By George, I Think I've Got it!

Today a friend sent a viral email with a powerpoint presentation attachment that made beautiful promises about my life if only I forwarded it to 10 people within ten minutes of opening it. Of course, if I didn't immediately forward the message, bad things would befall me and those I love.

I didn't pass it along. I didn't think the presentation was all that clever. The litmus test I use is whether my sisters will enjoy or appreciate the message. This one didn't pass the test.

So I hit delete instead of forward. And then it occurred to me.

A few years ago, before email overload, I was less discriminating about the forwards I would share with family and friends. I passed them all along -- although I admit a few times I included a disclaimer - "This is dumb, but I didn't want to take the chance of bad things happening to me if I didn't send it."

Then, as the world bombarded us with spam, and I began to appreciate how much time email wastes most days, I really did become more selective about which messages I'd pass along.

It became easier and easier to delete messages that promised curses on my life for the next seven years.

This morning it hit me like a ton of bricks. I didn't have breast cancer when I was forwarding those goofy, time-wasting, spelling-mistake-filled powerpoint messages that steal people's photography and art without credit, promising prayers, great riches, true love. Then I started deleting them. Then I had breast cancer.

So I'm going back to the bad old days -- I'm forwarding everything to everyone. I'm not taking any more chances!

Knock wood.

It's Always Something

I spent the day today in a series of doctor's appointments. I attended the first appointment this morning with my sister, Christine. We are initiating genetic testing for the breast cancer gene in our family. Before having a routine blood test, we had to meet with a genetic counsellor. My genes are feeling much better now, thank you.

After reviewing our family tree, the counsellor deemed that my father's side of the family was "suspicious." Chris and I started laughing hysterically. Maybe it's those dark, shifty eyes, or perhaps his swarthy complexion. This explains why he always liked Pink Panther movies and Tom Clancy thriller novels.

It turns out today's Toronto Star story was prophetic:

Breast cancer gene often passed down 'silently'
Jun 19, 2007 04:07 PM
Carla K. Johnson
Associated Press

CHICAGO – A deadly gene's path can hide in a family tree when a woman has few aunts and older sisters, making it appear that her breast cancer struck out of nowhere when it really came from Dad." Click here to read the full story.

After our appointment in Mississauga, I went to the local hospital to see my specialist. It has been four weeks since I was discharged from the hospital and sent home with the Freedom Vac. For the past 28 days twenty-four hours a day, I have carted this wonder machine with me everywhere. It was like having a long umbilical cord that caught on EVERYTHING: kitchen cupboards, door knobs, lawn furniture, the bottom of the bathroom door (almost fainted from the pain). I was extremely grateful to have the machine and was very proud of my cleverness in rigging it up as a fanny pack so that I had much more mobility.

The good news is that my doctor today ordered the vacuum removed. The wound has healed enough to now be managed the good, old-fashioned way. Nurses will still come to the house every second day to dress the wound and ensure that it continues healing.

The bad news? I was shocked to be treated as if I had the plague. The attending nurse came in practically wearing body armour, equipped with a pile of tools for collecting samples. She ordered the doctor to put on gloves if he was treating me. He looked alarmed. "She's been tagged VSE," the nurse barked. They started medical speak about VSE. "Excuse me, isn't VSE an antibiotic resistant bacteria?" I asked.

After much yelling by the attending nurse, my surgeon and his head of nursing, combined with a number of phone calls to the infectious disease control (IDC) department, I learned that a patient in the room with me during my hospital stay was VSE positive. That means that I could be exposed and a carrier, too.

I lifted my head off the hospital bed and looked at my doctor. "So, what you're telling me is that I have cooties?" I asked. It helped diffuse some of the stress.

Why wasn't I notified? According to the very busy administrator in IDC, they're too busy. "Do you know how many faxes we receive every day?" she snarled at the second nurse.

If I am a carrier, I've infected hundreds of people in the past four weeks, including 32 people in the outpatient lab services at Credit Valley Hospital in Mississauga today alone. Then there's the risk to my sister Christine, who already has a compromised immune system and is recovering from her own surgery last week. (Please read about Christine's adventures here.) My own wound is at great risk, too.

I have to wait ten days for the test results. From the research I did on-line, it appears that honey is an effective antidote to VSE infections. Let's hope I don't need to know that.

Today I've thought frequently about Rosanna Rosannadanna, aka Gilda Radner. Gilda, who died of ovarian cancer far too early, entitled her autobiography, It's Always Something, which is exactly what her character always told Jane Curtin on the original Saturday Night Live.

It's Always Something.

On the other hand, my sister Roni recently told me "90% of Everything Turns Out to Be Nothing."

I have a feeling both are true.

I Couldn't Make this Up if I Tried!

It seems Paris Hilton today professed a commitment to "stop acting dumb." Duh, broke that promise already, didn't she? Evidently, Paris made her stunning announcement in a collect telephone call from jail to Barbara Walters. If you were Paris's press agent, how would you handle this breaking news story? I mean, would you issue a press release on the subject? Let's not even discuss the poor little rich heiress making a collect call.... that's just too easy of a target, isn't it?

I wanted to post a picture of Paris on my blog so I thought I'd visit her website. Stop me from killing myself laughing. Under the headline 'Appearances' it actually says, "There are no current appearances planned." I guess she's tied up.

We could have so much fun with this.... Imagine the headlines over the next few weeks:

Mel Gibson Promises to Stop anti-Semitic Rants

OJ Simpson Vows to Find Nicole's Killer if it's the Last Thing on Earth that He Does

Rosie O'Donnell Pledges to Kiss and Make Up with Donald Trump, no Elizabeth Hasselbeck, no George Bush....

Gary Busey Swears to Not Act Insane

OK, that part WAS made up. This is too much fun! Send me your suggestions, I'll be happy to add them to the list....

Don't Leave Important Things to the Last Minute

Hot off the presses #1: Winnie Mandela was denied a visa to enter Canada the day before she was scheduled to give the key note address at a fundraising arts gala earlier this week. The gala was to include excerpts of a newly composed opera, The Passion of Winnie, based on her colourful and controversial life.

Hot off the presses #2: Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper will not meet with U2 frontman and global anti-poverty activist Bono during this week's G8 summit in Germany. The PM's spokesperson said, "The Prime Minister has spoken in the past via telephone with Bono and obviously the Prime Minister has a very full agenda for the next two days."

The news/talk radio station phone lines have gone crazy the past couple days with spirited, but not always intelligent, debate about whether Winnie is being unfairly targeted and whether Prime Minister Stephen Harper is out of touch with today's global issues. The callers are passionately divided.

But it seems to me that everyone has missed the point. The opera based on Winnie Mandela's life has been in the works since 2003. Although the producers may not have finalized their funding that far in advance, I'm certain the premiere has been scheduled for at least a few months. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the organizers contacted Ms. Mandela first to see when she might be able to visit Toronto, then scheduled the event around her commitment. So, you know you're going to Canada in a few months and you need a visa. Isn't that something you do -- or your people do -- MONTHS in advance? If she had been denied the visa a month or two before the event, it would hardly have been the breaking news story it became. Convicted criminals are denied entry into Canada all the time. It's only news because someone left it to the last minute.

Same thing with Bono and Prime Minister Harper. I'm sure the dates of this year's G8 summit were long ago published. As one of the G8 member countries, our PM was fully expected to attend. Why didn't Bono's people request some time on the Prime Minister's itinerary months ago? I know from my international travel experience, you confirm all of your appointments long before you leave for your trip -- especially those most critical to your mission. You sure as heck don't show up and hope to get a meeting.

And then complain about it when you don't.

That's Another Fine Art We've Lost!

The world should be mourning the loss of Saskatchewan farmer, Gus Wickstrom, who died this weekend at the age of 69.

Why is that we know so much about Paris Hilton, but, until now, we've never heard or read about poor, not-so-old Gus?

Gus Wickstrom of Tompkins, Saskatchewan was one of a dying breed of weather prognosticators using the spleen of a pig. According to the Toronto Star:

"...Wickstrom would slaughter a pig, pluck out its spleen, bite into it, and come up with a forecast for the area around Tompkins in southwest Saskatchewan.

Wickstrom was so good that he was featured in The Old Farmers Almanac and his prognostications were published in several community newspapers and websites."

Evidently Wickstrom was 90% accurate in his long-term forecasts. The most forward-looking forecast you'll get from the Weather Channel is 7-days -- and even then, with all their fancy equipment and science, they're not always that accurate.

Gus learned his technique from his father. The Star continues the story:

"According to The Old Farmer's Almanac, there was some method to his long-range six-month forecasting system.

He would divide the spleen into six areas – one piece for each month. The piece closest to the pig's head shows the current month while the bottom represents the end of the forecast period.

Where the spleen thickens would indicate a change in the weather – likely a cold spell."

Gus also claimed that he could forecast wind and rain by biting into the pig's spleen.

The thing I'd like to know, of course, is HOW THE HECK DID THEY LEARN THAT IN THE FIRST PLACE? Imagine back in the dust-bowl days, a coupla farmboys, having just completed all their chores, are sitting around playing truth or dare.... Well, you can picture the rest....

I do hope that Gus passed his knowledge and expertise on to the next generation before he, um, passed on. I, for one, would hate to think that pig spleen weather forecasting is now exinct.