The women in my family share the bond of having fibrocystic breasts. It's the kind of thing that you can ignore as white noise until it affects you, which is what I've always done until last year. Then of course I grilled my sisters about their biopsies (all 3 have had them). And now that the fuss of sharing is over, we're back to the white noise part. I didn't even bring up my appointment during dinner last night. Today while waiting for my turn, and then waiting for another turn, and finally waiting for an ultrasound, I had sort of a resolved calm about it. I was more freaked out last year. And hearing that it was fine, but having to go in for an ultrasound was a mixed message that didn't really appease me.
I suppose I should just count myself lucky that it took 46 years to get to the place where genetics started to show up. All my mammograms have been digital rather than x-ray, and that is what prevented me from being aware of the state of my boobs. I've always had calcifications, but until they started looking a bit different last time, my third mamm, the doctors were content to just keep an eye on them. My one sister isn't as lucky. With her insurance, she has standard mamms and has had 3 biopsies already. I've turned my other local sister on to my digital imaging center. She has crappy insurance that doesn't cover silly things like women's health, and it's made her a bit gun-shy, as it were, about going for another mammogram. In fact I better check up on her and make sure she followed through like she said she would...
There are so many other genetic things that could be wrong with my family: I know in many ways we're really lucky. Breast cancer is not one of them, but fibrocystic breasts is sort of like the ugly step sister of problems: mostly benign, but a hell of a pain in the ass....
Survivor of the holidays!
I made it through Thanksgiving! I slaved over the meal and the turkey was pretty damned good. I brined it in kosher salt and creole seasoning, and then roasted it with herbs, onions and garlic--and 3 sticks of butter (I'm waiting to tell my sisters about the butter: I'm so mean!) I searched and searched for tarts for dessert, since I didn't want tempting leftovers hanging around and circumventing my restart to Weight Watchers. After a morning dicing and chopping and sauteing, I ended up stuffing so bad that I tossed it after everyone left. The really ironic thing is my excuse for making stuffing this year was to have it moister than last year's. That mine was even dryer while being spicy was just plain embarrassing. After the fact, I realized it was because I followed the recipe to the letter. When I made it in the past, I didn't use actual cornbread (it is, after all, supposed to be cornbread stuffing), and that would go to explain what went to heinously wrong. Jason also over salted the gravy, but I don't do gravy so that faux pas didn't bother me as much. The turkey was a bit on the salty side, and I will certainly cut down the salt in the brine next time (the recipe was for a 16 lb bird, but mine was only 12). It also called for 2 tablespoons of salt after the brining, which I cut in half.
Things to remember for next time: salt it outside of the roasting pan. And I had to admit it, but our expensive non-stick roaster is not suited for deglazing the pan for the gravy, so I may have to get another one for just turkeys. After I get a job....
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