You've heard of garlic or onion breath haven't you? The unfortunate onsumption of the wrong food choice which causes this condition has ruined a lot of first dates.
Well, now we have a new contender for the date-ruining crown: breast cancer breath. And, I'm guessing that if you are hapless enough to end up with breast cancer breath, you are going to miss out on a lot more action than if you had both garlic and onion breath combined.
According to this video, from Detroit's Channel 4 news, there is a new test that can detect early breast cancer, and all you have to do to get diagnosed is to blow into a breathalyzer.
Or, apparently, into a dog.
I have many questions after viewing this report:
In the video, they open by discussing this device that will detect early breast cancer on your breath, but oddly, they cut away to a scene of a woman and her dog.
This woman is allowing the dog to lick her in the face. Don't people who let dogs lick them in the face know what dogs do with their mouths? My own personal dog loves to find little snacks in the cat box, and then lick his own male parts as a chaser. I happen to know that he never brushes his teeth. The aforementioned onion breath would be a definite improvement over what he's sporting.
Anyway, after the dog spreads e-coli all over this woman's face, she asserts that her canine companion told her she had breast cancer.
The newscaster intones, "Carol Witcher says her dog, Floyd Henry, knew something was wrong before she did."
Carol explains, "He looked at me strangely and pushed and snorted my right breast, and pushed and snorted, and pushed and snorted," Carol says. "And, I'm thinking, something's not right."
I would have to agree with that statement. Something is not right.
Now, I do know dogs have remarkable senses of smell, but if a dog sniffing you in a certain area of your body is indicative of cancer, than I really need to get myself a colonoscopy and a PAP smear. Because, my dog seems a lot more interested in what is going on down in the vajayjay area than he ever was in my boobalicious area, even though I had a big old tasty cancer practically popping through the skin. My recently deceased Labrador, who would and did eat everything, from socks to onions to watermelon to drywall, and who could sniff a raisin out of an air-conditioning vent, never even tried to diagnose my breast. My current Greyhound is a bit more picky, but see above about cat boxes: I doubt he'd turn down a nice, meaty tumor. Yet, neither of these slackers ever looked at me strangely to try and tell me that I had cancer.
Naturally, the newscaster (who happens to be an M.D.) agrees with the dog's diagnosis. "Turns out, Floyd Henry was right on track. Carol was diagnosed with breast cancer."
This is when they cut away to a scene of a gloved medical professional putting a top on a tube-like device, as the newscaster says, "This breath test confirmed the diagnosis."
(Of the dog, I might remind you.)
Charlene Bayer, PhD, who is running this breathalyzer project, says eloquently in regards to the value of this type of evaluation, "The big difference is that you go in and get your breasts crushed, or do a radiological test. What this does, is you breathe into it, and we measure just from the breath."
They don't really describe exactly what they measure, do they? Chemical compounds, is as specific as they get. I was impressed that this researcher stated that breasts were "crushed" during mammograms.
Hmmm...well, they are squeezed, they are pressed, they are squished, they are, perhaps, even tortured. But crushed? Doesn't that imply structural damage, like a car in a demolition yard? Like a soda can on recycling day? Like the hopes of a 13 year old at a dance who ends up sitting in the corner all night?
I think crushed is a pretty harsh word for a medical professional to use, don't you?
I sure hope that kind of terminology doesn't catch on in Doctor-World. Or, soon we'll be having some pretty gruesome-sounding treatments, won't we? Can you imagine how they might describe, say, a barium enema? "Mrs. Silberman, we are going to jam a big-assed tube the size of a hose up your butt, inflate a balloon, and then squirt radioactive stuff to ream you out until you scream."
The story continues with Carol talking about her doctor's prognosis, "And last May she says, 'Carol, you are cancer-free.'" Then they cut to the dog again, as Floyd Henry nods in agreement.
The newscaster confirms this, "Thanks to the breath test and a persistant pooch, Carol's breast cancer is now behind her."
Then Carol plays the harmonica as her dog howls along.
Now, here is my question: if that dog could detect Carol's cancer, and it was merely confirmed by this new breath test, aren't we spending our research dollars incorrectly?
Frankly, if I was the boss, Cesar Milan would be in charge of this particular breast cancer research. He could send out his pack to sniff the racks of women world-wide.
Cesar Milan, The Breast Whisperer.
Pain and Frustration
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