Cynthia Rogan's Blog, page 6

Checking on the sisters

The Himalayas

The twins, the ladies, the girls, the sisters, the Himalayas: Whatever you call them, you want to keep them as safe as possible.

I went for a mammogram on Wednesday morning.

First thing I did was sit down with the intake person. I had to fill out some forms, answer a few questions. You’ve been there. You know about the paperwork.

In her office, above her computer, was the picture of a little tow-headed boy eating a great big slice of watermelon. What a cutie.

“My co-worker’s son,” she said. She took a copy of my insurance card and asked me to fill out one more sheet.

There were two questions on it. I don’t remember the first one, but the second almost made me cry.

It said:  Because violence in the home is a serious health risk, we ask everyone: Do you have any concerns about your own personal safety?

All you had to do was check the box right next to that question and somebody would know. I wish it had been there when I was with Quinton–back in the black and blue years. I couldn’t tell anyone what was going on then, but I think I might’ve been able to check that box.

Well, when I got that done, a tech called my name and I followed her from the waiting room to this tiny, pink floral-curtained changing closet.

“Take everything off above the waist,” she said, smiling as if she and I were old friends. She handed me a blue gown. “And, put this on so it opens down the front.”

She walked away to peek at my file while I changed.

I closed the curtain, stripped to the waist, put on the gown, and was seated in a comfortable chair when she returned just moments later.

People are always making jokes so I was sort of nervous.

The tech applied the pressure a little at a time. As she increased it, she’d ask, “Are you doing okay?” She told me she would stop if it was too much.

But I was fine.

To tell you the truth, I never felt slammed between elevator doors and it certainly wasn’t like an eighteen wheeler rolled over my breast. It didn’t hurt.

There was one thing, though. I just kept thinking, “I hope there’s not a fire, I hope there’s not a fire,” ’cause I was wedged in there pretty good. But as soon as the tech pressed a button, the machine released and my breast sprung right back into shape.

Mammograms are painless and they help keep the sisters safe.

And speaking of safe, if your doctor has added a domestic violence question to their paperwork, thank them. If they haven’t,  ask them to consider it. That will save some sisters too.

Talk to you soon,

Symphony

For the good of us all

I was in the mall the other day looking for back to school clothes for an eight-year-old. I’m surprised they haven’t added a make-up counter in the girl’s section. Do they make spike heels for children?

The dresses I’ve posted can be found right now in back to school sections in malls across the country. Girl’s sizes 7-16.

Last week, I was listening to the Today show and heard parents of child beauty show contestants being interviewed. T[image error]hey, of course, defended the competitions as being “confidence and poise building.” These children were all older than Jon Benet Ramsey and said they enjoyed their participation. I must say that I never knew a child who didn’t prefer cookies over spinach but do we let them eat cookies for dinner? Not on my watch.

Then there are the parents who set their four-year-old up with fake boobs and buttocks so she could imitate Dolly Parton. I’m sorry, but that’s just disgusting. How can anyone think that’s cute? It’s completely sexual where sex has no business.

Since early this year, your seven-year-old daughter could get a push-up bikini top for $24.50, courtesy of Abercrombie and Fitch. OMG! Whose idea was that?

But I’m not the only one with an opinion on the bikini top. See The Consumerist. The Society Pages has some links that will make you say, “What the hell is wrong with us?”

Why do people even watch Toddlers and Tiaras?

Why can’t our little girls just put on our high heels and dresses like they always have? Let them dream of being their mommies. They can sneak a little lipstick when we’re not looking. We can polish their toenails and show them how to drive a nail with a hammer. Make them strong. Teach them that who they are is more important than what size bra they wear or how much leg they show.

Please tell me I’m right. We do believe that who they are IS more important than what size bra they wear or how much leg they show. Don’t we?