"Could we get some more bread?"

So yesterday was B-Day (boobies, breasts, bazoombas, whatever). I arrived at the hospital pretty relaxed ready to get it over with; yank the sucker out was my mantra. The surgical area was full and I think this is going to take awhile. I walk up to the counter and try and give the receptionist my frequent flier mileage card along with insurance card; I figure this thing could take me to Italy and back maybe a couple of times. They unfortunately do not accept that. But she makes sure I sign all my rights over, it’s not their fault if they mess up or some surgical tool goes missing or etc. At this point she hands me a “call you when we are ready Outback Steakhouse beeper”, huh? Are they trying to torture me since they know I have not eaten since yesterday and now I swear I can smell garlic mashed potatoes? “When this goes off please come back up to the desk”… and my table will be ready? No smile, but I only had to wait 10 minutes or so and then I got to try my joke again on a new person, no luck, tough audience. As I round the corner to head to my next space I run into someone I know. Most people do this at the grocery store I wait until I’m at a hospital go figure. She is someone I’ve known for around 23 years (yes since I was three) and it’s good she’s there because now she demands the staff that they laugh at my jokes and instantly I know this will a better day (I’m pitiful I know). So next my nurse tells me to strip off everything, put everything in the marked bags, put on gown and hospital appointed socks. I immediately asked about the undies, must I remove them since there no reason anyone should be down that way anyway and blah blah. “Sure you can wear them but sometimes people pee a little when the come out of the anesthetic and I wouldn’t want to wear wet panties home” all saying this as she walks out the door… crap crap crap. I suddenly have to pee and all I think about is wetting myself, this thought is now greater then scalpels, boob removal, or death. I am one messed up thinker. Ok, after peeing 3 or four times the anesthesiologist comes in and we decide that I don’t have any vices except for the crazy biting of the nails( what can I say I’m a party animal). At this point he also states the doctor may take pictures … for scrap booking, the internet, to laugh at at parties, I’m stressing a little now with the whole peeing myself and I may be on someone’s My Space page. My girlfriend comes back in and we chat then she asks who’s doing the surgery. I tell her and her reply is “She’s a bitch but she great with boobs”, crap… incontinence, youtube, and now I’m afraid to ask any questions because the doc may attack me. Of course when the doctor finally comes in I keep moving out of her way like a bobble head, if she comes on my right I lean all the way to the left and back and forth. She wants to examine the lump again and at this point she may think she has bad breath because of the distance I’m keeping. While poking at my bump she mentions that unfortunately its “inconveniently located”, at this point I want to be a smart ass but I’m afraid of her and the wrath she could bring so I ask how can I help her (wimp). She states that it’s in the cleavage area, I nod like I know what she’s talking about then puzzled I say “cleavage?” The only cleavage I ever have is unintentional or accidental, maybe this is what I been missing out on in life? No she doesn’t want me to have a scar there and because where she is going to cut I may have some more bruising (lets just say where she wants to cut I won’t ever get to show my scar without the possibility of arrest.) I say whatever you need to do… she’s the one with the carving knife remember. And then drug guy shoots me up and I don’t remember anything. Although looking at my naked self I do wonder who slathered on the butt load of oompa loompa orange but gave up a quarter of the way through because of boredom and who casted my boob up so it was nowhere near the other one, now they look like Marty Feldman’s eyes (Google him) and god knows what else occurred… Today I’m pretty sure someone threw a bowling ball at me and I didn’t catch it… I’m must have my narcotics... Oh and doctor’s appointment Friday cross your fingers I’m in the clear…

Disclaimer: this story was written under the influence.

Denim

Someone called me “in shape”, I laugh and say its good genes and good jeans. So first I’ll thank my parents Gene and Genie (just joshing), but for real on the jeans part. The wrong ones can make the equator three dimensional; you know the bike tire, muffin top, Saturn’s rings and all. But the right ones can manipulate the milky ways and snickers into an appropriate area and “bam” you’re sweet. So for me I’ll thank Levi Strauss for working overtime especially after a late night binge of milk duds and cheese popcorn. So “in shape” is an illusion so no one challenge me to anything exerciseial (I made that up, cool huh?) because my arms tire if I put a ponytail in.

Medical...mysteries

So in preparation for left breast mass removal ’09 I had to speak with a nurse on the phone for about 35-45 minutes. It was difficult because they want to go through all (even your dreaded teenage years) history. I would pause at certain questions; I don’t share this stuff with the counselor. Isn’t there a rule that after 15-20 years you get to start over? I mean really doesn’t getting older provide you with some sort of immunity from your past? You turn 18 years old you can vote, 21 you can drink, 25 your car insurance goes down…then what nothing, nada, zip, so I call immunity. She thought this was amusing but what does tearing into my boob have anything to do with…well I don’t have to tell you I called immunity. Then questions came like “would you be winded after walking three blocks?” In 103 degree weather, did I just eat a huge cheeseburger, am I wearing a backpack, have I slept, am I on my period, why don’t I take a car, was I exercising beforehand (ha-ha), is it at a mall, am I being chased, I mean really this question. Well she says like what would happen if you went up three flights of stairs? Stairs? Who do I think I am... Rocky, who lives up there,what happened to the elevator...In retrospect maybe this is why the phone call took so long? Nah…

Is that Yogi and Boo-boo?

Good news and so-so news, I passed my tests, benign but the complex cyst did not go away so I have to have surgery to get it out. I’m sure it will be fine but I have apprehension about being put under and knowing you have to be naked in a cold room on an uncomfortable slab with strangers (that hasn't happened since 1990 and the whole "little green man" thing, you know E.T., Mork from Ork, creatures from outer space). Who knows what’s going on ya know? It’s an ideal situation for a sharpie marker and a Polaroid camera. I’m also getting advice to take time off to take it easy. I’ve told all that I’m fairly talented but I have yet to perfect answering the phone, lifting items, typing, or many other tasks with my breast. And anytime I try to shake someone’s hand with it, it just brings on distressing stares. I also haven’t chest pounded since the last time I played scrabble and I haven’t done that in awhile since no one will play with me since I chest pound. So that’s that. I’m sure it will hurt but all that means is I’ll have more bear stories to share.

Don't fight Mother Nature

I‘ve been trying to work on my daughters list for Christmas. I finally found the Snow Miser’s phone number to get more snow. Unfortunately getting through all the computer prompts is murder, press 22 for Cantonese, press 38 for Hungarian, and so forth. It’s not in alphabetical order or anything and it’s actually gone to Elfish twice (don’t they have an “in” with the big guy in red?). Next you are on hold listening to “He’s Mister White Christmas, he Mister Snow”. When I thought I finally got through it was a like a public service announcement against the Heat Miser (sibling rivalry). Then more choices on snow, an inch or two, fluffy, packable, time specifics, and etc, I think this one was just too tough to do. I’m a failure…

Making a list and checking account

So my daughter gave us a Christmas list but then for a school project she had to write a letter to Santa. This letter had all new stuff.

Dear Santa,

Do you need help cleaning your sled? I know I've done some bad things to my little brother. But I said sorry. Sometimes he would be having so much fun he wouldn't notice and just keep laughing. But I've still been good a lot.

Please get me these things. A Golden Retriever puppy (who likes cats), an I-Dog soft speaker, an Apple (she added the TM symbol next to it) laptop, WII Fit, Guitar Hero, giant pencil, more snow, a cell phone, that my fish and snail won't die, that Maya (my cat) will go to the vet, a mini statue of liberty and the best Christmas EVER!

So reading between the lines “he would be having so much fun he wouldn’t notice” Like if you’re tickling someone and punching them at the same time? Or slapping him and feeding him M&M’s? Not quite sure what she meant… I also enjoyed that my fish and snail won’t die because she could have written, don’t let my mom murder anymore of our sea creatures. As for Maya this cat has had more surgeries then Joan Rivers and I am dry of cat surgery money for her new “foot tumor”. I know report me (I’m sure if it gets bad enough I let the kids starve to fix the 14 year old cat).Giant pencil and mini statue of liberty I guess it could have been reversed a giant statue of liberty and a mini pencil. Oh and a dog, a dog that me, myself, and I would be outside in the 2 degree weather begging the pup to poop. Anyway Santa and I are in trouble because these are not the things we went over originally maybe he could put some scratch off tickets in her stocking or a T- shirt that says “I asked Santa for merchandise that was valued over $2,000 and Bush screwed me over with this dumb old T-shirt!” I’m stilling weighing my options…

No pain no gain

Ok so I finally get to see the doctor after having the breast tests done. She says that they will aspirate the cyst again then use something else to remove the tissue so both can be biopsied (is that a word?) and it can be done right now in the office. She leaves telling me she will get the nurse to set it up. When the nurse arrives back in she is carrying a large sword, or whatever it’s in a package and it’s got to be 1 ½ to 2 feet long. I’m like hey what’s up with that light saber and crap. She says it’s scarier than it looks (hello never heard that one before). She sets up her stuff then leaves. She and the doctor arrive back and the doctor says sorry for the scary instrument and I said something like well if two people didn’t have to carry it in I wouldn’t be a worried. They both look at each other with the look like I’m going to be trouble, like at this point I’m going to jump up, with my gown opened to the front not tied, and tell everyone to stay back and no one touches my complex cyst. I will then request they give me a head start and don’t try any funny business (I’ll need the head start because I’m taking the elevator because I’ll be too amped up for stair work).Anywho that doesn’t happen (shocker) and the doc precedes to tell me that she’ll numb me up and use the sword of Gryffindor to remove tissue, oh and that it makes kind of a jarring sound when used. I guess I would describe it as a nail gun noise and it works similarly but in reverse yanking out the stringy booger sized tissue and she does this action maybe 5 times. They pat me on the hand like a three old and tell me I did a great job. Get this instead a lollipop or sticker… she gives me some painkillers. So you know I don’t drink so my tolerance is a little low but I’m concerned my booby’s going to hurt so I take one. I’m good, a bit lightheaded, lightheaded a funny word because really I’m not aware of removing a head because it was just to heavy to carry around so I guess aren’t all of us in a sense lightheaded?…of course now that I say this I’ll see a documentary on TLC about cranium reassignment. It’s the second time I take one that I feel even more at ease let’s say. So at ease that at one point I thought a bear was in my room and because of my vast knowledge of nothingness I play dead. You know no sudden movements and all. After sometime passes I start to think it through the odds of a bear coming into a house in the suburbs coming upstairs then heading down the hall to the last door… ok so I guess maybe I overreacted a bit because come to found it was just my hair in my face ha-ha painkillers… Test results next week, let’s hope I pass.

Who Cares?

So my husband and my brother-n -law have this fascination with me because I haven’t had anything alcoholic to drink in the last 17 years. I usually puke if I drink so I also try never to put my finger down my throat, sky dive, eat squid, ride the tilt-a-whirl, sniff paint thinner, or stick carrots in my nose, I just know it won’t work out well. Also in 17 plus years I haven’t worn blue eye shadow, bought Aqua Net, dreamt of marrying Eddie Van Halen, worn Nike high tops, said Bitch’n, used Sun In, watched Love Boat, cried over Matt Dillon, dialed a rotary phone, or used a hanger to zip up my Jordache. But no one seems to care about that. The best part is the two of them think they can peer pressure me into drinking, are we 13? And if I do succumb to their childish pleas who will be driving me to the hospital so I can get my hangover I.V., then take care of dinner, laundry, and what not, those two…ha-ha I think not, no wait I know not…Nice try my pubescent dweebs…I must run I have to purchase the new wrinkle eraser all the 40 year olds are doing it...

Mamm'ow'gram

So my after school special “Mommy found a lump” continues because it didn’t go away. This is lucky for me because I got to experience my first mammogram. A very kind lady semi molests you into manipulating a part of the body that seems to be resistant to finagling. Then she vices the molded area and takes a picture. This continues on as she maneuvers me into odd positions and I tell her that even a filet mignon dinner wouldn’t get her this much action. Oh and the stickers that are placed just so that once adhered are second skin and removing them are a pleasure. Then onto to ultrasound, that’s easy breezy. Then results time where you get to see your glamour shots and when looking at the ultrasound I ask if that’s my unborn twin because I think I can make out a foot or a toe. You know when you're pregnant and they're showing you the ultrasound pictures and the doctor is like “there’s the nose, see it, right there” and you are like yeah because you don’t want to been seen as non maternal freak, right? Where was I? No I guess it’s not my psychic twin that feeds me supernatural powers, it’s something they are calling debris or tissue but won’t know until they biopsy. In conclusion I have want you call a complex cyst, in telling my mom she said what’s that mean? I said that it’s not easy? And if you know me I like the easy way much better. That’s why fast food was invented correct?

Why yes this is my natural color

My naturally curly locks have been blown straight into what I call my “Charlie’s Angels” do. Where when my locks are coiffed just so, I seem to move in slow motion but turn on a dime at any moment, so that I may swing my silky strands over my shoulder and utter some sexy slow-mo words. Also, perhaps in the middle of a conversation, I may yell out “freeze” and tackle someone because I’ve took an oath to protect and serve. Carrying a wind machine helps too so at all times it looks like I’m shooting a major music video. Daydreaming is also a big part, thinking how I can rescue someone on the beach in the Midwest in wintertime…or when my 4 year old is screaming bloody murder about the melted Hershey kiss that is in his hand that my assistant will be right with him because I’m debating about a rescue involving bungee jumping, because I think that will get me the ultimate hair experience. But through it all I believe I stay grounded I always remember the great Jaclyn Smith quote “Angels are like diamonds. They can't be made, you have to find them. Each one is unique.” Too true to true…