Today I was scheduled to get my first mammogram.

Backstory: my mom had breast cancer in her early (possibly mid?) forties, and has been pestering me to get a mammogram for years, just to have a baseline. And also just in case I have cancer, even though we all know that’s impossible if you’re under 30, at least according to insurance companies. Ahem.

For years my doctor has pooh-poohed this idea. This year, while she was conducting my breast exam, I brought it up again. She was feeling away at one particular spot for much longer than usual, and then said “Ok, we’ll schedule a mammogram.” Er, oooh-kay.

So I show up at the mammogram place today, and they ask why I’m there. I say something non-committal about just coming in for a baseline screening thingy, Mom had cancer, etc, etc. They still seem confused that I would bother if there’s not actually a noticable lump already.

Once I’m in the exam room, the tech looks over my records and says “So, your doctor found a lump in your left breast!” Really? My doctor didn’t mention that to me.

Anyway, it turns out they don’t jump straight to mammograms, at least not if you’re under 30. They do an ultrasound first, and a mammogram only if they feel it’s necessary. This is why I feel cheated: I was all prepared to go have my boobs pancaked, and have something funny to bitch about in my blog. Instead I just got smeared with warm KY jelly and got a glimpse of my insides on an ultrasound screen.

The “lump” is just a ridge of tissue that’s been there as long as I can remember, possibly scar tissue from the lift I got in the real boob to make it match the fake one. (Hey, anyone reading this not know I have one breast implant? Now you know! Not that I’ve ever kept quiet about it…) Either my doctor was just making up an excuse to get me in for a mammogram since that’s what I wanted, or she was genuinely perturbed by it – in which case she could have just said something, and I would have told her it’s normal.

So, two hours sitting around in a “Breast Center” (which, by the way, had the CRAPPIEST magazine selection ever – the best of the bunch was Good Housekeeping; I saw more than one fishing magazing, in a chick-centric waiting room, for crying out loud). One good slathering with goo. One nervous young doctor who kept asking if he was pushing too hard or if his hands were too cold, as if he was used to patients complaining. Zero cysts or lumps.

Doc: “Keep self-checking. Come back when you’re 35 for a mammogram.”

Tech: “Her mom had cancer in her 40s.”

Doc: “Be extra aggressive, then.”

Um, that’s what I was trying to do here, people. Smoosh my boobs already!

Bonus story: the front desk had a big bowl of what appeared to be plastic-wrapped tampons.  It was only on closer inspection I realized they were mints, just elongated and packaged in pink plastic.  Too bad; for a moment there I thought someone had a fun sense of humor.

Financial responsibility?

Screw that, I say; meet my new Precious, a Sony HC3 hi-def handycam in a Light & Motion Bluefin housing with external monitor:

Some of you may recall that after Australia, Jeff and I put a moratorium on spending so we could pay off credit cards for a while. So why throw thousands more dollars into camera gear?

Well, partly because I’m a consumer whore who sucks at delayed gratification, obviously.

Also, for the sake of our marriage. I’ll explain:

We dropped a lot of money last year on gear for Jeff. The new Canon 5D, a housing, and a surprisingly expensive computer monitor. These were all things I agreed to at the time, but it started to really bug me that Jeff got to have his turn – and then when it was theoretically my turn to spend, we had to be responsible.

Don’t get me wrong, we’ve spent money at my instigation as well. But mostly on things that we both get to enjoy; dive trips and the like.

Lately, every time Jeff’s even mentioned a desire to make a purchase of any sort, my hackles have instantly gone up. After all, it’s =my= turn next, and anyway, we’re being responsible. Every money-related fight we had came back to something along the lines of: “well, YOU just spent all that money last year, so you have no say.” Not fair, but hard to help.

We decided to hell with it; we’ll run the cards back up if it’ll even the scales and get rid of one more thing to fight about, and soothe the resentment that I seemed unable to quell or even hide. So far it’s worked like a charm; I feel like a huge weight is off my shoulders, and Jeff’s been totally supportive.

Of course, now we really DO have to be financially responsible for a while. But I think we can handle it, since there’s nothing left to buy. (Except a high definition television, new dive computers, more dive trips…. time to work on that delayed gratification!)

And it was so worth it – you should see the footage from this baby (I’ll try to post some soon). Soooo pretty. My Precious… :)

Last Tuesday, I gave blood in the morning (actually just red blood cells, which takes longer). I felt kind of wobbly and crappy afterwards, didn’t get much done at work, and finally decided to just cash in a sick day and head home early. But on the way home, I was greeted by the sight of an ENORMOUS plume of smoke rising from Griffith Park. This was the view from our apartment:

I decide to ditch my napping plans, and instead grabbed the 5D and headed out in search of a better view. The fire was burning just on the west side of I-5, in the easternmost bit of the park. So the western edge of Glendale was just across the freeway and the LA River from the burn area, and afforded some excellent sights.

Residential neighborhood next to the freeway:

I found a neat little park that bordered the LA River, and which soon became crowded with onlookers, many of whom had extremely fancy cameras with them.

We were only a few hundred yards from the flames, and it was really impressive to watch. A fire like this creates its own little climate zone, with insane winds lashing around in every direction. The smoke plume would lift away from the fire for a few seconds, giving us an unobstructed view – then the wind would push the smoke downhill again and right at us, bringing thick smoke and big chunks of ash. Every time a helicopter did a water drop, we’d get splattered with a mist of sticky stuff (water plus retardant?):

When I got tired of inhaling smoke, I drove into the hills north of Glendale to get a shot with some altitude. Here you can see how the plume headed straight over Glendale:

I took a break from fire-watching to go have dinner in Santa Monica with a friend, but brought my camera with me just in case. On the way home, you could see the fire lighting up the hills north of Hollywood. I took the 5 back to Glendale, which got me up close and personal with the flames dripping down the Griffith Park hill.

I’d stupidly left the tripod at home, and was too lazy and sleepy to go get it and come back, but I decided to return to the park next to the LA River to try and get some nighttime shots by steadying the camera on the car.

I thought I could get even closer to the flames, so I headed further south into a more residential district. It didn’t take long to find a cul-de-sac with a good view; I just followed the other cars full of photographers. One woman was nice enough to loan me her tripod for a few shots, and help me with camera settings (she also had a 5D – I’m not used to ours yet).

All in all, an exciting day. My clothes reeked of woodsmoke, and I felt like I’d polished off a pack of cigarettes, but it was a cool experience.