The knock of the knot & the not of the knocker.
A Breast Cancer Blog with Lacanian Angles Curves
The knock of ill fate has arrived. How could someone so damn healthy receive a diagnosis of breast cancer. Clearly not as healthy as you thought huh? As I write in my whole pre-surgery state, I am still reeling in shock. Well let’s not go there just yet, to the place of self criticism, the world of what-ifs. A breast cancer diagnosis is a shock but especially for anyone young, when those check up warning adverts often show more elderly women. At 48 I’m middle aged, so not young as such, born in the 60’s but still if you’re as old as you feel I’m certainly the younger side of the spectrum. Cancer in someone who is slight of frame, medium height, has never dieted but maintained a trim weight by sheer devotion to sensible exercise and joie de vivre. Living in the mediterranean for almost two decades must also have contributed to being pretty fit. 
Isn’t eating enough to go to the loo every day essential? Kiwis are remarkable for the digestion. Two a day to be reduced once clockwork 😉 is the keyword. Of course in my early twenties I would skip breakfast in favour of being a chain coffee drinker with powdered cuppa-soups on the go. Now half a slice of toast gets my metabolism going in the morning to break the fast. Yes with lashings of peanut butter. That first bathroom trip before commuting to work is essential to feeling unbloated. In fact my exercise plan is hardly a set plan because I self-sabbotage. I cannot force myself to do something without the inner-me rebelling with a “why should I”. So I set up a flexi-plan whereby I would never leave three (or in my later years four/five) days between a run, a swim or a sporty spot of cardio activity. There are things I never eat, not a fan of pastry or sauces that have lost their source. Some “foods” aren’t foods. Forget that old maxim of eating everything and “getting it down you lassie to be fit and strong”. If it’s too snacky, too processed, has zero nutrition or empty calories why consume it. Not really a fan of big brands either. If ever eating out who wouldn’t prefer to give their hard earned cash to a little independent business than feed money to the corporates? Eat-well exercise-well, never starve, never diet, never deprive, has always worked. It’s all about life style, “a way of life” not ‘fits and starts’ by jousting with fitness! As previously mentioned, I do drink an awful lot of water too. So maybe my downfall has been drinking all that water stored in plastic bottles, or an on/off use of anti-perspirant. I rarely use perfumes or sprays or make up. I used to drink powdered soup. Isn’t all that a tad carcinogenic? Again it’s about moderation.
A daily arrow of eyeliner isn’t total abstention but better than creating excessively addictive beauty habits. The advertising makes it just dandy even for the youngest in society to slather on creams, gels and nail varnish. They say bras themselves can’t do any harm. There we have it! A few more “whys” and “what ifs” and plenty of research available. Not that it helps when you are already the 1 in 8.
In my younger years my heavier chest just made me look bigger than I was. At school the nick-names began. Now since my diagnosis I have that inner voice screaming out breast insults! Yes a life long neural network – a veritable collage – of breast insults that have brought this new ‘breast tourettes’ bubbling to the surface. I googled a few and was surprised at how politically correct bloggers are these days. Less gawping, gaping and certainly no touching without permission or a court order. So let’s let off some steam and type out some breast related insults or compliments. Afterall with a fuller figure (above the waist at least) and youth on your side, the traffic stops!
Not so these days, not for me as I’m pushing 50 and so it should be. Us oldies move over for the sprite youths. It is hard though when once the traffic stopped and now you have to skip to avoid being run down as the green man is flashing. Growing older comes to us all. No time to stop and contemplate! But today’s girls, what a lot of insults they’ve missed by growing up in the twenty-first century. At school, as my buttons popped open, the first metaphor was Melons!
I wonder if I can find images for every insult (or twisted compliment) that I grew up with! Not to take away the joy of a lively imagination. 🙂 And please do look at the Busty Girl Comics because really they hit the mark for the over-endowed.
Borromean Knocker 