Rose's Cantina

#85183166 / gettyimages.com Right now, your BMI is 35, said Dr. Ben. After the breast reduction, you'll be 30.1. So, I'm not obese? No, you're just overweight . I stood in front of Scott the other day, in my underwear, and showed him my rapidly shrinking middle. He couldn't believe it. I had to show him in my underwear because, to the outside world, I don't look a hell of a lot different. And that's because of my boobs, cup size G. They are all you can see when I'm coming at you. They hide the middle, giving off so much shade that it really doesn't matter what the rest of me looks like. Nothing can live under there. To repeat a hurtful joke once told to me, I haven't seen my feet in years. And so it was, at my last physical, I asked Dr. Ben to book me a breast reduction, something I've been fighting for years. I always thought that breast reductions were selfish things in a world when women were losing their lobes to canc...

@ rosalita54 You know Rose I give free breast exams! I even do housecalls, when husbands are not around of course, I'm a backdoor man. — I AM THE JJ! (@JJClarkeOttawa) March 16, 2013 We all know that people can be inappropriate on Twitter, right? But what about celebrities? I recently tweeted about getting a Mamagram and got this tweet in return. JJ Clarke: Really? What would your wife say? I am assuming this isn't the real JJ Clarke, the weatherman from CTV. If it isn't then JJ may have a complaint against the guy who spends most of his time writing inapprpriate musings about sex and defecation. He has all kinds of followers who seem to think he's the real McCoy. This is not good for the rep of a local personality. If it is you, JJ, get a new hobby. My husband has access to my twitter account -- and he's packin'.

March seems to be the month you get mad at. We spend all winter looking forward to March and it nearly always disappoints us. This year it's snowy and cold. Most years it's rainy and bleak. Only last year did we sing March's praises only to be let down on this one. We want to be golfing, instead we're still shovelling. The only people who love this weather are the ski lift owners and frankly they can just go fuck themselves. Scott drove me to the hospital yesterday for my MamaGram in a blizzard -- on the highway, a place I never go. We were heading toward Parkdale Avenue in a whiteout and some guy decided he didn't want to take the ramp and dovetailed back into traffic right before our eyes. Then we waited on the ramp because a cop had decided to do a traffic stop. When I left home, we were right on time for my appointment. When we finally got to the Civic campus we were fifteen minutes late. March, the month that always lets us down. The appointment it...

I'm going for a mamm scan today. Wish me luck. I had a mammogram -- they should really spell it MamaGram -- and ultrasound six months ago and the radiologist thought he saw something. They took pictures from all sides -- man, with the size of my breasts wouldn't it be wild if they did this in 3D? Anyhoo, they couldn't definitely find anything, so I'm going back for another blast of rays. I'm okay with it. What's great about the Ottawa Hospital's breast health program is that they let you know right away if there are demons lurking in the old milk ducts. I got to go home with a clean bill last time. Hope for the same today. I used to worry about these things, wring my hands for days before the procedure, lay awake at night with the "what if?" scenarios. I don't anymore. I told Scott last night it's like worrying whether your husband is cheating on you. If he is, there's nothing you can do about it until you see lipstick on ...

More evidence that I am shallow. Scott: Are you going to the gym today? Me: No, I have a doctor's appointment. I can't do both. Scott: But the doctor's only to renew your blood pressure meds. Me: Yeah, and discuss the results of my mammogram. Scott: But your mammogram was clear. Me. Still. Scott: I don't get it. Most people hold down jobs, look after their little kids, have hobbies. And you can't go to the gym and the doctor in one day? Me: Exactly. I am not a well person, headwise. I cannot multitask. If I have more than one thing to do in the day -- other than walk the dogs and do the dishes -- I become a complete shipwreck. I'm recovering from last week. I edited the copy for my magazine, helped Scott shoot a music video (by hanging around and suggesting cool shots while playing Angry Birds) and took in an audiology conference, all in French, a language I do not speak. I'm exhausted. So I need a couple weeks off. Seriously. I have to co...

Perimenopause was a bitch for me. Let's recap. For ten years, I had to wear a diaper-sized pad to keep me from wetting my pants. I couldn't walk down the street without getting dizzy. I developed such crushing panic attacks I had to quit my job, after which I rarely left home. I became paranoid. I gained twenty pounds and my boobs grew to the size of footballs. Then I hit menopause and it all went away. That's when I developed hot flashes, the ones that have plagued me for five years now. And yet...not once did a doctor give me a cure for what ailed me. That's because, during my "time", hormone replacement therapy became a nasty phrase. And that's because a big study came out which linked HRT with rising rates of breast cancer. Today, I read about another longitudinal study which has dismissed the previous study. HRT is now apparently great for women at my age and stage. As Adam Sandler once said: "You could have told me that yesterday ...

There's a sign on the desk at the Ottawa Women's Breast Health Centre at the Civic Hospital asking fellow travellers to dump out their change into a jar. The centre is expanding and needs the support of those who use it. I used it yesterday, and dutifully donated my coffee money to the cause. My donation was pretty pitiful considering most of the money in that jar was in the form of fives and tens. I didn't have more on me, or I would gladly have given it. Catch ya later. Yesterday was my call back from the breast-cancer screening I had done two weeks ago. The radiologist noticed a small "nodule" which one of the technicians explained was a "density", and he wanted to get a better boo at what it was. So my left breast was squeezed and contorted, slathered with cream and examined with an ultrasound paddle. Then I sat in a pretty little room with several women of all ages, shapes and sizes while I waited for the verdict. In the short half hour I ...

It's been a whirlwind day. I'm so excited, I can barely stand it. This morning, we went for credit counselling to try to get a handle on some debt we accumulated while running our business (into the ground) a few years back. Our journey took us into deepest, darkest Vanier (I actually saw a sign that said: 'Welcome to Las Vanier'. I fully expected to see either the ghost of Hunter S. Thompson or Marlon Brando.) Unlike the people you visit when declaring personal bankruptcy, who are all bubbly and sweet, the credit counsellor was dour, inscrutible even. But by the end of the session, we had him rolling in the aisles laughing about the $600 Shyla racked up on our Rogers bill for "ringtones" and our quest for boarders who don't put down "no fixed address" as their previous location. He commiserated about the doggie debt of $3,000 we owe to our 26-year-old and told us his own tale about nearly being put into debtor's prison himself by th...

I finally realized last night that I have become, officially, unhinged. This happens to me once in a great while when I'm under an enormous amount of stress. It's been a bad economic time for our family with Scott changing jobs, Nick not having one, and me working only six months of the year as a magazine editor. Our rent is too high and our bills were getting away from us. We also have a Mastercard that we've been unable to pay off for years now because of the crushing interest payments. We've made some course corrections in the last month or so which will finally make our living situation manageable. Our plan is to have all the debt paid off in two years and finally start saving again. It's not that we're spendthrifts but we've faced several crises in the last couple of years that started to sink us. It began with the toxic oil spill on Smyth Road. We had to make an emergency move which, despite having insurance, started to eat away at what savings...

It's been two weeks since my mammogram and I thought I was in the clear. No news is good news, right? Apparently not. It seems the doc wants another look at my left boob. The nice lady at the Riverside called to say that that boob is very dense and he couldn't see all the way through, so they have to take a few more shots, then do an ultrasound. The lady went out of her way to re-assure me that this is normal. Guess she didn't want me to jump off a bridge over the long weekend. I'm not like that. I'm cool with this. I've had nothing but trouble with my left breast for years. It's about an eighth bigger than the other one and, as a result of this, the dog keeps stepping on it. Yowza. I used to get a lot of pain in it as well. That was until I realized I needed to buy bigger bras. Besides being dense, it's absolutely huge. Sometimes I think there are families of mice or other rodents living in it. Maybe a few spiders. Am I nervous? Nah. What...

Today is a day of mixed emotions. I'm still basking in the glow of becoming mother of the bride. Marissa and Jeff came over yesterday and we served them a little bottle of champagne and a mess of ribs, chicken, corn and roast potatoes. Not exactly on my meal plan, but what the hoo? A person's daughter doesn't get engaged everyday. Today will not be as glamorous. Today, I am going for a mammogram and I am not looking forward to it. It's not that I'm scared. Mammograms are pretty harmless as a procedure. No one is poking up your ass or down your throat. Nobody is making you quaff chalk-like drinks that give you a flaming asshole afterwards. It's usually just you and a nice, efficient French lady with the radiologist hiding in the back like a director on a porn flick. It's just that this is bound to be painful. I have roughly ten pounds of boob weight which will be squished between cold slabs for about a half an hour. The boob work isn't that ...

I've been pre-occupied of late with my favorite subject -- my breasts. Often I make fun of them because they are absolutely huge. For the past year, I've been living up the alphabet in the H section, though through hard work, I think I've brought them down to a more sensible DDD. Still. I never minded being big breasted. It got me jobs. It got me dates. But huge breasted is nothing if not disgusting. You cannot buy clothes that fit properly. If you wear something loose, you look like you're a fattie. If you wear something tight, you look like a floosie. Add to that a middle aged face, well, then you look like Ma Kettle. (Though looking at Ma now, I realize she was actually smaller than I am. Sheesh.) I've become pre-occupied with how much I hate my breasts. They embarrass me. They make me feel ugly. Scott took a beautiful picture of me a few weeks back and I had to ask him to crop it. Here's what it looks like without the crop. Because of their s...