Breasts - Avoid the Quackery.

Please tell me just how far into this fantasy you'd be happy to slide before you hear warning bells.

You awaken one morning and for no reason at all you decide that it is time to take your boobs in hand - no not in a fooling around, feel good way, but the grown up, prevent any disaster, way. You might have no reason or symptom or family history to worry about or you might suddenly have become aware of a walloping great lump, in any case you have decided that attention is due.

By serendipitous coincidence you get a link on your facie page from someone you know, and one of the headlines reads, 'Mammograms cause Cancer'.

Shit really?

So you read on.

Dr Ben Johnson MD has written a book, 'The Secret of Health Breast Wisdom' ( Is that the correct title - doesn't seem to be grammatically correct but never mind.)

Earth Patriot (Who?) has posted the article from 'The Health Avengers' (Who again?) and it includes an interview with Dr Ben.

Dr Ben says, 'You are causing much more Breast Cancer with Mammograms than you are detecting.'

Dr Ben says mammograms cannot detect Breast cancers smaller than 1cm in size and by that time there is associated Lymph node infection and cancer cells are flying all around your body, in other words you are doomed so you'd better pick out your grave stone and set out the champers and canapes for the mourning hoards.

Dr Ben says the only way to identify Breast cancers too small to be detected with Mammograms is through THERMOGRAPHY.

Well being a carrier of boobies and not being a doctor you do some more research, cos who the hell knows what THERMOGRAPHY is when it's at home.

Infrared technology has been around since the 1970s. I am pretty sure we have all watched those action movies where the heroes pop on some night vision goggles so they can see the baddies coming, well this is sort of the same. Let's photograph our breasts so we can see the heat activated cancer cells a-coming pardner.

THERMOGRAPHY uses a flash camera to take piccies of your titties from various angles and works on the idea that if there are any pre-cancerous spots or in deed cancer splodges, well they will show up as hot spots because of the extra blood supply etc.

Well that sounds reasonable.

Of course localised infections and cysts etc would also show up as hot spots, and there is no differentiation but don't go into panic just yet.

So instead of getting the big squish you sit topless, in a room and acclimatise to the temperature and then someone takes some piccies. If they provided a cuppa and a biscuit it sounds like a really pleasant way to spend the morning. Yippee.

So you google where you can go for this beauty treatment.

You call the Mobile number cos that's all that was given and a female answers the phone with, 'Yes?'

You ask if this is the THERMOGRAPHY place and she says, 'Yes.'

It's a bit like pulling teeth but you continue even though you are beginning to imagine that she could just have easily answered the other phone - possibly a red one and started in on some lewd sex talk all the while scrubbing out her oven.

You ask for some details.

• $190 with no Medicare or health fund rebate.
• The procedure is explained and is as you have researched.
• ( I forgot to ask about the qualifications of the person doing the clickity click of the camera nor did I ask about the qualifications of the person giving me all this info)
• The images are sent off to THE USA TO BE ANALYSED, because this is not a recognised diagnostic tool in Australia so no-one knows what the images mean cos I guess no-one in Australia reckons it's worth their time doing the study.
• Your report is sent back to you in about 2 weeks.
• You get a rating of 1-5 depending on the severity of the heat in your boobs. ( I presume that no-one ever gets a 0-clean bill of breast health)
• You take the report to your Holistic health provider or your Naturopath who will help you get your body back on track with hope and herbs - (yeh I added the hope bit)
• It is apparently possible to cure estrogen driven Breast cancer by filling up on progesterone but there are other possible cures which can be outlined by your Person. 

Additional google research also explains that the procedure costs about $390 US in the States and that it is not covered by any health insurance there either.

It is recommended that women begin this diagnosis as early as 18 years old so there can be a base marker and that they should be tested every 6 months.

Are those bells ringing for you yet? Shit I feel like I am living in the Bell tower of a fucking great cathedral and it is constantly 12 midnight.

Does this sound like an excellent way to fleece women of a shed load of cash over the whole of their lives and provide little more than FUCK ALL in return?

The truth is that if you push on with your research, it is clear that even if you part with the wonga for this nonsense, if something is found YOU THEN NEED TO GO FOR - YOU GUESSED IT, A MAMMOGRAM.

I cannot be a statistical anomaly. 

I had 2 primary cancers detected  through mammograms, in very dense breast tissue when I was 32. Yes there was associated Lymph node action and I opted for surgery and chemo and radiation. These little suckers were very  aggressive cancers. Had I opted for a visit to a herbalist for some green stuff and and some mantras to chant, I am pretty sure I would not be writing this cos I WOULD BE DEAD.

2 and a half years ago I was diagnosed with another primary cancer in my other breast again through mammography investigation. This was so very tiny that it needed to be pinpointed via a hook wire prior to surgery and I was lucky enough this time to have no lymph node action, so old Dr Ben Johnson would be shocked to learn that tiny cancers can be detected through Mammograms and that a detected cancer is not a death sentence.

This scare mongering really is a disgrace.

I reckon that there is a strong similarity between herbie, green shit, snake oil, curers, and those less than honourable evangelists who ask for 20% of your wages to ensure a first class ride to heaven with a complimentary a quarter pounder with cheese thrown in for good measure.

I reckon the success of this sort of 'medical' attention is is predicated on fear. People's fear of dying, of disease, of doctors and of procedures they can't imagine or understand.

Of course my history is only anecdotal, but I am still here and I firmly believe that it is 100% due to my choosing mainstream medicine. There is no proof that I could find that would encourage me to suggest to my daughter that she follow this suggested, expensive, untested, smoke and mirrors, someone is making a motza out of this, less than satisfactory diagnostic ( I use the term loosely) method.

I am hoping that less discriminating women are not sent this crap in their Facebook updates.  

Seriously, get you tits out ladies and go the squish.  

Nimble Loans Bullshit

There's really something here that I just don't get. Our governments and councils can tell you where and how to put up a tent in your own back garden, and they can insist that you install a water tank in a new build and that it is connected to your washing machine tap, but when it comes to regulating the rip-off agents who prey on folk with fuck all anyway, well the powers that be just throw their hands up in the air and hide behind free enterprise philosophy and democratic choices.

Only a truly desperate person would consider applying for cash from these sorts of places. The establishment fees are appalling and the interest rates are just absolutely staggering gouging.

And then of course there are the shitful ads.

They all give me the screaming irrits, but the latest one which shows a young woman's home-coming after a holiday, is particularly irksome. She walks into the place where she is presumably listed on the lease and where she pays the rent, to be accosted by a few low life blood sucking arsewipes who have moved in while she was away, and she finds herself unceremoniously, powerlessly, evicted.

She needs money in a hurry to pay for moving costs and a deposit on a new place.

What the very fuck??

How it is OK to present women in this predicament beggars belief.

Who thought up this shit? I just do not for a millisecond reckon that a woman put forward this scenario.

So now poor people are being exploited and women in particular need to suck up whatever and cough up the cash under any shitful circumstance which sees men gleefully treating them like shit, and then they continue to pay through the nose for it all. Because of course women are powerless fools who have no mainstream choices and somehow deserve to be put out on the street by a bunch of dickhead men.

I don't enjoy government legislation and interference especially that which affects me when it's designed to somehow protect the dumbest and weakest, but it is a fact of life. How is it then that these sort of sharks are allowed to continue. Surely protecting folk who use these services should be more of a priority for the government than so much of their other bullshit regulations.

Every time I see one of these ads I fancy hurling something at the tellie, but then I'd have to buy a new one and for that I might need to apply for one of their shitty loans at the cost of something like $400 establishment fees and between 40 and 50% interest per year. That would be a very expensive bit of equipment.

I reckon at the very least each one of these ads should be followed by a government funded ad giving alternative choices and advising people to not touch these companies with a barge pole. That use of public money I could live with.

Kite Surfing

With the afternoon breeze at the beach comes the fellas - I am pretty sure I haven't seen many girlies having a go which is a shame, riding on their surf kite things - the actual name of these things could be anything that covers a foot board like a snow board and a harness and a great big kite like paragliders use except that the shape is a little different. Anyway whatever it is really called, the floating kites tugging along big fellas who seem to be hanging on to within an inch of their lives, is just magical to watch.

We took off to Currumbin Beach yesterday afternoon and after dodging all the tourist drivers in their 'Rent a bombs' and folk who may of may not have blown the shit out of the coppers' breathaliser, we popped onto the beach. It was fabulously empty, and I sat amid the silly waves and played with Dog as the waves knocked the shit out of me and wedged sand where sand should not be wedged. It was great fun.

Then behind us arrived a gaggle of blokes with a shed load of gear. They PUMPED up the edges and battens of their kites and unraveled what seemed like miles of string and then attached it to various spots on the kite and then placed the board near the water and checked their harness and their mates connected kite to harness and board to - well I don't know where really, maybe up their whizzies? And then they were off.

We had sat waiting for some aerial action for many minutes. It's a slow old process this getting ready to glide over the surf. And then it became clear, this was wind surf kiting 101. There was a fella there chatting 15 to the dozen and when his chargers were out in the water, he waved like a manic and stromped all up and down the beach.

A couple of the blokes were - well without trying to be unkind, they were just bloody useless.

I have enjoyed watching the flying in and over the waves for years and it really seems so simple, but after watching yesterday I reckon it takes a long time to master.

It must take a great deal of upper body strength to manage it and I reckon it would be helpful to know something about sailing and surfing and of course being able to swim and fight off sharks would also be useful skills.

After watching these fellas I have come to the conclusion that I am never likely to have a go, let alone master the equipment which must surely cost 'em a fortune. For the same money, I would rather sit and watch 'em while sporting a designer handie, and possible a new car.

Whew! It's over!

My Nanna was the quintessential Matriarch. When she said jump everyone jumped. She had done all the right things. She had married a bloke who went off to both wars and she stopped at home and waited for him. She had 4 kids though sadly her boy died when he was little but her other 3 had bred well so there was a large brood of grandies to keep her company too. She had plenty of love to go around and whilst I am sure she got cranky from time to time, it's not a glaring memory, mostly I just remember her as being lovely Nanna, the patient provider of all things sweet or wonderful.

Yes we jumped when she wanted us to but that was because we wanted to, not cos there was any great big wacking stick involved.

So Christmas saw the gaggle of family - aunts, uncles, and kids crammed into her house for a lunchtime meal which she had prepared. Back in the day when I'd had no choice, we had been herded off to church and sung some carols which apart from the words I quite liked a lot, still do really, we'd put on our best frock and proper shoes and gather up our bits and bobs of homemade stuff  and then head to Nanna's.

20 odd, and I do mean odd, strange, weird, and some a little bit scary, folk were wedged in for food and parcels and singing and games and more food. Sweat poured along with the beer and the wine and the cordial, and there was actual proper competition to see who would break a tooth on the sixpence in the pudding.

But today things are different and the only broken tooth was Dog's.

Yep that's how we spent the eve of the Big Day. Poor love had snapped a tooth in half, playing ball catch in the pool. She's a competitive thing and doesn't like to let anything passed her. I think I heard the sickening sound of the snap, but she didn't cry, she just kept licking her mouth as if she had eaten a thousand donuts. We finally were able to have a little look see and there it was a gaping space where her wee front tooth should be.

So off to the Vets. We were given 3 options. 1. Do nothing and risk a thumping infection as the root dies - oooh yuk, the pain is real!  2. Take her to a specialist orthodontist for dogs - who knew there was such a person? and have root canal work and get a crown made. Yeh just like a person, so she can keep her winning smile. 3. Have a bit of surgery to remove the tooth immediately so she should be good to eat up her chrissie treats in the morning.

Well we opted for number 3.

The people at the vets are wonderful. She was returned to us in the afternoon, still dopey from the anesthesia and the pain meds but she was OK and would be home to be on duty, in case Santa tried to blast his way through the doors.

She had a little bit of soft dinner and she slept up on the couch with me as always, except that she was too wobbly to drag all 4 legs up so needed a bit of help in the climb.

The pain meds had done the trick and by start of play on chrissie morning she was OK. She wasn't back to her normal boisterous best but she did manage to open her parcels and she enjoyed her smoked salmon and scrambled eggs for breakfast.

She was still a bit off with the fairies and lay on the floor using my feet as her pillow while we played our new games of Card Monopoly and Dominoes. This seems to be our tradition. We are both too old for all that modern games playing so oldies are still the best for us, even though we did move into the 21st century with the Monopoly cards.

We figured she needed a bit of air so we popped her in the truck and took her off to the big dog park. She happily chased the ball, while I played 'Make a million bubbles' I do love watching the bubbles fly in the air, and I often wonder what the secret is behind the detergent stuff that comes with the wands, cos ordinary stuff just doesn't cut it.

We weren't out for long cos she really wasn't up for it

Back home for more food and a bit of a sleep on the couch, - me and Dog, while Steve made his chrissie puzzle and cooked a wonderful roast dinner.

Dinner was a feast and Dog was back to almost normal.

When we left, the Vet gave us a bottle of Doggie pain meds, well when I say, GAVE I really mean sold us 40 bucks worth of drugs! For that sort of money you can buy a shed load of panadol, but I wouldn't be game to grind up a couple and slide it into her food like I might do for Zig, she's a dog and I guess she needs Doggie stuff. We haven't given her any and she seems to be OK. If some druggie breaks in and steals it they might well get more than they bargained for, cos I reckon it would knock out a horse - maybe I should find a dodgy street corner and see if I can unload it. I wonder what I would wear to a drug deal?

So chrissie is done and dusted for another year. Yippee. I can fold the tree away, do something creative with all the leftovers, and put the credit card into storage...oh who am I kidding, now it's the sales! Yippee. I do love a sale!

I hope there was no salmonella or broken teeth at your place.

Celebration

The Big House is NOT playing host to the little family after all this year. Circumstances and kumquats have conspired to leave the festivities to Stevie and Dog and me.

So yes that's a pisser but the champagne flute being half full, it means that we can please ourselves without any compromise.

I am off with my very much shorter food shopping list on Wednesday.  The diet of sorts is gonna be chucked out the window and we will have any damn thing we please. Stevie has already stocked up the fridge with a lovely bottle of plonk and and I plan to be slurping the 'french stuff' morning noon and night. Yummo!

It's all a bit silly really, but what we have a hankering for is roast pork with crackling and the full range of roast veg, cos the veg has been on the banned list of the no carbs high protein formula. I am salivating just thinking about downing half a dozen of Stevie's roast spuds, yeh he cooks so I will be the one with my feet up, calling instructions for glass fillage from the pool. I am very much looking forward to it.

AN early pressie was delivered today from the cheery Dr Greg, who told us that the poison was doing a mighty job and had kicked the shit out of the platelet count and the number of mutant white cells had been given a good shoeing too.

Stevie had decided that if the number was anything at all less than the original 80 (11 is the high end of ok), he was gonna be happy, cos that was an improvement, but me, well I am a high achiever and I had decided that I wanted a score of 42 - an arbitrary number I picked out of my arse. (I think secretly Stevie was hoping for much better than 80, but he was just priming me in case of disappointment.)

So Dr smiley, did his best to open with usual small talk, but I just wanted the number. THIRTY FUCKING SIX. Now that's what I call excellent poison!

There is still quite a long way to go, but he reckons in a year or so all those fucking Philadelphia white cells should have been killed off. He was calmly positive about this. Of course I had to push it and ask if his initial prognosis of poison for life might be adjusted, but he said that people who have managed to get back to normal figures with no mutant white cells, who stopped taking the poison almost always relapsed almost immediately. 'So get used to it girl, suck it up,' I chanted to myself.

So I have already had my chrissy present. Yeh it came early and I don't usually count anything before the day as a real pressie, but this one is gonna be the exception.

Reckon Stevie was pretty excited too. Can't be easy for anyone to lurch from one bit of illness to another, especially when there is no control. He's a good boy really, just rocking along with it and learning to make the most irreverent jokes cos that's the way I like it.

I hope that everyone has all their shit sorted for a wonderful chrissie and for those that don't celebrate it at all, well I hope the break is peaceful and full of food anyway.

Here's cheers.

Big Car Bullies

The Big House is the home of the little big cars. Steve has a monster truck which is excellent for moving his golf paraphernalia and DOG and for whipping along on those long stretches of empty beaches which is really one of my most favourite things to do. I have a little wee girlie just perfect for, well just about everything else. It's tiny so parking is easy-peasy but the hatch boot is plenty big enough to famously bring home a full sized bath when we were building. It has cruise control so I can avoid getting on the wrong side of the coppers as I tootled up and back to Brisvegas at least once a week, but Dog is not as keen on clambering into the back cos there is not room for her bed, although, she'd rather slum it in the littlie than stop at home on her own.

Because of the race up the motorway, my girl gets more of a workout than the monster, but if we are off into the wilds of fuck knows, then we take the big fella cos it's more likely to survive the drive and Dog is happier and that's important.

Steve'll drive mine but the number of times I have driven his, you can count on one hand. I just don't like it. It's too damn big to park and sometimes I feel like it doesn't even fit in the road lanes - yeh I know it does, but not by enough. If we are out in the bush and space seems limitless I am happy to put the foot down but definitely less so in civilisation.

What I have noticed on my race to Brisvegas, is that if I am to have any grief from any drivers it almost always is from some dick in a great big car. You know the walloping ute, randomly stacked with shit that is wobbling all around, that screams up your gunoo even though you are in the slow lane, and then tries to bully you into going faster than the limit, or the 32 wheeler bastards who are in 2 lanes and weaving into a third, lights on full beam, who are in such a hurry that they must almost certainly be transporting a vaccine to a dying patient somewhere in another state.

It seems to me that the bigger the car, the more chance of being bullied, I mean even if I fancied it, I rather doubt it would be possible for me in my little Mazda to bully anyone, except perhaps an old fella on a pushie, or a woman pushing an ancient stroller.

I reckon the bigger the car, the more invincible the driver feels.

I reckon the bigger the car, the greater the chance of being bullied.

I reckon the bigger the car / truck the greater the chance of it being driven by a dickhead.

Don't ask me where all this is coming from. It might be the very many near misses on the M1 or it might be the jolly great dickhead who very nearly wiped me out this morning when I went to collect my car abandoned last night at a local golf club.

Yeh I shouted, 'You're welcome Wanker' as I squidged over.

Waiting.

I am very busy waiting for Monday to come when hopefully there's some good news about my old blood cells behaving 'em selves. I've been downing the poison now for 2 weeks and that apparently is long enough to see if it is is gonna kill off the mutants - yeh I reckon it sounds like an episode of Star Trek too. So I popped off to the blood sucking shop and now the pathologists are busy checking on the little fuckers. Fingers crossed.

In the mean time, we were also waiting for the delivery of our new kettle. Hard to believe how exciting the lives of retired old folk are huh? The text said anytime today, so we waited in all day for an eventual 3 pm arrival. It is bloody pretty and the last one which did a little blow up earlier in the week kept us in tea and coffee for more than a dozen years, so Steve reckoned it was worth trawling online for an exact replacement. He's a good boy like that. Just an aside, it took 3 days to be delivered from the UK and it took 2 WEEKS  for Australia Post to deliver something weighing less than 500 grams to Perth. Work that out!!

So while we waited for the kettle while we were waiting for Monday News,  I steeped the fruit in a good lot of rather ordinary Brandy, so I can make my xmas cake tomorrow. Stevie does like an xmas cake, especially when I put the white icing on, so diet of not, we will have one to tuck into on the 25th. Yummo.

Then we got stuck into a little plan I had for putting up my new solar lights. Steve was initially reluctant about the weirdness I was suggesting, that is always on the cards when you mix an engineer and an arty farty,  but I think he is pretty happy with the results. Let's hope the lights come on when it's dark. When I wasn't on the idiot end of the tape measure, I furtled in my little garden.

You might remember how proud I was when I planted a couple of tomato plants a few weeks back, well they have taken off like topsy, and on close inspection I saw a couple of tiny weeny toms. I am just so bloody pleased with myself. An actual farmer - who'd have thunked it? Think I am gonna start chewing on some hay.

And in between I have managed to make up a recipe for some beef ribs. With any luck these might be the cherry on my day. They sure do smell great.

So it's been a pretty fine day of waiting.

What do you do to while away your days waiting?