Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure

Saturday, the Wheezer family plus Mr. W.'s sister and parents participated in the 1 mile walk for our local Race for the Cure. This was my first year to participate, but it certainly will not be my last. Mr. W.'s mother is a breast cancer survivor, and we intend to continue supporting her and the many, many others like her.

There was an estimated 10,000 people walking/running, and it was quite a sight to behold. As we strolled our 1 mile visiting with one another, I was surprised by how I felt during the walk. It's probably hormonally related, but I was very nearly weepy thinking how the same bit of biology that brought sustenance and comfort to my children could wind up taking me away from them forever. It felt sort of circle-of-life like, and I found myself very grateful to still have my mother-in-law (who is a kind and generous angel of mercy and who I should feature on the blog from time to time).

I do not have any close blood relatives who have suffered from breast cancer (one of my great grandmothers died of it when she was 98), but really, it can strike any one. My mother in law had no family history, but still went in for her annual mammograms. She was very fortunate that her cancer was caught while it was still very, very small. The biopsy removed the entire tumor. She went through a number of rounds of radiation and is now on an anti-cancer drug. Thanks to her mammogram, she did not wind up needing radical surgery and/or chemo treatments.

So, ladies in honor of the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure and my fabulous mother in law, I present 'Get Your Mammies Grammed'

For years and years they told me,
Be careful of your breasts.
Don't ever squeeze or bruise them.
And give them monthly tests.

So I heeded all their warnings,
And protected them by law.
Guarded them very carefully,
And I always wore my bra.

After 30 years of astute care,
My gyno, Dr. Pruitt,
Said I should get a Mammogram
"O.K," I said, "let's do it."

"Stand up here real close" she said,
(She got my boob in line),"
And tell me when it hurts," she said, "Ah yes!
Right there, that's fine."

She stepped upon a pedal,
I could not believe my eyes!
A plastic plate came slamming down,
My hooter's in a vise!

My skin was stretched and mangled,
From underneath my chin!
My poor boob was being squashed,
To Swedish Pancake thin.

Excruciating pain I felt,
Within it's vise-like grip.
A prisoner in this vicious thing,
My poor defenseless tit!

"Take a deep breath" she said to me,
Who does she think she's kidding?!?
My chest is mashed in her machine,
And woozy I am getting.

"There, that's good," I heard her say,
(The room was slowly swaying.)"
Now, let's have a go at the other one."
Have mercy, I was praying.

It squeezed me from both up and down,
It squeezed me from both sides.
I'll bet SHE'S never had this done,
To HER tender little hide.

Next time that they make me do this,
I will request a blindfold.
I have no wish to see again,
My knockers getting steam rolled.

If I had no problem when I came in,
I surely have one now.
If there had been a cyst in there,
It would have gone "ker-pow!"

This machine was created by a man,
Of this, I have no doubt.
I'd like to stick his balls in there,
And see how THEY come out!

--Author Unknown