I carry a couple of detachable breasts around. They've dehydrated a lot by now, look like mushrooms or little old wrinkled women. And the little milk left in them is musty and fermented... but useful when the fridge is empty.

My best friend Beryl says "Try mine instead!" So I do. Her breasts are huge, and the milk is so fresh. I'd forgotten what real milk is like. But it dredges up a strange, subliminal feeling of tension, out of my childhood; so I suck just a few drops, and stop. Then I do it. I pull the zipper and peel off Beryl's breast and run out of her house! Laughing in the getaway car, I bounce up and down on the seat and suck on her breast in my hand like a squeeze bottle. Now this feels safe!

It's a control thing, I guess.

I go home to find a big package. My huge new mail-order breast has arrived! I sent away for it weeks ago. I compare it to Beryl's, and they match quite well. Wow, so big!

I throw out one of my old breasts, so withered it's only a nipple. I keep its sour but fuller twin around, in case of emergencies. I don't wear the two giant breasts, just carry them around and suck on them. In all detached breasts, the milk tends to ferment; it's the price I pay for being unwilling to nurse directly from women, even when they offer. But the flashbacks to my scary childhood are still too much to handle.

Till I can, it's Yogurt City. But nicer yogurt now, and lots of it.

I never do get around to returning Beryl's breast, even though I have my own perfectly good mail-order breast now. I'm so attached to having a matched set!

Gotta face it. You always hear about breast bandits and you wonder who could do a thing like that.

You never think it'll turn out to be you.

NOTES NEXT MORNING

• My friend Beryl works as a nurse. She has genuine gigantic garbanzos. But I didn't think I envied her a bit. They're so heavy they hunch her back some; she wishes they were smaller.
• Nervous about nursing while breast is attached: I AM uncomfortable just accepting food and help and reassurance and love... I always look for strings attached.

No wonder I was a bit mystified at the time. This farce about removing Beryl's breast and not returning it (like a borrowed book) was just the earliest of several psychic dreams predicting much darker events. Beryl went on nursing lovers and friends and patients for five more years, then got breast cancer. She really did lose her breast; I was the first she showed the scar to. The mastectomy failed to stop the spread; she lost the other breast next, and died a couple of years later.

WARNING

John Gofman has a study out suggesting medical X-rays at the normal levels may cause half the breast cancer in the USA! Avoid X-rays, and if you MUST have one, demand they lower the dosage (you can computer-enhance underexposed X-ray plates now, but not all clinics bother. Make them!)

I don't know enough to be sure, but hormone-mimicking substances in foods, containers and many water supplies are looking pretty suspicious as a second big cause of breast cancer. Protect yourself. Buy organic if you can (especially fats and oils), avoid plastics (plastic food-bags, especially scratched ones, are under suspicion, and those plasticky-paper sales slips are loaded with toxic bisphenols) and get a water filter.

Sorry. And it was such a silly dream. Then.

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