Dear Ann Landers, am writing about your column on breast can-cer in which you stated, "One out of eight women will get breast cancer." I believe these statistics are often used to distort opinions when pulled out of context. While some women may need to be frightened into get-ting regular checkups and mammograms, there are a great many others who don't appreciate the anxiety caused by incomplete data. Would you please print the following from the Women V Health Let-ter? It presents a more realistic picture. Thank you. -Longtime Reader in Keller, Texas
Hi! It's Margo here. I'd love to know what you think of the letters -- and the answers!
Also, any additional thoughts you might have. Thanks!
Please share your comments below:
Our Reader to Reader Question of the Week:
Dear Readers, , and exciting. She’d been around. My parents warned me to have nothing to do with her. They claimed no good could come from our relationship. But I kept meeting her on the sly. She was so sophisticated and worldly. It made me feel grown up just being with her. It was fun to take her to a party in those days. She was almost always the center of attention. We began seeing more of each other after I started college. When I got a place of my own, she was a frequent guest. It wasn’t long before WAKE UP ANH SMELL EH E CIIFEEE! 2 (i 9 sEie moved in with me. It may have been common-law, but it was heart-breaking for my parents. I kept reminding myself I wasn’t a kid any-more. Besides, it was legal. We lived together right through college and into my early days in business. I seldom went anywhere without her, but I wasn’t blind. I knew she was unfaithful to me. What’s worse, I didn’t care. As long as she was there for me when I needed her (and she always was), it didn’t matter. The longer we lived together, the more attached I became. But it wasn’t mutual. She began to delight in making me look foolish in front of my friends. But still I couldn’t give her up. It became a love/hate relationship. I figured out that her glamour was nothing more than a cheap mask to hide her spite and cynicism. I could no longer see her beauty after I came to know her true character. But old habits are hard to break. We had invested many years in each other. Even though my relationship with her made me lose a little re-spect for myself, she had become the center of my life. We didn’t go anywhere. We didn’t do anything. We didn’t have friends over. It was just the two of us. I became deeply depressed and knew that she was re-sponsible for my misery. I finally told her I was leaving for good. It took a lot of guts, but I left. I still see her around. She’s as beautiful as when we met. I still miss her now and then. I’m not boasting when I say she’d take me back in a minute. But by the grace of God, I’ll never take up with her again. If you see her, give her my regards. I don’t hate her. I just loved her too much. Chances are you know her family. The name is Alcohol. -Robert L. Rodgers, Waco, Texas
