I take my "lunch break" at a time when most people are heading to bed or watching Leno. I'm not really into Leno, so most nights I take a walk or bring a book into the lounge at work. Tonight, however, the book I'm in the middle of reached a disturbing passage about the author's mother not wearing panties when she tries on clothes at department stores. Ewwww. Why would anyone feel the need to share something like that? The worst part is, last night's revelation was worse. Anyway, someone had left the local paper on the table in the lounge, so I put the book back in my bag in favor of the hometown news section.
Big mistake. I know, right? What's worse than thinking about someone's mother going commando while you eat? Well, I'll tell ya:
As soon as I opened the newspaper I saw the obituaries, and at the center top was a picture of a pretty young woman who died at 34 of breast cancer. I recognized her name, sort of. I went to school with her husband's sisters. I think I remember her husband, though he was a little boy way back then.
My logical self reminds me that every cancer is different. There are different types of breast cancer, some more aggressive than mine. At this woman's age, it's not likely that she was getting mammograms, and probably didn't find her tumor until it was much bigger than mine. Unfortunately, the not-so-logical part of me isn't really listening.