cancer slayer

How is this even possible? According to a piece that appeared in the New York Times, women who have their ovaries surgically removed have an increased risk of getting lung cancer.

Sigh.

As if living without ovaries isn’t already a kick in the crotch. Now most of us have to worry about our lungs — organs that until last week seemed totally unrelated to the reproductive system?

Yes, according to scientists at the University of Montreal. Their research demonstrates that for some odd reason, women who undergo medically induced menopause (pretty much every ovarian cancer patient) almost double their chances of developing lung cancer.

And get this: None of this applies to women who enter menopause naturally. Did I mention how unfair this is? Does it sound like I have ovary envy?

Okay, on a very basic level, I understand that the organs in the body are all related. That is that they act in tandem to keep us alive. But the organs in question are nowhere friggin’ near each other.

Then again, studies report weird links all the time, and despite how bizarre they sound, they’re generally unearthed by people who know way more than I do.

Cell phones and skull-penetrating radiation, for example, milk and acne, caffeine and miscarriages. How about medicines and diseases? The very things designed to cure us often have extraneous, but no less debilitating, side affects. Women who undergo estrogen-replacement therapy — plenty of ovarian cancer patients, of course — are known to have a higher risk of coronary heart disease. And chemo can cause acute memory loss.

Hold on, hold on, hold on!

Can a slayer gyrl get a break? I already have chronic shoulder pain and insomnia. Oh, and lately, I’ve been breaking out into really unattractive sweats at the most inappropriate times. Probably the most embarrassing was when I got my makeup professionally done for an on-camera interview in Washington, D.C., a few weeks ago.

The makeup artist was almost done. I mean, putting on the last touches when the perspiration started pooling on my face. One minute I’m glammed up and looking fabulous; the next, I’m ruining the immaculately applied foundation with my exuding salty moisture. Then I downed a glass of water flavored by the layers of sticky lip gloss I was wearing. Not a good look — right down to the dark rings of underarm sweat that stained my cotton shirt.

So, it’s pretty clear that I have a lot going on. Between not sleeping, finding a  clinical-strength deodorant that doesn’t smell like medicine or menthol, and slaying one cancer, I don’t have time to worry about the next malady. My schedule is pretty full.