Girl Talk, Life Lessons


October is nearly over.  But it’s not too late. 

October is Breast Cancer Awareness month.  If you haven’t scheduled your mammogram – or if you’re overdue for your mammogram because of the ongoing pandemic – this is your chance to take care of yourself and to take control of your health. 

Fact: one-in-eight women will develop breast cancer during her lifetime.  Covid-19 or no Covid-19 – this staggering statistic has not changed.  I ought to know – I am one of the one-in-eight.  And so are some of my family members and friends.  That’s why I’ve written on this topic before, and and why I will continue to do so.

The number eight has another meaning for me.  August is the eighth month of the year, and this past August marked my eighth anniversary of being cancer-free.  Even though the five-year anniversary is an important milestone for breast cancer survivors, eight years is the big benchmark for women who’ve had my specific type of breast cancer.  Having reached this milestone, I feel immensely grateful and blessed.  But I take nothing for granted.  I remain diligent and timely about my check-ups and testing, knowing that if I hadn’t been so diligent and timely a little over eight years ago, I might not have benefitted from early detection nor experienced such a successful outcome.

Stay on track.  Schedule your mammogram.  No excuses.

Girl Talk, Life Lessons


The following is a re-post from October 2016.

When I was a kid, it seemed like the only people with tattoos were guys who’d been in the military or who rode motorcycles.  Getting tattooed is painful and it proved these guys were strong, tough, cool.  In other words – badass.

Once in a great while, I’d see a woman with a tattoo but it was usually a dainty little red rose on her ankle or shoulder.  Still, I never considered doing it myself.  For one thing, I didn’t feel strongly enough about anything to have it branded into my skin.  Then there was the pain factor.   And a badass?  Definitely not me.

But getting tattooed has become so commonplace that it hardly seems the act of courage or rebellion it once was.  These days, it’s more about artistic expression and individualism. That being said, getting tattooed remains a painful endeavor and, you have to be gutsy to let that needle go at your skin.

Full disclosure here: I got inked.

Like far too many women, first I was cut.  Next, pumped full of poison.  Then came the tatts, and finally they nuked me.  I guess that makes me a badass after all.

You see, my tatts are radiation markers.  I am a breast cancer survivor with four small permanent black dots on my chest.  But I’m also a hockey enthusiast, a devoted Boston Bruins fan, so I choose to think of my tatts as small hockey pucks.  Four little pucks in honor of the greatest hockey player that ever was: Number Four – Bobby Orr!

It’s October.  Hockey season started last week and my Bruins are back on the ice.  It’s also Breast Cancer Awareness Month.  Have you scheduled your mammogram?

Life Lessons

How I Got to Red


I only wear red nail polish.  My home décor is a rich palette of ruby, crimson, and wine.  A fiery hue is even splashed across my website.  Red evokes power and passion and I like that.  In kindergarten, the other little girls delighted in adding white paint to the red paint to make pink.  I preferred the red.  When I grew up, I knew I wouldn’t be one of those pink ribbon chicks.

pink ribbon

Now, don’t get me wrong.  I respect and appreciate the pink ribbon for the extraordinary job it’s done to promote breast cancer awareness and support.  That little symbol has raised millions of dollars and prompted countless women to schedule their mammograms.  Make no mistake: the pink ribbon has saved lives.  But the pink ribbon is not enough.  Simply being aware and supportive won’t do.  Not for the breast cancer epidemic.  Not for me.

I’ll stick with my red and that Shakespeare quote from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, “…and though she be but little, she is fierce.”  I am fierce because I am dense.

When I learned that I have extremely dense breasts, I thought this was a good thing.  Like they would stay perky forever.  Turns out having dense breasts renders mammograms less effective.  In fact, more than one radiologist has told me that looking for a tumor in my breasts is like looking for a golf ball in a blizzard.

I’m the cautionary tale and this is my public service announcement.

Several years ago, when a doctor suggested I consider supplementing my mammograms with MRI’s, I was proactive and scheduled both tests for the same day.  The radiologist who reviewed my mammogram images said, “Everything looks great,” and told me to go have lunch and come back in an hour.  The MRI found the cancer cells.  Even though there was no tumor visible in the mammography pictures, and no palpable lump felt upon examination, the MRI detected what needed to be found.  Turns out my cancer cells were aggressive so who knows what would have happened if I didn’t have the MRI when I did.  So yes, I am a breast cancer survivor.  And I am fierce.

When it comes to your health, be proactive and ask questions.  Think of medical testing and treatment options as you would the dessert buffet – whatever they offer, you take it.

I challenge you to be fierce.  You don’t have to wear red nail polish.  You don’t even need to wear a pink ribbon.  Just be fierce.

To learn more about what it means to have dense breast tissue, I encourage you to visit:

red poppy