Boobs FTW

FTW = For the Win.

NOT Fuck the World. Just wanted to make sure you know what I’m talking about over here. Because I’m not trying to fuck the world with my boobs. I’m WINNING at boobs.

Why Boobs FTW?

Because I haz them. And they are pretty goddamn cool. I mean, I was flatter than a pancake in high school, so I’m really, really happy with my size C cups now. My hubz seems pleased as well. And that gives me a happy.

Why else Boobs FTW?

Because I was able to nurse both my babies. Some women aren’t that fortunate, and that sucks. Also? Some women don’t wanna do that, which is fine because who am I to judge them for their choices? Whatever. I fed my babies booby milk and we got on famously.

Boobs FTW cuz YES.

I won’t lie. I really like my boobs. You know that whole thing where men say to women, “If I had boobs I would touch them all time.”? Well, I’ll be honest. I do touch my boobs. They’re cool. They stick out and they’re soft and whatnot. I’m not trying to gross you out, you guys. I’m just trying to make clear the fact that I very much enjoy my boobs.

Boobs FTW cuz SCIENCE.

Recently I underwent some womanly medical issues which carried me into a doctor’s office and set me to scrutiny under a gynecologist and ended in surgery. Part of all that process involved discussing my family’s medical history. One observation made by the National Cancer Institute set off some red flags:

“The likelihood of a harmful mutation in BRCA1 or BRCA2 is increased with certain familial patterns of cancer.”

Without going into my extended family’s medical history and thereby exposing private issues, let’s just say that I fit the model well enough that my gynecologist had me fill out a very pointed questionnaire, my answers to which prompted her to order a blood test for early detection of the aforementioned gene.

Boobs FTW even if I get stabbed by needles.

The nurse who drew my blood was really sweet, but she left a giant bruise on both my arms. She apologized profusely, but still. Shit was uncool. But whatever. Let’s talk more about *WHY* the nurse got stabby at me, and what she hoped to accomplish. Answer: My bloods went into a test tube that got labeled and sent off to a lab, where some awesome magical techie would shake it around and mix it with potions and view it under a microscope to see if some Breast Cancer genes popped up like a neon sign: MUTATIONS WELCOME HERE.

Mutations:

That’s what the BRCA 1 and BRCA 2 tests are looking for. That shaken-n-stirred process is trying to find out if my boobs are fucked up. The tests seek out cells which kind of don’t fit in, like the dork sitting at the cool kids’ table.

“Everything,” Scotty? Really? I DON’T BELIEVE YOU.

“Red Alert: There is a total loser of a cell glommed on to the popular cells! Shields at maximum capacity.”

“I’m givin’ ‘er all she’s got, Captain!”

“Oh. Then we are fucked.”

When the dorky, loser, mutated cells get picked out in a lineup, that’s when trouble starts. Cuz you can’t just arrest their asses and have them thrown in the hopper. You have to actually consider scary shit like chemotherapy or mastectomy or whatever else is out there to fight the ravages of cancer.

I am lucky.

And very, very grateful. My tests came back negative. I didn’t have to go through the mental anguish (beyond waiting for the results, a nail-biting experience if ever there was one) of wondering which procedure would work best to eradicate my fucked up cells. I got to jump up and down and cheer. Which is nice, since, as I mentioned, I like my boobs.

Andi-Roo’s Boobs FTW!

When I first heard about Angelina Jolie’s boobs, I got sad and sympathetic. I mean, I just went through this whole thing LAST MONTH, you guys, so it’s still pretty fresh in my laundry basket of emotional turmoil, clean enough I could easily don that outfit again without stinking up the joint too badly. Poor Angelina, no more boobs – but good for her in making such a definitive decision, and for bravely announcing her boob sitch to the entire fucking world.

Then peeps got dumb.

I started hearing all this backlash about Angelina’s decision, not a single item of which makes any goddamn sense to me. Let’s take each point against the titty-lobbing and see if we can’t bring some education to the ignorant, loud masses.

1.  “Angelina Jolie is cray-cray anyway.”

Yeah, so her opinion totally doesn’t matter. Because when the BRCA tests came up against mutated cells, her mental state of mind was TOTALLY taken into account.

You guys, please stop being stupid.

Right now. Just stop. Her blood displayed the mutated cells, and given her family history, she totally made an informed, NOT INSANE, decision. She made the decision I’d have made were I in her shoes. And I’ve been accused of being crazy, but never over medical decisions. I’m pretty sure Angelina’s decision to have her breasts removed was an emotional one, yes, but a completely logical one. So step off her phsyco, okay?

2. “Angelina Jolie is panicking and thus inspiring public panic.”

Um. No she isn’t. She isn’t panicking. The results of the BRCA tests announced,

“Bitch, you are a very high risk for Breast Cancer. Or Ovarian Cancer. Maybe both. The Council of Fucked Up Cells has not yet come to a consensus, but they are DEFINITELY meeting on the subject, and soon. Just giving you a heads up.”

Here, read this, dumb-dumbs:

“In other words, a woman who has inherited a harmful mutation in BRCA1 orBRCA2 is about FIVE TIMES MORE LIKELY to develop breast cancer than a woman who does not have such a mutation.”

{Emphasis mine, because FIVE TIMES MORE LIKELY, you guys. FIVE TIMES. Are you getting this? FIVE TIMES MORE LIKELY.}

You know what that says to me?

“TAKE ACTION NOW, OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES.” Panicking would be sticking her head in the sand and pretending that nothing was wrong, that she couldn’t possibly get cancer, that the test was merely a trifle. What Angelina did was discuss the sitch with her medical adviser and come up with a logical course of action.

3. “The rest of us can’t afford to get tested, so she shouldn’t have been tested, either!”

Yes, I love condemning others to death merely because I am economically oppressed. I cannot afford my children’s broken bones, so Angelina Jolie should die. That makes perfect sense…

In no way whatsoever!

What the everlasting fuck is wrong with you morons? She can afford to be tested, and that is awesome. To think otherwise is selfish and vindictive on your part, and I kind of want to barf on your face, because I’ve dealt enough with malicious little spit balls like you in my life time.

ONE, she’s a human fucking being.

I’m not saying I’m a fan of the human species, but… I certainly don’t wish DEATH on anyone, especially not a slow, painful decline wherein one’s body no longer belongs to oneself. I wouldn’t want anyone to die of cancer because some spoiled, self-righteous dick-weeds sat on a test that all of us should be able to access.

TWO, She’s also a very loud advocate for human rights kind of stuff.

I’m betting this breast cancer testing problem gets added to her list of topics to pursue. Now that she knows about it firsthand, she will be in a much better position to help out those less fortunate. I know it seems callous to say, “Hang tight,” but that’s a lot better than what YOU’RE saying.

And let’s talk about who can and can’t afford the test.

I have no idea how much the test costs. I know. I’m ignorant on that score. I don’t pay attention to medical costs, because quite frankly, they don’t matter. I’m not going to avoid having my child’s arms put into a cast depending upon the cost, so WTF do I care? I have a stack of medical bills, and I pay them as I’m able, and I don’t get turned away from my doctor or the hospital for being krillions of dollars behind. You’ve been fooled into thinking you must pay the amount (typically krillions of dollars) all at once or you’ll be tossed out of your home. That isn’t true.

But whatever.

I’m not a normal person, because I don’t get all shaky and fearful at the thought of my credit report getting fucked. I pay for my material shit in cash, so I truly DON’T GIVE EVEN A DOLLAR’S WORTH OF A FUCK that my credit score is low. So enough about me; now on to you.

You don’t need the test if:

• Your family medical history isn’t shitty.
• You don’t fall into certain populations.
• Your medical practitioner says no.

You *DO* need the test if:

• Your family medical history is shitty.
• You fall into certain populations.
• Your medical practitioner says so.

Look. The test is hella expensive.

After I got tested, I received a letter from my insurance company which was the equivalent of huge eyes staring at me in shock. The words were something to the effect of,

“WT-unholy-F do you think you’re doing applying for this hella expensive test? You *DO* realize there are certain criteria which must be met in order for this to be covered, RIGHT? And if we don’t cover it, you will be libel for the krillions of dollars it costs. Hope that works out, ya dumb bitch.”

 Irony:

In the same batch of mail, I received a statement from my insurance company indicating that YES, I did happen to meet their criteria, so YES, they would cover the majority of the cost of the test. Another case of Andi-Roo’s boobs FTW, no?

Here’s my point:

You can’t just be all, “I wanna take that test, but it’s hella expensive, and that shit’s no fair! Wah!” A doctor isn’t going to suggest you get tested unless you have all the right risk factors, and it’s a small, tight club, you guys – and membership is *NOT* something to which you should aspire. Because even after a doctor suggests the test, your insurance company has a similar, if not identical, list of criteria.

You don’t need to worry about the cost, until you need to worry about the cost.

And by then, the least of your concerns will be the cost.

SO FUCKING CHILL OUT, YOU GUYS.

This probably doesn’t even impact you. Moreover, even if Angelina Jolie *DIDN’T* meet the criteria and merely wanted to chop off her boobs for shits and giggles…

So-the-fuck-what? Why you gotta be all hating on her like it’s a personal thing to you? If someone wants to get rid of her breasts, she can if she wants to. It’s none of your goddamn business. You ladies seriously need to get over yourselves.

It’s crazy to suggest that Angelina Jolie had a double mastectomy for the press or the money.

— Chloe Jeffreys

That was a thing? Wow, you guys. Just *WOW*. I kind of hate you all today.