Women’s bodies are extraordinary. We literally make tiny humans inside of us. But is also a terrifying place. With October being Breast Cancer Awareness month, I want to remind you to do monthly breast exams on yourself.
You will be scared, you will be anxious and you will be upset. You might want people’s opinions, you might want to tell them to shut the fuck up — you do you.
You can honor Breast Cancer Awareness Month simply by talking about breast cancer, mammograms and preventative measures with friends and family members.
Lisa’s story, her power-hold over cancer, and her raw sense of humor have started to give me hope. Hope for what, I can’t really articulate. I just know I’ve felt hope for the first time in a long time.
I sat in the waiting room, a nervous wreck. I had the cold sweats, my hands were shaking like a drug addict going through withdrawal, and I never felt more alone in my entire life.
When I took off the bra, I began feeling more immersed in the world and less burdened by the contraption on my chest.
The only advice is to not ignore that this is a last of something in her life and in yours. But from lasts, come new firsts.
What no one tells you when you lose your mom at eight years old is that every milestone from that point on will be ruined by the sharp pang of loss you will inevitably feel when you realize she has missed another chapter in your life.
Having the perfect set of tits wouldn’t make them anymore beautiful when they were the source of mutations. I don’t even like them that much, I think. A lifetime of dealing with a part of my body that I’m not even crash hot about.
I had occasion to watch Hilary make her move on Cliff during an otherwise apparently pointless conversation recounting an argument she’d had last week with Reggie Jackson in a Fort Lauderdale restaurant.