It’s October, so I need to post about boobs. Ta-tas. Bazoombas. Breasts. Those things that the boys always noticed, that I nursed my children with, and that some women whom I love and respect very much no longer have two of.
We’ve come a long way on the path of breast cancer awareness; we may be more aware of it than any other cancer. I remember when there was just “lung cancer” and “cancer,” and nobody ever got better. Now we talk about early detection, successful treatment, and survival. We’ve made huge advances, at least in wealthy industrialized nations, but until we have prevention and cure, we are not done.
My contributions to the cause tend to look like this:
That is a handcrafted prosthetic breast, a gift for a woman who needs a temporary cup-filler before reconstruction, who has a bad skin reaction to silicone, or whose medical insurance won’t cover a $400 prosthesis. It’s called a “knitted knocker,” although mine are crocheted because I don’t knit. I donate them to mastectomy patients through this wonderful program run by The Knitting Experience Cafe.
So touch them if you’ve got them (regularly!), and do what you can to support the women and men fighting this killer. Walk a few laps, give a few dollars, or knit a knocker. It all adds up.