Last week, one of my best friends died from breast cancer. I think I’m in the stage of grief Kübler and Ross called ANGER. I’m angry that my friend is gone, that I couldn’t be there for her, that I couldn’t attend her funeral and most of all, that her breast cancer wasn’t caught earlier; she may have survived if it had been. I’ve learned through this that it is not part of the routine doctor checkup to do a breast exam until you’re over 35, unless there’s a family history. Ask your doctor. Insist upon it. It may save your life.

I like to be constructive with my anger, so today, at age 37, I had my first mammogram. I promised my father-in-law that I would this year, when he learned that I had yet to get one. It’s easy to let these things go, when you’re under 35, for example, or when there’s no family history.

But get this, and pay attention, this is important: my friend had no family history and she was under 30 when she was diagnosed.

So I made an appointment, and, miracle of miracles, kept it.

This is what I look like when I’m serious, unhappy and steeling myself for a doctor’s appointment.

This week has been full of reflection, on friendship, health, the relationship women have with one another, and what we do to help one another manage and stay or get healthy. I’m blessed to have wonderful friends and family who look out for me, who are concerned when they see that I’m not taking very good care of myself. I like to think I do the same for them, even long-distance, when that applies.

This is a mammogram machine. There’s probably a fancier term for it, but this is it; the actual machine that performed my mammogram. The two horizontal plates come together with your breast between them and then scan the image into a computer.Some women find this uncomfortable or even painful but I have to tell you: it was no big deal.

It was not embarrassing, uncomfortable or painful. It was fine. In fact, as I told the technician the story of my friend and why I was documenting this whole experience with my trusty camera, it felt good; responsible. I mean, I had far less comfortable boob-related experiences in high school and most definitely when breastfeeding my seriously hungry children.

I thought, if I can do this, so can other women and it may just save someone’s life. It may save someone’s friend from missing them; someone’s husband and children from a mountain of grief; it may save someone’s parents the pain of picking up their daughter’s ashes from the funeral home and preparing for a life without her. It’s totally worth it.

And now, Internet, here is a picture of my boob! A gratuituous money shot it’s not, but I was fascinated by the infrequent opportunity to glimpse my insides. I am, of course, assuming everything’s all well and good; I have no reason to think otherwise.

In case you’re still on the fence, thinking, I don’t have time, I’ll tell you this: the whole experience took less than 15 minutes.

Don’t you have 15 minutes?

Because I love y’all, I’m going to show you what a dork I can be.

My father-in-law shot some candid photos while he was in town. As usual, he caught me at my best. Typically he catches me with a fork midway to my piehole. This time, though, he caught me channelling a variety of celebrities.

In this one, I’m getting in touch with my inner Marlo Thomas. This is the face of a woman whose son just graduated from high school. That, my friends, is the look of relief.

Here I am, reliving my days as front man for Black Sabbath.

C’mon, everyone has an inner Ozzy.

This has been my photo pose with the boy, lately. There’s another one like this from his last marching band concert. I don’t know what gets into me.

Maybe this is more of a Gene Simmons move. I don’t know. I grew up on Madonna and Cyndi Lauper. The heavy metal stuff didn’t kick in until I was WAY too old.

 All I gotta say is Cher’s got nothing on me. Just picture a giant, ridiculous Bob Mackie headress with feathers and beads on my head and you’ll see it.

So of course, my father-in-law didn’t send a single good picture of me.

And now you know why, in most cases, I use an avatar instead of a photo. I just can’t seem to play it straight.

Which one’s your favorite?

I know what you’re thinking: Dang, those are some lovely pies. Even though my husband laid down the law and said, ONE pie every SEVEN days, no more! I said, can I pretty please bake a pie for graduation? He said, OK, you can make a pie. And then I made two: Bourbon Apple and Apple Berry.

The apple berry has granny smith apples, raspberries and blueberries — a nice summer pie. It is sweetened with apple juice and has no added sugar. My parents both have diabetes, as does my father-in-law, so I had planned to serve this pie so they could join us in enjoying a little dessert.

It’s a great sugar-free pie. You would not have any idea it was sugar-free if I didn’t tell you. The fruit and juice make it plenty sweet. You can make it with just blueberries but I love raspberries so I did both.

In my mind, it’s not a celebration unless there’s a little bourbon involved. Therefore, the Apple Bourbon Pie was my choice for a very celebratory pie. It was a shot or two for the pie, and a shot or two for the baker. You could smell those sweet whiskey fumes coming off the apples when it baked in the oven.

The pie was delicious — a family favorite, and good thing, too since I was serving it to guests.

Fruit pies, in my opinion, are best served warm with a dollop of vanilla ice cream on top and a cup of coffee on the side.

My mother-in-law paid me a very high compliment when she told my sister that I’ve become “quite a good cook.”

I beamed.

Since I defied my husband’s pie ban, I suppose I’ll now have to go 14 days pieless. That’s OK, though. I need time to plot my next pie.

He made it, and was even recognized as a Commonweath Scholar. I think I finally started breathing again after he crossed that stage. And no, I didn’t cry.

Graduation took place on Saturday, May 31, the same day as our friend Mayuri’s funeral. I’ll never forget the way these two events coincided. It was both a sad and happy day.

My sister and my in-laws came for the graduation; my parents, stuck in the Midwest due to tornadoes throughout the region, were unable to fly in. We missed them.

After the ceremony, we played some righteous Rock Band back at the house, then went to Orzo and had a very lovely dinner. I’m not sure who is happier high school is over for him, the boy, or us.

Our dear friend Mayuri left us Thursday. We’re filled with grief over our loss. She was such a good friend and we watched her suffer for so long. The picture here is from a couple of weeks ago — I know she was happy to have the chance to hold her new baby niece, Lillian.

I miss my friend terribly, and still cannot believe she’s gone. Thank you all for your prayers, kind words and thoughts. The end, we’re told, was peaceful, and she was surrounded by friends and family.

Her family has established a Komen Race for the Cure team, Mayuri’s Team, in her honor. Sign up to walk with the team or donate to support research for a breast cancer cure.