No Mammography until 50?! Tell it to Her

The thing about the perfect best friend is that you want everyone you know to meet her.

Forget that she loves you even when you're a bitch. Forget that on a visit to your family's she walked your infant nephew all night long--while sick as a dog--so that you could get some sleep.

Don't even consider that she knows all the words to every 80's song and will sing them with very little prodding or alcohol when you can't remember the words. And don't even take into account her phenomenal dancing skills that would have secured her a job as the spotlight dancer on Solid Gold (that again will be performed with no prodding or alcohol).

Those aren't the reasons you wished she lived next door.

It's her heart and her smile and her laughter and her kindness that make her your number one gal.

AND SHE IS WHY THE NEW USPSTF MAMMOGRAPHY GUIDELINES MAKE ME WANT TO SCREAM!

My best friend was diagnosed with breast cancer this year at the age of the 37.

You know why?

Because she had a mammography at the urging of her new physician just to establish a baseline.

A baseline!

The growth was the size of a grain of rice. One, tiny, little growth that led to a bilateral mastectomy, drains, chemotherapy, hair loss and the inability to lift her three small children (all 5 and under) for extended periods of time this year.

That baseline mammogram at 37 is what allowed doctors to catch her aggressive form of cancer before she even felt a lump--before it spread to other places in her body.

And now the United States Preventive Services Task Force (USPSTF) has issued a statement indicating that women don't need to consider regular mammograms until age 50?!

There are no words to convey the rage I feel about this--so I direct you to my friend's feelings on the issue.

The American Cancer Society IS NOT changing their recommendation that women begin regular screening at the age of 40. (I couldn't be more proud to be part of their blogger's council.)

I am so afraid that women will believe this government entity--that insurance companies will believe them too.

The thing about my perfect best friend is that she is with me today--and will be for a long time thanks to an early mammogram.


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Sometimes You Can't Save the Ta-Tas

Remember when Victoria Secret first came out with the Miracle Bra? You never needed it, but the moment they launched their Miracle Bra bathing suits you had one in your hands.

We all laughed when you tried it on. I think I commented that you now had a shelf on which to rest your drink...and suntan lotion...and my drink...and my suntan lotion. You brushed me off and proudly announced that your mom declared it the "two-carat" bikini--as in you were going to land a 2 ct. diamond engagement ring by wearing it on the beach.

I always knew that wasn't what was going to do it. You know why?

Late one night out on the beach very much into our cups, you made some comment about needing to follow the campground rules. As usual, we all started calling you out.

"Once a sorority President, always a sorority president."

"My mom said 'Don't go on the Potomac. It's dangerous on the Potomac.'"

"You're such a MUFFIN!"

You turned to me, now a college graduate, and tried to look me straight in the eye and slurred,

"I may be a muffin on the outside, but I'm a jalapeno PEPPER on the inside."

I'm pretty sure I aspirated a marshmallow at that point.

So yesterday, as I sat here hundreds of miles away from the hospital where doctors were removing your breasts--and with them the cancer that was attacking them--I calmed my nerves and even smiled knowing that 2 ct boobs or not, you will always be a jalapeno pepper on the inside.

And NO doctor will ever be able to remove that.