The Film at 11

This is just a quickie update, with the promised film at 11. Here are some pics of Beaux Eaux at his new home. He looks happy, and God knows the terrain is a lot more luscious than ours here.

I don't have snapshots of the aforementioned breast anomaly; there are some things that are just way too much information, even for me. About that, though: the lump has all but disappeared, after the application of some do-it-myself Reiki and a couple days' worth of broad-spectrum antibiotics. I am, however, bowing to the considerable pressure and getting screened next week. (Okay, okay, OKAY. Jeez.) I found that there is a program in New Mexico for just this situation, i.e., a woman of a certain age has a breast anomaly, and needs to be screened and can't pay for it, so a branch of the state's Medicaid program covers it. The program was not easy to find (11 phone calls), nor yet to arrange (5 more phone calls to date), and I cannot imagine what would happen if I were (a) illiterate, (b) non-English speaking, (c) intimidated by officious, SUSpicious and overall disinterested bureaucrats, and/or (d) had a real and serious, malignant mass in my breast. I would die, I guess, and in a particularly horrible way.

On the other hand, I am here to tell you that should something come up, I will NOT surrender my body to the tender mercies of the New Mexico welfare health system. Make no mistake, this state is a Third World Country, Bill Richardson notwithstanding. It's the Haiti of the continental United States. If I happen to turn up with some kind of cancer, I am headed for Sloane-Kettering on the next plane. If I need a hip replaced, ditto to India, Thailand or Belgium. Et cetera. Let the word go forth.

Right now we can't be bothered with such trivialities; on Friday my oldest bestest friend comes to town for a few days, and we are scurrying around cleaning up after the Beaux Eaux scourge, planning trips to Santa Fe and Taos, stocking the fridge, preparing the Margarita mix. This is almost an annual event, looked forward to by all of us. I can't WAIT.

So, I'll get back to y'all after she leaves, and after I've been screened. (Let's not kid around: a mammogram is what someone described as lying down on the floor of your garage in sub-zero temperatures, placing your breast behind a back tire, and getting someone to drive over it three or four times. It won't kill me, but it will be NO FUN.)

I do thank you all for responding with concern and encouragement. I really have the very BEST friends.