“I’d Rather Have A Pet Octopus.”

I’m not sure I can adequately describe how shocking the phrase, “Oryou can have a mastectomy,” is to someone who has had a pretty great relationship with her boobs her whole life.

They never really bothered me, fed my babies, held my clothes up. All normal anatomical functions for healthy breasts. Even at 51, when they’re not so perky and hard to buy a comfortable bra for, I have no ill will towards my boobs. They don’t define me, but they certainly make it easier to find dropped M&M’s when I’m cramming my stress-eating face with chocolate.

“You have breast cancer.”

Boom. There it was, out in the open.Breast cancer. I knew it before he said it, but it’s my nature to bristle and posture instead of scream and cry.

“What? No way! I never order cancer here, it’s always undercooked. I’d like to see…