Hey, know what we haven’t talked about for a while? That’s RIGHT! My BOOBS!
[Don’t you just wish you were me, or at least a fly on the wall for the “Hey, I have to tell you about this website I have…” conversation I had last night? I’m all about full disclosure. Even as I find myself mired in a discussion which I realize makes me sound like a complete freak.
Me: So, I, uh, write about ALL KINDS of things. Like, EVERYTHING.
Him: Okay.
Me: I mean it. Like even stuff most people wouldn’t talk about.
Him: Alright.
Me: Like YEAST INFECTIONS. You might not want to read it. (Thinking to myself: And you might not want to talk to me anymore, either. Did I just bring up vaginal fungus to a man I’m hoping to someday see naked? I think I did. What the hell is wrong with me?)
Him: Ooooooookay….]
So, um, yeah. Where was I? Oh, right! BOOBS!
As you may recall, my boob–more specifically, my left breast–has had sort of an interesting few weeks. Today I went in for my very last post-op follow-up appointment, and to tell you the truth, I’m feeling pretty good.
I mean, yes; I’m still a bit green around the edges where the last bruises are fading out. But the incision itself is healing nicely; the pain is gone; and I haven’t oozed anything for a while. I figured this makes me a model patient, and the surgeon would be complimenting me on my excellent healing job. And then I would tell her not to hate me because I’m beautiful.
Traffic was light and I scored a sweet parking spot down by the hospital. I bounced inside, ready to flash my rack and get out of there.
The waiting room was PACKED. Hmmm. That seemed like a bad sign. It’s never been particularly crowded in there when I’ve gone, before. And it really didn’t help that I appeared to be the youngest patient by about 40 years. I am uncomfortable in large groups of elderly people who are comparing their support stockings with each other. In fact, as I sat there for upwards of an hour, I listened to the following exchange:
Younger: We can set it up however you want. It’s your room.
Older: Any way is fine.
Younger: Well, whatever you want. We can do it like your old room, or rearrange.
Older: It doesn’t matter to me.
Younger: We’ll figure it out this weekend, if you like. Like, we can leave the TV there, or move it somewhere else you’d rather have it.
Older: I just need my programs.
Younger: Your programs?
Older: Yes. You know, they didn’t have Turner Classics at Bill’s. Or the Gameshow channel. Oh, I just LOVE the gameshows.
Younger: Ooookay… ummm… we have Adelphia….
Older: He had Comcast I think. No Turner Classics. I love those old movies.
Younger: We’ll figure it out.
Older: Also I need a rail in the bathroom. And the gameshows.
Younger: Okay.
By the time I was called back, I’d vowed to curb my What Not To Wear and all things Iron Chef obsessions. Visions of a crotchety old me telling Chickadee I need more Depends and the “Classic Fashion Disasters and Unusual Cooking Competitions Channel” danced through my head.
So, I had a nice chat with the nurse, and she gave me a very attractive paper shirt to put on and then left, promising the doc would be in soon. It really wasn’t soon, but I read a magazine and waited somewhat patiently. Eventually the surgeon appeared, and started palpating my various lymph nodes and chatting.
Personally, I find it difficult to have a pleasant conversation while someone sticks her fingers into my armpits and then feels me up, but whatever.
When she opened my paper shirt I was prepared for exclamations of delight, but instead I heard, “Hmmmm… what’s this?” That’s just not what you want to hear from someone who’s checking out your boobs. I followed her gaze and looked down at a tiny bit of scab on the edge of the areola, at the top end of the incision scar.
“It’s… a scab?” I offered, hopefully. To my horror, she proceeded to SCRAPE AT IT WITH HER FINGERNAIL, which prompted me to add “UM, OW!”
“I need to have a closer look… lay down, please.” Now she was turning on a gazillion-watt lamp and rummaging around in a drawer. I was NOT liking how this was going. She returned to my side with a pair of tweezers.
“I THINK IT’S A SCAB,” I said, more firmly this time. Or at least, much more loudly.
She chuckled at me. “I think it may be a piece of suture,” she explained. “It needs to come out.”
I didn’t want to watch, but I couldn’t seem to look away. She jabbed those tweezers into my breast like she was playing Operation and about to fish out the winning piece. I swear that half the length of the tweezers disappeared from view. I was contemplating vomiting on her shoes when she raised them triumphantly in the air.
“Got it!” she crowed. I looked. Yep, clinical proof that I really am fraying at the edges. Whaddaya know.
Finally she stepped away from me and put the tweezers down, and I pulled my paper shirt closed and hugged my arms around myself. All this time I’ve spent with this woman… all of the things I’ve allowed her to do to my body… and this one minute search and retrieve expedition had left me feeling cheap. I wondered if she still respected me or if I was just another notch on her tweezers. I vowed right then and there to keep my clothes on from now on!
Until she reminded me that she’ll see me after my mammogram in 6 months. Bitch.
Is there really ANY good way to tell someone you have a blog? I mean, without sounding like a dork? Not that YOU sound like a dork, you know, because you’re so pretty, but *I* always seem to sound like a dork, and . . . like right now! I’m a big dork!
And that tweezer thing gave me the heebies. But hooray for your boob!
Roses? A mystery man? Sounds very interesting. Inquiring minds want to know more!
Glad to hear your boob is better. That was a very good description of the doctor yanking out the suture. *shiver*
Mir I really hope you are saving all this because honey, you are very gifted. Erma Bombeck has nothing on you (well she does, but we won’t go there.)
I know some day my mother and I will have one of those conversations, she will ask for the Quilting Channel and BBC2. If it were my daughter and me I’d be asking for Soapnet and ESPN. Life is…er….strange.
Okay so I am in a pleasant state of anticipation and hope. You’ve told him you blog, by now he has read about your tryst with the female booby surgeon, and you’re not screaming “Come back, come back.”
Way kewl.
really, there’s no problem. I mean first you tell him you have a blog and then you write in your blog that you are hoping to see him naked. I think this bodes well…
Glad your boob is okay! You know it’s serious when you tell them about your blog, because otherwise, if you break up, how are you going to bitch about him?
That thing with the tweezers? Horrifying.
“…just another notch on her tweezers….”! Memorable.
I thought surgeons were not supposed to leave things in the incision. Be thankful it wasn’t anything larger. Like the tweezers.
I’ve been “fraying at the edges” for so long I daren’t stand in a strong wind for want of flying apart. Although I, unlike you, lack clinical proof. I expeck I could knit version 2 of myself if I could only catch the little suckers as they fly away.
I too thought it interesting that you tell TD&H about your blog and then mention in the very next entry you are hoping for him to see you nakid. Plant the seed……..
You’re doin’ all right when you can make people laugh about yeast infections, naked men fantasies and suture removal!
LOL!
I have had more stitches than a quilt, so I know of what you speak
{shudder}
Best wishes to you!
I’ve always heard that if you put the suture under your pillow, the Boobie Fairy will bring you shiny things.
(worth a try, isn’t it?)
But the surgeon did you a favor! What if the time were to come when you and the Mystery Rose Man WERE to see each other naked, and you had a sticking-out suture on the boob? It would kind of kill the moment if HE had to reach for the tweezers……
While I’m as fascinated by Boobapalooza as anyone, I’m also convinced that you use the word “boob” so much in order to drive traffic to your blog. Clever girl!
My boob has been killing me for the past week. Now I realize it is having sympathy pains.
And it has nothing to do with my son biting me or the fact that I keep pinching and poking it really hard to see if it still hurts.
And if you can’t scare him away with talk of yeast, vaginas, and the internet, well then he is a keeper.
Boob. Boobs. Boobies. (just helping you drive some traffic!)
Maybe I should talk about boos more on my blog. Not *my* boobs, since my son and stepson read it, but I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if I were to discuss, say, Britney Spears boobs.
heh, heh, Bob said “plant the seed,” hee
*snort*
(is TD&H reading right now? *waves*)
Ow-ee. At least it was just a suture. As far as being embarrassed about the blog, I don’t think TD&H will be too distressed about the suture talk once he reads that you want to see him naked. Naked is good. Boys like naked. And boobs.
PLEASE tell me you just neglected to mention the part where she sterilized the tweezers and/or wiped your boob with something antiseptic first? EWWWWWW! (I had to giggle at your mention of “Operation” — if she’d failed to remove the suture, you could have BUZZED loudly and scared the crap out of her!)
Oh, he is too good Mir. I look forward to this.
BTW T,D&H love the handle – stick around.
Look! TD&H waved at Contrary! Very, very, impressive. How fun to live vicariously through Mir.
-Moi
Hi there, TD&H. So nice to meet you and to learn that you have such a good sense of humor. Mir told me you did, but then she’s a little biased.
If she hasn’t scared you off by now, let me tell you — you’re in a heap of trouble. Good trouble.
M_m
I had to read through and get caught up on your boobs! Thank you so much for sharing all of this. Stories like this is one of the reasons I started reading blogs in the first place – to get a real story from someone that has been there. I love how you are handling all of this, your attitude is to be envied.
Sidenote: Yeast infection talk on a date = just keepin’ it real! ;-)
Normally I would be soooooo turned on right now, but then I thought about you wanting to see me naked and I sorta lost the mood.
Genuine, DUDE. I’m still in therapy from that picture of your ass from like 2 years ago.
Boy! Are these some lively comments or what? LOL Go, Mir, go.
Hi TD&H! Nice to have you around. And if all this talk about feminine issues doesn’t scare you off, then you’ll probably be ok with her shoe fetish, right?
Please don’t hate me, Mir! ;)
At least mine didn’t have one of those patches on it!
“She jabbed those tweezers into my breast like she was playing Operation and about to fish out the winning piece. I swear that half the length of the tweezers disappeared from view.”
I swear my own Ms Lefty felt a stab of sympathy pain, Mir. That’s terrible. At least she could have bought you dinner & drinks first! Good luck with TD&H, look forward to hearing more about/from him!