By now I’ll bet you’ve noticed a lag in the scheduled programming here at BB&W Central, and that’s because I am reporting from a Starbucks in Palmdale, California, not too far away from the hospital where my mother is about to go into surgery to remove a malignant lump (although quite tiny) from her breast. BREAST. CANCER. Little did I know this disease ran in my family, because for some odd reason, black women had trouble talking about ‘The Booby Disease.’ My mom can’t even say the word “cancer.” She mostly calls it “the condition” or “that disease,” or my personal favorite, “C.” Come to find out after her diagnosis, my mother’s aunt and cousin both had breast cancer, so chances are I have the genetic potential for those little buggers to pop up in my push-up bra one of these days.

So here’s your crazy cousin Alice telling you that you had better ask questions about whether or not ‘the boobie disease’ is in your family history. If you’re over 40 start getting tested. If your doctor blows you off, cover one nostril and blow him a sticky, green booger and find one who will take you seriously.

How ironic that my mother was diagnosed and having surgery in October–Breast Cancer Awareness month. I take is as a sign, or…omen. I’ll soon find out whether or not my mother carries the insidious breast cancer gene, and if she does, it’s time for me to get proactive about prevention. I joked about getting a boob job last week, but it turns out it could actually be a preventative measure. Out with the old tissue, in with the silicone? I feel totally weird about it now.

Anyway, say a prayer for Mom, and see you manana when I have put the marbles back in my head.