Me: "Well, you just can't quit training for triathlons."

PA: "Ha ha.  You understand what subcutaneous layers of sutures are, right?"

Me: "Oh yeah.  My Dad's head was totally open to the skull last year and I saw all kinds of shit."

PA: "Okay, wow."

Me: "Yeah, that's why I am not picking at the sutures that are sticking out like a bee's stinger.  I learned from that."

PA: "Well, I guess we're grateful then.  I am going to let the doctor yell at you because I can't keep a straight face."

Me: "Fair enough."

PA: "Plus, thanks for the cookies."

Me: "Finally, the truth comes out."

Enter the Doc.  She says "Hi, Thanks for the cookies- you didn't need to do that, now let's take a look"

Me: "I love cookies."

Doc: "Good try.  Want to tell me what you've been doing to test my careful work here?"

Me: "Nothing personal, Doc.  My people aren't really good at following instructions."

Doc: "Uh huh."  Then the Doc starts talking to me in a very stern voice about how I didn't do any real damage, but I was back on serious restrictions, and not to be messing around with my health.  Her voice started rising a little, and then she paused and looked at me.

Me: "Yeah, I know and I'm sorry.  I am behaving better now."

Doc: "Usually when I yell at a patient,  they look a little scared or at least intimidated."

PA: "It's true. She hardly ever does this."

Me: "Listen, you have no idea what I deal with every day, in terms of yelling and nutty behavior.   I grew up on this stuff.  If I got upset every time, I'd be a drooling mess by now."

PA (trying not to laugh): "Well, THAT's a nice picture."  

Doc (trying not to laugh): "Okay, okay, as long as you listen and do what I tell you from now on."

Me: "Nothing personal Doc, but I hope I never see you again in my life."

PA: "Bwah!"

Doc (full-out laughing at this point): "Absolutely understood!"

Then the PA gave me a note to go to a secret hideaway to get fitted for a special bra and camisole.  You have to have 'script to even get the number.  I'm very excited about it and I have all kinds of ideas about what to put in there.  But that's another blog.

REMEMBER - learn from me:

1. EARLY DETECTION saves lives - do your monthly self-exam and get an annual mammogram.

2. DIGITAL MAMMOGRAMS made the difference for me - they never would have found it so early without this technology - when you call to schedule your mammogram, ask if they have digital machines and use them.

3.  LISTEN to your doc.  Your body will want to return to normal right away.  You will want to do the same.  But it turns out (duh) there is a real reason for imposing limitations and if you don't heed them, you will pay for it in terms of more extensive recovery.

xo

 

 

 

 

Boob Control

Boob Control

By Kathy Reschini Sweeney, who has a female reproductive system and is therefore qualified to be the Decider

I know I said I was going to try to stay out of politics - but this one crosses all political parties, subdivisions, and inclinations.

Knock, Knock.

Who's There?

A Man Who wants to control your Uterus.

Go Fuck Yourself.

And that goes double for a RELIGIOUS man who wants to control my uterus.  How about getting your own cat houses in order before you bound into my bedroom?   The unfortunate reality is that most religious institutions wouldn't know a moral high ground if it were on a relief map in their laps. Yeah. I DID put it that way, because after all, I must be totally driven by penis envy.  Riiiiiiiight.

Earlier today on Facebook, I posted the following image along with the following message:

 

"Memo to all elected officials and those who aspire to same: This country needs jobs. We checked and no one's Uterus is hiring. So get the hell out of our reproductive systems and do some actual WORK to put Americans back to WORK."

See, I think it should be about controlling the boobs aka idiots from saying and doing things that will set the entire world back about a hundred years and less about what goes on in my Va-Jay-Jay and the surrounding community of my own body.  

For purposes of discussion, let's refer to all male politicians (and some idiot women who need to turn in their estrogen and take one for the team, I am talking to you Liz Trotta, just saying) as "Senators".  Just because.

Do you see me evaluating a Senator (former, current or future) in terms of how his johnson functions?  You do not.

Do you see me requiring that said Senator watch films on impotence, protected sex or HIV before he can get a prescription for Viagra or Cialis?  You do not.

Do you see me requiring Senators to wear ice packs when they ride bikes so it doesn't impact their sperm count?  You do not.  

Do you hear me requiring that the Senators impanel a committee to discuss the general use and prohibition of any activity related to their beans and weiners?  You do not.  Blech.

Those kinds of invasions and violations of civil rights would be ridiculous.

Naturally, in order to avoid a rise in blood pressure that would blow one of my eyes out of its socket, I am going to try to make fun.  Because Mel Brooks said that is the very best way to take down a villian - make him a joke.

Thus, my first BUMPER STICKER CONTEST!!  The winner will get a gift certificate to Mystery Lovers Bookshop (because not every town has a Fredricks of Hollywood or a Condom Nation).

Here is my first proposal:

HEY!  If you guys don't stop messing with our uteri,

you won't be welcome in the neighborhood.

 

I will be back with more, but first, it's your turn!

Okay, this one  has been rolling around in my head all day:

STOP DICKING AROUND WITH MY UTERUS

NOW it's your turn... 

Here is one for Tuesday:

Let's Talk About Birth Control.  Right after Your Vasectomy.

And here is a paraphrase from a classic SNL Point/Counterpoint:

"Senator, if only birth control had been available when your mother got pregnant with you."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Melancholy Booby

Melancholy Booby

By Kathy Reschini Sweeney, teller of boob truths

It has been one week since the surgeon declared me cancer free and about ten days since my surgery.  In the life of a people who have a hard time with the concepts of both patience and moderation, this is an eternity.

So no surprise that I ended up in bed, on pain meds yesterday.  It is totally my fault.  I over did it - more than once - and I did not ask for (or accept) help.  Mea Culpa, Mea Maxima Culpa.  

Today's blog is,  therefore, a cautionary tale.  When your surgeon, a woman of skill and trust, tells you that you need to layoff any strenuous activity - no pushing, pulling, blah blah of more than 5 pounds for at least two weeks, and no return to regular activities for four weeks, you should listen.

You should not assume that since the anesthesia as described is similar to a root canal, that the procedure is the same.  You should not assume that since the surgery was outpatient and you had your wits about you when you left, that it is similar to - say, an eye exam where they blow up your pupils and you cannot see for a few hours.  In addition, you should not assume that since you took the bandages off in 48 hours, you can resume to normal clothing choices at the same time.  That would be absurd and only an idiot would come to those conclusions.  Ahem.

This shit is serious.  I am an  intelligent person.  I researched this entire process. I understand exactly what the surgeon did and how much of a divot was removed (that's right, I called and got the exact amount).   I talked to pink warriors.  I thought I listened.  And then my subconscious mind promptly decided that  - perhaps as a coping mechanism - none of those things translated to a need to modify my regular routine.  I acknowledge that I should be docked several IQ points for this, and will take it up with my subconscious later.

I am also bigger than I used to be, thus the falls are harder.  Normally, I just break a toe.  This was more like a roundhouse kick to my own chest, which I'll bet not even Chuck Norris can do.  (Oh Chuck Norris, why do you have to get involved in politics when you are otherwise the greatest source of humorous homages?  I mean, how else could one say: "Superman wears Chuck Norris pajamas" or "Chuck Norris does not sleep- he waits.")

No real damage done, just a day of doing as little as possible and taking pain meds.  Neither of which top my list of ways to spend a Friday.  One of the reasons why is that it provides the perfect opportunity for my conscious brain to realize that the dark cloud of depression is lurking right outside, looking for a way in.

For example, a week post-op, I decided it was time to start wearing regular bras.  For those of you without boobs, trust me when I say that the entire bra culture is a maze of numbers and letters and fabrics and metal and plastic.  The quest for the perfect bra is not for the faint of heart (or anything else) and some day I may do an entire blog on it.  

Suffice it to say that even though I knew to choose a bra without the kind of metal support system normally found in a highway overpass, it was still a mistake.  Big. Yes, I got advice from my survivor friends, but I figured (heh) that since I didn't have lymph nodes removed or even a partial mastectomy, my boob would be different.  It is not.  I am now in search of camisoles with support.  While they help with the surgical issues, they also squish everything in their path, which means my clothes don't fit.  I know, boo hoo for me.  It's not like I normally dress for fashion week.  

Driving is also a bitch and a half because of the seatbelt.  In the interest of not encouraging unsafe behavior, I will not tell you what I do in order to drive without screaming.  Even then, it's uncomfortable.  And yes - there are dozens of people who would be happy to drive me places - many have specifically offered to do just that.  But noooooooooo, much like a toddler, I decided I was going to do it myself.  Repeatedly.  Dumb and Dumber.

So now I am paying the price for my recklessness and have to really take it easy.  Do I need to tell you how much I HATE that?!  Hate, hate, hate, with the fire of the sun, hate.

It's another cost that cancer imposes.  Cancer sucks. Getting a wonderful diagnosis is fantastic, but I lost sight of the underlying battle, and that was a mistake. Never turn your back on your enemy. Like Chuck Norris, it never sleeps.

 

VD on the Boob Tube

VD on the Boob Tube

By Kathy Reschini Sweeney

Time for a discussion about our favorite TV shows.  Let me start by saying I rarely watch the shows when they air - I am totally spoiled by DVR technology, so if something was on last night, I haven't seen it yet.  You can do spoilers (this isn't the Hunger Games) at will.

Okay - three of my favorite shows had VD themes.  On Castle, Beckett met her predecessor.  She is none other than Jennifer ("Flashdance") Beals.  If you've never seen Flashdance, be prepared for a take on a lobster dinner scene that probably caused the actual transmittal of vd.  The jealousy theme continued in the precinct, where Esposito and Ryan felt like they were stuck at the kid's table.  It's a two-parter, so I am hoping for a well-deserved verbal bitch-slap session between Flashdance and Beckett.

On Hawaii 50, Weston left, which is a good thing, but not before she almost confessed her feelings for McGarrett, who appeared clueless. Please.  Also loved the not-so-subtle reminder that we still hate those Ruskie Commie Bastards.  See what happens when you mess with the UN Security Council, Russia?  You get a complete smack down on a television show re-make.  So there!

Then there was NCIS.  Tony, Tony, Tony.  We finally get that traitor CIA Ray out of Ziva's way, and now here comes Mrs. Ari Gold from Entourage trying to play coy with our Very Special Agent DiNozzo.  I don't like it.  I don't like her.  And the smirking Gibbs had better be about getting Ziva and Tony together and not bringing some snippy reporter on to the team.  Loved Ducky's one-minute analysis of Tony (in the morgue, no less).  Which reminds me - what happened to Tony's Mom?  She died, right? Which is how he was sent to boarding school.  But do we know how she died?

Tonight, there is a big cross-over event between Gray's Anatomy and Private Practice.  I am on the fence about both these shows, with Private Practice just teetering on the "I'll catch up with the summer re-runs" slope.  Last week, Grays did a VD episode. It was okay.

Tom is a huge Ricky Gervais fan, so last night we watched an episode of "An Idiot Abroad: Bucket List".  The idiot, one Karl Pilkington, comes out with some of the most moronic observations you can imagine.  My favorite from the first season occurred when he was on the Great Wall of China, on one of his first trips outside his own London neighborhood.  The camera pans back to reveal a wide shot of the wall, and Pilkington says: "Well, I wouldn't say it's 'great'.  I mean it's a good wall, I guess." Unreal.

In other TV news, The Voice is back.  I fast-forward through the blind auditions because I don't like to watch the ones where the singer doesn't get chosen by anyone.  Those make me sad.  Also, I am slightly afraid that if I spend too much time looking at XTina's makeup in HD, I might begin to go color blind as a defense mechanism.  Ru Paul could give that girl some tips on toning it down.  Sheesh.

Finally, FYI, in case you haven't been watching, Saturday Night Live has some funny bits again.  Weekend Update never fails to provide at least one or two laugh out loud moments.  Nic Cage "In the Cage" was hilarious.

Okay, now your turn.  What are you watching?  What am I missing?  And who is with me on NCIS?

 

 

 

 

Music's Biggest Night

Music's Biggest Night

By Kathy Reschini Sweeney

So, the Grammys are my Oscars.  I see so few movies these days that the Oscars have lost their lure.  Music, on the other hand, is part of my day - every day.

Here is a short re-cap of the 2012 Grammy Awards because if I write one more blog about GFYC, I am going to scream.

First off - Adele.  Absolutely magnificent.  She had surgery recently for a ruptured vocal cord and evreyone held their breath to see if her voice remained intact. It did.  She brought the house down.  And she looks amazing.  If you have yet to listen to "Rolling in the Deep" or "Someone Like You", you must.  In fact, both of her albums are keepers.

Next, The Boss.  Springsteen opened the show with the E Street Band - with one big missing piece.  Clarence Clemmons.  They still rocked the roof off and I am loving their new album.  I look for the lead single., "We Take Care of Our Own" to be on the regular stadium play list for the 2012 Democratic campaign.  I say Dem because that is who Bruce usually supports.

You may have heard that Whitney Houston died right before the Grammys.  She had an amazing gift and luckily, there are lots of recordings of it.  Her early Gospel stuff is still the best, I think.  She made - and repeated - some really bad choices in her life and even before she died, her beautiful voice was gone.  Very sad.  Addiction is a mofo and few people win that battle.  The Grammys spent some time talking about her (but no mention of addiction or places to get help) but I thought it was pretty balanced.  Especially after Bonnie Raitt and Alicia Keyes did "Sunday Kind of Love" as a tribute to the great Etta James.  Etta had addiction issues too, but seemed to find some balance. There was a nice moment with Amy Winehouse's parents - another great voice lost to addiction.

I thought it was great that they honored Glenn Campbell before he died.  He announced last year that he had Alzheimer's.  Blake Shelton and the Band Perry did a nice job on his tribute.

Paul McCartney closed the show with some classic Beatles tunes.

Now for the crap.  

Chris Brown.  No.  This kid should still be in jail, and how in the hell does what he do count as R&B?  Wrong.

Nikki Minaj - what the hell was that mess?  Was it supposed to be a song? A video? None of it worked.  Plus - and I know this is music blasphemy, but the girl does rap - she should not (and cannot) try to sing.  Was she trying to out Gaga the Gaga?  The whole thing was just awful and way too long.

A word on Gaga - I didn't like her at the beginning.  Dismissed her as a Madonna copycat.  Then I started paying attention.  This woman is classically trained.  She writes her own songs.  She plays several instruments.  And she's a good daughter.  Plus, in case you didn't already know, she is doing amazing work to raise awareness of bullying, including funding programs to teach schools how to stop it.  You need to listen to the lyrics of her songs.  She is the real deal, people, and I publicly apologize for doubting it.

I thought Sir Paul's valentine song was just meh - but after all these years, he's entitled to write a sweet song for his new wife and sing it in front of a billion people if he wants.

Okay - time for real work.  What did you think of the Grammys?

All's Quiet on the Boobburgh Front

All's Quiet on the Boobburgh Front

By Kathy Reschini Sweeney

After months of anxiety and days of panic, my mind is quiet today.  A quiet brain is not common for my people, so I thought I would write about it in case this happens to someone else.

Friday was one of those days that will remain fresh - like the days my children were born and the day Armstong walked on the moon.  I can still remember details of those days decades later.

Once I got the fantastic news (Hallelujah) and finished making phone calls (including one to the wonderful William at the Square Cafe, who can make a party on three hours notice - love them) I collapsed into napland.

But not before I took of my 'compression bra' (may I just say that the odessey of finding the 'sports bra' that everyone recommended turned into a complete side show of its own, probably because round people like me don't actually do the sports thing).   The steristrips are still there, and I can still see stitches, but I took a good hard look and said, right into the mirror: "Fuck you, Cancer.  Not in my house."  Then I started a victory dance which was stupid because it hurt the entire right upper quadrant of my body, so I settled for flipping cancer the bird and giving it every obscene Italian hand gesture I could remember. I also made some up, but that is another blog.

Then the tangible joy began as the doorbell started to ring.  Most of my dearest friends - and even my brother Joe and his new wife Ree - came to toast and rejoice.  The celebration was truly complete when a couple of my Golden Girls made the snowy drive from Indiana to surprise me!  Everyone from our Chevra was here - and Dr. (okay not officially but soon) Yael even called from Isreal.  At one sterling moment in time, women from all phases of my life were gathered around the dining room table, laughing.  If not for the cancer (henceforth referred to herein as the GFYC) I would not have that memory to treasure.

The whole day was like that.  My family had me on so many prayer lists that I got a call from a college sorority sister in New Jersey to see if I was the Kathy Sweeney they were praying for in the Camden Diocese!  They were all an absoute rock- with one-liners.  I knew, but didn't, y'know - KNOW- how powerful that is until the GFYC, which is odd.  Because I thought I already knew that.

Some people - at this stage and at other stages in their own battle with cancer (oops GFYC) will tell you that the cancer was worth the lessons learned, or that it gave them a new outlook on life.  I am happy for them.

But I can only speak for myself.  Cancer sucks.  Surgery sucks. Losing a piece of you sucks.  Being afraid is a great, giant suck.  Facing mortality at the tender age of 51 is suckage at its worst. See, it even degrades the vocabulary!

Last night, we watched "Return of the King" - one of my favorite movies of all time.  The ultimate triumph of good over evil, with no hedging on the high cost or the grief.  Plus, it has Eowyn, Shieldmaiden of the Rohirrim, which is going to be my new alias if I ever need one.  It was a fitting way to end this section of my journey.

Today, my brain is peaceful.  Snow is lighting falling and everthing outside is still covered in that beautiful white of a new snow.  My family is quiet and happy in our warm house.  My extended family and friends are safe and healthy.   

Life is good in Boobburgh.

How is your life today?