I've read stories about women whose breast cancer diagnoses were delayed because they explained away certain symptoms. One woman, an athlete, was told by her husband one day that her nipple looked different from the other. "It's probably just the jog bra I've been wearing all day," she assured him. They both moved on.

Some time later, this woman learned that her different nipple was a sign of breast cancer. And she had it. She just didn't know it. And so her diagnosis came late. Eight years later, this young mother of two small children died from a disease she explained away.

This is normal -- the art of explaining away all the odd messages our bodies give us. Perhaps it's the stigma of whining about every little ache and pain that keeps us from pursuing immediate medical attention. It could be the likelihood that our complaints are pretty normal, so we refrain from rushing to judgment.

I'm practicing this well-established art right now. It's odd for me because I've already had breast cancer, and I am usually ultra-sensitive to every twinge of pain I feel. So when I woke this morning, with a tight and aching feeling in my chest, one would have thought I'd be racing out the door, headed for the nearest emergency room. I considered the fact that perhaps I need to be seen, that a chest X-ray might be in order, but I took no action -- because I explained the feeling away. It went something like this:

It must be the way I slept. I slept in a different bed, with one child and one dog, and I don't think I moved an inch all night.

The feeling gets less intense with time. At this moment, I can only feel something -- and it's very mild -- if I inhale deeply.

If I have the same feeling tomorrow morning, I will pursue it -- no, I won't pursue it just yet because I wont' be sleeping in my own bed for a few more nights. I'll wait until I get back to my own bed and see what happens. Maybe this bed is not good for me.

This goes on and on. For me, I think it happens because I suspect nothing really is wrong with me. Perhaps I am dismissing something serious but mostly, I'm chalking this behavior to progress. Because there was a day when I ran to the dentist for a bump on the roof of my mouth -- it was nothing -- and I cried to get myself a next-day mammogram for some lumpy tissue I was convinced was cancer -- it wasn't -- and now, I am happy to feel more like a normal person. I am happy to have perfected my new art, which incidentally I will abandon in an instant if the discomfort persists.

My husband says he's had this feeling before when getting out of bed. I think I'm going to be OK.