October is/was Breast Cancer Awareness Month

Published in The Fauquier Times-Democrat, Weekend Edition, Oct. 7, 2011

Lately, I have been thinking a lot about breasts. If you are male, I don’t need to hear you chiming in with something helpful like, “Yeah, me too.” If you’re even thinking that while you’re reading this, that’s probably sexual harassment, buddy. And my calling you buddy when your name isn’t even Bud is also harassment of some sort. Let’s stop harassing each other and continue. Shall we?

Last week I got a call from our friend on the West Coast. She had recently had a single mastectomy. Things went smoothly. The morning after surgery, she was home with the only real source of irritation being the drainage and discharge. To the alarm of her friends, she was up and answering her phone. You see, she is 83 years old. You’re right; that’s not a typo – that’s 83 as in octogenarian, not 38. Her husband is 80.


We’ve been friends with this couple since we met in California almost twenty years ago. We became friends despite our age difference, or perhaps because of it. I’m not afraid of aging, because there’s only one alternative, but I’m hoping you noticed there is an age difference.


In the ten years since we each departed the Golden State, we’ve only seen them once when they stopped to visit us in Ohio along a cross-country trip to see friends and family. Her husband attended his 60th class reunion in Kentucky just a couple of summers ago. The class has dwindled to about half of its size, but it’s amazing how they’ve kept in touch over the decades, even without the aid of computers and Facebook.


Our families were close, spending many an enjoyable evening and holiday together. She made the most amazing homemade Christmas ornaments and treats, and our young kids adored them. I loved to hear the tales from their youth. I have a deep and sudden longing to see them.


She relayed to me that when she was but a girl, her aunt after whom she was named, had also had a mastectomy. Or at least that’s what she thinks had happened. “You didn’t talk about a lot of things back then.” The aunt had often appeared to be in pain and had always seemed a fragile person.


I’m glad we can talk about all sorts of things nowadays. Not everything is necessarily appropriate in every context, but it gives us a newfound freedom of access, inquiry, and information. William Stewart Halsted, a professor of surgery at Johns Hopkins University, first performed a radical mastectomy in 1891 as life-saving operation for breast cancer patients. Before that time, breast cancer was not only a death sentence, but it also relegated the sufferer to a virtual quarantine because the stench and discharge associated with the disease made them pariahs.


Halsted was ”an almost excruciatingly slow, meticulous surgeon known for his gentle handling of tissue at a time when bloody slashing, and no thought of germs, were more common…” (Source: http://www.hopkinsmedicine.org/about/history/history5.html.) Incidentally, Halsted also introduced the use of rubber gloves in surgery. It was not so much for keeping the surgical site germ-free, but to save the hands of the nurse he later married. Caroline Hampton suffered from rashes as a result of washing with mercuric chloride. Halsted contacted Goodyear to make a thin pair of gloves, and it soon became the rage.


I heard a report that when the Susan G. Komen Foundation began its awareness campaign, there were many women who could not bring themselves to put the pen to paper to sign any petitions. The stigma attached to breast cancer made the stakes too high for them to have their names associated with the disease or its cure. We have come a long way. October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. We have a long way to go yet.


Last month, I finally got my buns (and other parts) into Fauquier Hospital for my first mammogram. Yes, they give women a free one on the year of their fortieth birthday, but somehow I didn’t get around to it even five years ago. I’m tempted to say I should have gone in earlier, because it was a smashing good time. But in truth, it was just plain smashing, even though very temporarily. My technician was absolutely wonderful. She didn’t make me feel self-conscious at all, and I kept jabbering away about the wonders of modern medicine and William Halsted.


Anyway, the images indicate I need to go in for a repeat exam, more thorough, with an ultrasound this time. I guess that makes up for all the years I skipped going in. I’m not afraid…yet. Best of all, I’m not afraid or ashamed to talk about it.

A fond farewell…sort of

Published in The Fauquier Times-Democrat Weekend Edition, 09/30/2011
September 30th was the last day of National Library Month. How did I miss mentioning that all month long? I have it on good authority, however, that you are still allowed to visit your local library, and your card will work, even after September ends. I have a little sad and selfish news in regard to what (rather, “who”) will not work at our library very soon, though.


Last night, I popped into our local Warrenton branch and was met with that unmistakable English greeting, “Oh, hallo, Love!” If you’ve visited there any time in the past 25 years, you know exactly which librarian I’m speaking of. She’s tall and slender and striking. (“Tall” is a relative term for me. As far as I’m concerned, if you’ve crossed 5’3”, you’re tall.)


In just two weeks, Jenny Lyons is no longer going to be there to greet and help us. This is in no way meant to demean or dismiss any of her colleagues, all of whom are wonderful ladies who always offer a smile and some help. (Correct me if I’m wrong, but I haven’t seen any men working there.) If you thought the library was the place to be hushing and shushing yourself, you have been deprived. You need to engage one of these ladies in a conversation.


In today’s highly mobile society, it is amazing to find someone who has not only lived in the same area, but also worked in the same place, for a quarter of a century. I didn’t get the full history last night, but horses and English saddles brought her to this area from England. Stop being goofy. I never implied that she rode on a horse here all the way from the seat of the British Empire. Seriously, your humor is getting down to the elementary school cafeteria level. Regardless, we’ve established that she has been here and been faithfully and cheerfully serving at the library all these years.


But now, Jenny has got some silly notion of retiring into her head. She says it’s time to let someone new have a chance.


Someone new? Someone new? What if this someone new doesn’t greet me as if I were the most special person to have walked through the doors all day? It may be too late to forward this urgent note to the Director, but I think she should carefully consider a few things before bringing in a new hire. Is there some way Maria Del Rosso could sneak in a question or two onto the employment application form?


Applicant takes tea in the:


a) morning b) midmorning c) noon d) mid-afternoon e) at tea time f) just before bed g) all of the above.


Two weeks is (someone will gleefully correct me to say “Two weeks are” but I’m treating this as one unit, so ha!):


a) the time between paychecks b) a fortnight c) annual vacation time for most working adults, except those who live in Europe and Asia, where two weeks is only sufficient time off of work to begin planning the other six weeks of actual vacation time


A boot is:


a) something you put on your foot b) something you wish you could apply to your child’s rump on occasion, when they can’t seem to get moving c) what the colonists refer to as “the trunk” of their awful motor vehicles


Okay, I can see where these might get sticky. But you get my meaning. Also, could they have the new librarian practice that wonderful greeting and try to exude love to everyone around?


Here’s a little secret: I didn’t even know her name until yesterday. She confessed she didn’t know mine, either. She calls everyone “Love” or “My Dear.” All these years, we have been greeting and gushing over each other like old schoolmates. Don’t get me wrong; I do know lots of our librarians by name, even though trying to subtly hone in on their nametags dangling down at the end of the chain makes you feel a little uncouth.


It’s going to be hard to have someone fill Jenny Lyons’ shoes. What will hers be doing? A “spot” of traveling now and then, and she’s also thinking of helping with rescued dogs in her corner of Fauquier County. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s going to be some reading in there too. Librarians do seem to be addicted to books. Hopefully, she will wander back into our branch now and then to feed her habit.


Jenny, we’ll miss you and your wonderful smile, but we wish you all the best in your retirement. Cheerio!