Breast screen call back

Waiting with the other 8 to see if we’re one of the .5% diagnosed with breast cancer.

Theoretically no one here today has it as there would need to be twenty for one to be diagnosed. Gotta love stats, their bullshit accuracy and my lame linear logic. Watching them all file in before me – imagining it’s because my symptoms are the least serious not because I was last to arrive or have a latest appointment. This positive thinking is very new and quite empowering. Not delusional at all.

Mammograms done. Not so confident now. Over to ultrasound. Panic creeping from the reptilian cortex causing arms to tingle and digits to shake. This is not part of the plan. I’m not the kind of person who creates cancer. This is a real test of my sense of humour. Breathe deeply. Centre. Try not to vomit.

Featured image

Benign cyst. 5cm from the left nipple. Still trying not to cry. The relief as exhausting as the tension. Want to burst into tears but suck it up in front of others who wait to feel the tearful relief. Or the unthinkable alternative.

BreastScreen NSW at RNSH make the unthinkable moments as dignified and professional as possible. Thank you and I hope never to see you again.

November 06 2014

Ode to Mall mums

Our bodies broken and bent from birthing, left to shrivel and stagger around air conditioned malls. Limping forward continuing to care.

Sometimes smiling, joyful at the moment butt hits chair, the smell of coffee and cake – the curse and cure all. Extras kilos blur designer’s lines and carry softly bled edges of white cotton on the wind of the manufactured airways.

A corn, ingrown toenail, twisted pelvis, deglazed knee or poor night’s sleep slowing down our need to run for cover or to hope. Not lost or forlorn but caught up in it – within the epicentre – the eye of the storm of care.

Shop little lady, gather and garnish, breed and love. Hobble onwards – nesting, nesting.

Kids have it.


The license to say whatever they think and feel.
The outrageous luxury of screaming their tits off
no matter the time or place. I resent having to
behave well yet I teach my children to be polite.

I think etiquette has a lot to answer for.
We all deserve the occasional tantrum.

Twinings or foreplay


Men may be shocked by the news that many wives
believe that a good sign of their husband’s devotion
is when he brings them a cup of tea – unprompted.

In fact, women can be so touched by this ‘cup of love’
that they are more likely to warm to the idea of sex.
So forget the flowers and make mine black with one.

Intuition is from Venus. Emotional Intelligence is from Mars.


I learnt long ago never to say ‘I feel’ when presenting my opinion in a meeting. ‘I feel” is seen as an unsubstantiated point of view and makes your argument seem insubstantial.

EQ, aka Emotional Intelligence, is not only easy to say but it sounds scientific. And you’ll find it’s the choice of the boardroom bound. Unlike ‘intuition’ or ‘I feel’ or even ‘gut feel’
it has a sound psychological ancestry that gives weight to your argument. It’s now a
‘smart feeling’ that even men can have without the embarrassment of sounding like
you feel anything at all.