September

and my first day off of the month, my joy knows no bounds.

So first, some admin stuff, which starts out with a story. Today walking out of the building when I got off work I spied a co-worker who I had not seen for a while. I mentioned this and he said he had been out just a few days shy of six months.

With prostate cancer.

I mentioned that September is prostate cancer awareness month, and if I wasn't at work that I would be wearing a kilt to commemorate it. He laughed at that and said he had no need to wear a kilt now.

This story fortunately has a happy ending, they caught it in time and he is going to be fine, but there were some ominous shadows in the story...starting with the one where he had to go to two different urologists and insist on having his prostate checked the old fashioned way before they finally caught it.

The first urologist didn't  have the slightest clue what the problem was and the second diagnosed an enlarged prostate and wanted to just cut it up a bit, which very likely would have ended up in the cancer spreading instead of being caught. If you didn't get slightly bug-eyed at that you aren't paying attention.

Statistically speaking prostate cancer is as easy to treat, and as survivable, as breast cancer. The problem is catching it in time, and since most men are a little leery of the finger they may not be so eager to get checked. Not to worry though, it's not all bad. The recommended check used to be annually and digitally (and no, this doesn't mean by using a camera or a computer), now it is every two years by blood test. If you are over 50, or if you are in an increased risk group, it's worth the effort.




One in seven. Get checked. The kilt is on and the hot button is on the sidebar.

Me and Sis, breast cancer survivor

In commemoration of Prostate Cancer Awareness Month, and in view of the Kilted to Kick Cancer campaign, this month's redhead shares the stage with three other kilted lassies. Sorry for the poor picture, it's the best one I had to pick from. I really should have gotten a better one of her, but they all had to go back to work.

And last but not least, twenty eight years ago tomorrow I got a telegram. I was on the ship and a long way from home, and even though the news was expected it still came as a shock to this 20 year old sailor boy. It was that day that I realized that I would have to kill every male child on the planet.

Happy Birthday Youngest Daughter!

And with that, it's off to bed.