Alternate Blog Title:
Upper Decker Flopper Stoppers. 

The “Blog Fodder” file pile is rapidly growing in my mind and in my backpack, purse, desk, and car.

I have at least 4 partially jotted down bits of texts. Some on paper bags, some on the backs of tardy bills, some in my calendar/address book. (Yes, that is correct. I still carry around a paper calendar everywhere I go. It is who I am, and how I function.)

Today on my commute home, as I was digging out the broken underwire from my brassiere, I thought, OK: a mini blog. Tonight deserves a mini-blog.

It was going to be along these lines:

Along with the many frustrations of weight gain, ill fitting clothing has emerged as a somewhat serious problem. Working as an Oncology Nurse Navigator, I am expected to wear some semblance of career casual business attire. As the seasons change, and my body ebbs and flows in interesting directions, dressing appropriately for my work day poses a daily challenge.

I have been known to swing into a Fred Meyer’s right as they open at 0700 for a blouse that I can move my arms in, larger underwear for the expanding bum, and yesterday, a new bra.

And often, driving between one, two, sometimes even three campuses for early morning meetings, my car becomes an enormous laundry/gym bag. There are flip flops, running shoes, Dansko clogs. Cowgirl boots for when I want that extra inch of height, or I’m feeling sassy.

There is dirty laundry, clean underwear, a beach towel, and a swim suit (for that day that never comes when I’m going to get off work on time and go to the gym on the way home).

This morning, I was driving out to the hospital extra early: a patient was being checked in for a lumpectomy. I knew I had other conflicting appointments later in the day, and that I needed to arrive to campus early if I was going to be able to wish her well in person.

On the drive in, I realized my bra was quite ill-fitting. This in and of itself is not exciting news. But as I gave it a little yank, trying to adjust in into place, the underwire snapped, poking me in the breast right under my seatbelt.

Super uncomfortable? Yes. But something I could really stop to do something about given that I was on my way to visit a breast cancer patient? No. I think not.

Then, at the end of the day, came this text from my husband:

Perspective. Every day brings me new perspective.