Sam's doctor walks in imperiously. Carrie jumps at attention like she's Gomer Pyle or something. Well, goll-lly! It's a doctor and stuff! He says he has good news: the scans are clean, and Sam's classified at stage one. Sam's all, "That's the best, right?" Yes, it's the Chanel of cancer types. The Hermes, the Dom Perignon. The doctor recommends a round of "chemo" anyway, "just to be safe." Sam doesn't really like that idea too much. Then the guy feels her boob to see how the healing process is coming along. She says, "I don't understand what happened to me," and she honestly sounds like she doesn't. How can you explain cancer? The doctor casually explains that it could be genetic, except Sam doesn't have any instances of cancer in her family, so it could be "diet or lifestyle choices." Sam's all, how's that? Well, the doctor says in that maddeningly, smug, indisputable way, statistically, "women who haven't had children are more likely to get certain types of cancer." Sam's all, excuse me? "So I brought this on myself?" Uh oh. I understand how angry she is immediately. When I was 16, a doctor sat me down and told me that studies had shown that going on the pill reduces certain types of breast cancer. Now, the pill is to be used as birth control. Women with very heavy periods sometimes take it to regulate their flow. But I never heard of anyone taking the pill because it might statistically reduce their chances of developing certain kinds of breast cancer. It's ridiculous! And this guy is telling Sam to get chemo even though all her scans are fine, and then suggesting that her childless self is at least partially responsible for growing this cancer! Sam draws herself up and says she's going to a woman doctor -- "a HOT woman doctor, who understands what THIS" -- she gestures to her torso in a grand, circular gesture -- "is ALL ABOUT!" She turns away to get dressed, then whirls back to face him and says, "You're lucky to have touched my breasts!" GO SAM GO! Sam grabs her coat, orders Carrie to grab her purse, fixes the doctor with another stern look, then sweeps out. Carrie practically curtseys to the doctor. "Nice to meet you."

Lunch with the girls. Sam is mightily pissed. She's pizzissed! She feels she should be "rewarded" for her lifestyle choice. "Since when does kids equal a Get Out Of Cancer Free card?" Heh. She correctly interprets her doctor's suggestion as a slightly more scientific version of what certain people (not me) on the forums have been saying: "I'm a whore, therefore I need chemo." Of course not, Sam. But people love to talk. And judge. So why should she get chemo, again? Sam says, "'Cause he's an asshole." Carrie says there could be something microscopic. Sam intones, "Like his dick." Carrie, ever the annoying prude, asks if Sam has cancer or Tourette's. God, shut up, Carrie! Your friend is going through something very serious -- life-threatening, even -- and you're offended by her language now? Or do you just hate when you're not the center of attention? This meaty scene should be all about Sam. Instead we get the knee-jerk reactions of a skinny twit. Sam says she's getting a new doctor, a woman. Dr. Andrews, top-rated oncologist by the loathsome New York magazine. Sam's trying to get in. Um, New York magazine? The same mag that had Carrie on the cover, looking like S-H-I-T? I thought Sam declared a boycott on that rag. Oh well. How quickly we forget.