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Home - Bottom Row

Let's Panic: The Book!

Order your copy today!

How to Endure and Possibly Triumph Over the Adorable Tyrant
who Will Ruin Your Body, Destroy Your Life, Liquefy Your Brain,
and Finally Turn You
into a Worthwhile
Human Being.

Written by Alice Bradley and Eden Kennedy

Some Books
I'm In...

Sleep Is
For The Weak

Chicago Review Press

Home - Middle Row

Let's Panic

The site that inspired the book!

At LET'S PANIC ABOUT BABIES, Eden Kennedy and I share our hard-won wisdom and tell you exactly what to think and feel and do, whether you're about to have a baby or already did and don't know what to do with it. → 


And what's new with you? 

No one wants to hear excuses, I know, but but but! My class started. And these students! It's all their fault. With their demands on my attention. Distracting me with their smarts and charms. I think I love them. I also loved my first group of students, of course. Oh, hell, I love all you people. A couple of you I merely like, but that could change at any moment.

So hey, hello! Who has the flu? Not us, suckers! What we do have is a raging case of hypochondria. So many of our friends and neighbors are succumbing, day after day, that every sneeze or cough or unusual fatigue has one of us moaning OH NO HERE IT COMES. Taking our (normal) temperatures. Running out to buy chicken-soup ingredients before the aches hit. Stocking up on cough drops. Etc. We're annoying, but fortunately we understand each other, and even more fortunately, we don't have the flu. (Yet.) (My legs feel funny.)

If you have it, or have had it, I am so terribly sorry. There is nothing worse. I've had the flu twice in my life. The first time, I tried going back to work after two weeks and fainted (fortunately while sitting) on the F train. I regained consciousness only to find myself face-down on the subway seat (gross). When I managed to sit up, two young women were giving me the "sick or drunk?" questioning look. I believe I saluted them. Did that answer your question, ladies?

The moral of the story here is, if you're sick, give yourself plenty of time before considering mass transportation. And once you're out there, maybe pin a note to yourself. A note that says "Not Drunk." That's the note I wear every day. I'm not sure where I'm going with this. I'm not drunk right now, I swear. You'll have to take my word for it, since you can't see my pinned note.



Five of you won a custom-painted watercolor! 

Hey, remember this Charity: water fundraiser, and how I said I'd paint watercolors for my top five donors? I meant it, too.

Only: I don't have contact info for four of my top five donors. (The fifth is my mom, so we're cool.)

So, if you are:

Elise Gorseth

Sheila Sandford

Scott McGraw

Mary Burk


Contact me! I want nothing more than to paint for you!


Speaking of which, here are a couple of my recent paintings.


Grandma Mariano

This is from a photograph of my grandmother. She was awful pretty.



This is from a photograph from our honeymoon. That's me and Scott. We were awful make-outy.




Well, I'm glad that's all over with

Everything is fine!

The last couple of days have been a thrill ride of miscommunication. First I was told that the report came back benign; then I was told actually there were two reports, and one of them wasn't in yet. THEN I was told that the second report was in but the physician on staff hadn't signed off on them yet, so they couldn't be sent over. AND THEN they were like, oh, that second report never existed. The final straw was when my GP told me that the radiologist claimed they never did a needle core biopsy. That was approximately when I lost my damn mind.

I finally got the radiologist on the phone this afternoon (having--finally, after several attempts--gotten around She Who Will Not be Named) and he confirmed that the GP was mistaken, and explained everything in the report. Then I got to tell him all about his receptionist. It was awfully satisfying.

The important part is: all is well, everything they sampled was benign, and my breasts were described on the report as "like two fawns that graze among the lilies." Which is nice and all, and startlingly accurate, but is that like a medical term or something?


A rant, because this is all I can do. 

Right before Christmas, I got to have a needle core biopsy on my right breast. A few days before that, I found an impressive lump, which I quickly had checked out by my GP, who hurried me along to get a mammogram and an ultrasound. The radiologist informed me that I had a few cysts (six!) in my right breast as well as a tumor (a large one!) which he preceded with the words "definitely benign," so as to keep me from falling off the table. It worked! "Definitely benign" has a lovely, comforting ring to it. Still, though, he said we'd want to do the biopsy right away, which they did. And after it was all done, and I was lying there icing my poor, drilled boob, the warm, comforting, grandfatherly doctor who performed the biopsy assured me--PROMISED me--that the results would be in two days later, "at the latest."


I'm not going to bury the lede, here: I still don't have the results. And although I have been assured that I am most definitely going to be all fine, I would like to know, please, thank you and goodbye. I would like to not think about this any longer. And yet I am forced to think about this, a lot longer. I am feeling a little crazy. I am ready to march down to the NYU labs and start knocking heads together. Only then they wouldn't be able to give me the results, what with all the brain injuries.

And you know, if they had TOLD me it would take a while, I would have resigned myself. If they hadn't said to me, "This is the last thing you want to worry about over the holidays," I would have expected to worry about it over the holidays. Worrying's what I do, after all, so I'd add this to the list. But since they were all concern and rush-rush with me from the start, I assumed we would continue on that course. It's fun to assume things.

Instead, when I called the radiologist's office two days later, I received an incredulous "What? Of course the results aren't in yet." Then I was told to call back in a few hours. Once again, I was met with incredulity. Two days! Do I think I'm the Queen? The Queen of New York? "Call back Monday, that's when they'll be in," I was told. I couldn't believe I would now have to wait an entire weekend. Ha, ha! I was so cute, back then.

On Monday, the same woman who assured me the results would be in on Monday was amazed I would think they'd be in on Monday. "It's Christmas Eve! The lab's not even open." Call back Wednesday, she said. Because duh.

I bet you can guess what she said on Wednesday. And on that day, my friends, on that day I said to myself, "I will not be calling this office ever again. I now hate this person, and I don't want to hate someone, so I will turn my attention solely to my GP." Oh, because also, after the fifth phone call, the woman at the radiologist's finally told me that no one but my GP could give me the results anyway, so really there was no reason to call her. This is the same woman who was standing right there as Dr. Grandpa lovingly squeezed my shoulder and assured me I'd wait but 48 hours, at the most. She didn't roll her eyes even a little when he said that, and I LOOKED.

My GP continues to take my calls and emails, but she's not getting answers either, and today I couldn't stand it anymore so I called the radiologist's, again. My hate had receded, and I thought, maybe in 2013 the lady who answers the phone will be nicer. Maybe she'll tell me whom to harass at the lab. Who knows? Stranger things have happened.
"Hi, it's Alice again. Alice Bradley," I said, chuckling (why chuckling?). "Still waiting on those biopsy results, as you know." Chuckle, chuckle. Oh, me.
"They're not in yet," she said.
"Wow," I said. "This is getting nuts." Mildly, though. She could hold my results hostage, after all, so I'm trying to stay on her good side. I mean, if she has one.
And, then, my friends, she hung up. On me? Or just because she was done? I'll never know.

And, look, I sympathize. A little. She's not in control of when the lab results come in. But she should sympathize too, no? A little.

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