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i’m registered
The last time I was asked about a registry was about fifteen years ago, within the context of the room where my unborn child would eventually sleep. Would it be pink or blue? All things nice, sugar and spice or frogs and snails and puppy dog tails? Lumbering around Babies ‘R’ Us, the week before the birth of my daughter,…
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when mammograms miss: righting a wrong
Maybe I should just let it go. As I’ve been told at least twice since I “resumed normal activity,” I look just like myself. You would never know, unless you asked to see, that I really don’t look like myself at all. Hidden under my clothes, since the DIEP flap reconstruction that ushered in my new year, is a trivial but…
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in my genes: the patent on my life
Mindlessly channel surfing yesterday afternoon, before I opened an email from Breast Cancer Action, I happened upon Anderson Cooper, in full-blown talk-show host mode, fawning over savvy Spanx inventor, Sara Blakely. Fresh off the cover of Forbes magazine, as the youngest ever self-made female billionaire, the affable Ms. Blakely gave me hope that somewhere inside me, lying dormant, is a billion dollar…
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discovery day
I should have written about it at the time, right after I heard “tumors” in the context of my right breast but it took 17 calendar days before I could actually put pen to paper. Sort of. It’s all too common, apparently – all too acceptable. Somewhere between taking a shower and putting on deodorant, on a Saturday like any…