Don't be a boob. Be a bra.

You wouldn't notice it unless you were watching her very, very intently. She smiles congenially as her four year-old granddaughter runs halfway across the room to greet her. But if you pay close attention, as the preschooler wraps her arms around her Grammi’s neck, the big hug, the big kiss—THERE it is. As the two pull apart, the woman reaches up and tugs on the back of her hair, adjusting her whole hairstyle ever so slightly.

The woman, my mother, laughs with delight as my little girl announces how she has told her teachers about Grammi’s “hair hat.” Sydney is intrigued by the fact that Grammi had to take some very “hard medicine” that made her hair fall out. She asks her grandmother at every visit and in every phone conversation if Grammi’s hair has grown back yet. “Not yet,” the patient answers patiently. “But it will.”

My mother is a cancer survivor. Breast cancer, to be precise. Her story is not so different from the millions of women that came before her, and horribly, the millions that will follow.

The short story: During her monthly self-exam, she found a lump. The tumor was aggressive; my mother underwent a mastectomy within a month or so of the lump’s discovery.

(SIDE NOTE: Hey mom, you don’t mind if I publicly talk about your boobs, do you? Just checking.)

For those that are unaware, a “mastectomy” is the medical term for the partial or total removal of the breast. As one can imagine, having a body part removed is a physically and emotionally painful experience.

During surgery, two drains (surgical tubes connected to a container for capturing fluid) are installed. There is a method of tracking the amount of fluid that fills the drains, as well as specific procedures for cleaning them.

My mom was punted to the curb—ahem… DISCHARGED from the hospital within less than 24 hours after her surgery. She had 4 adult children devoted to her 24-hour care for several ensuing days. A retired RN, mom was an easy (if unwilling) patient. When one is used to caring for the world, it’s a bit more difficult to let go and let others be in charge of the care. That said, I’m sure it’s even tougher to get those others to let go when you, yourself, raised them to be caretakers. And tenacious caretakers, to boot (though I’ll blame the tenacity on my dad).

There was no way on this green earth that my mother—a registered nurse—would have been able to care for herself during the first few days after surgery. Though her recovery was amazing, she still needed help. You know, just the minor things. Like MOVING. And EATING. And assistance with the more complicated details, like the tracking of fluid , the doling out of medication, the cleaning of the drains, the whole post-surgery-foggy-headed thing.

(SIDE NOTE: Can I tell you how incredibly awesome it was to be able to FINALLY mom my mom?)

My point: The Breast Cancer Patient Protection Act of 2007 (S.459/H.R 758) is languishing in committee. Among other things, this bill will require insurance companies to cover in-hospital stays for mastectomy patients for a full 48 hours after surgery. If you have time, please read the bill. If this is a cause you support, please sign MyLifetime.com’s petition. Or, even better, please contact your congressperson with your support of the bill.

As they say on the MyLifetime.com site: “Be my support. Be my strength. Be my Bra.”