Thursday, September 4, 2008


What would you do if you had flippers coming out the front of your chest, about the size and shape of the head of a tennis racquet? How might you use these flippers if you could?

These are some of the thoughts I had as my boobs were squished beneath a piece of plexiglass, flattened and stretched beyond recognition, making them appear alien and surreal. Unfortunately, they haven’t any muscles or bones with which to move them around, otherwise, I might have had two interesting rudders coming out of my chest.

Boobs kind of feel like water balloons to me, and water balloons are a bit fragile, so for the last two weeks I’ve been having nightmares that the mammogram would rupture my girlies. I envisioned my nipple and areola ripping off and shooting across the room, essentially springing a leak, and booby water pouring out until it was completely drained and flaccid. It’s rather weird that somewhat the opposite happened. Instead, they seemed to inflate. I had no idea that when you press them that thin, they’d keep expanding like dough and turn into something from a sci-fi movie.

I asked Boyfriend Extraordinaire which direction he would prefer my squished boobs to be: horizontal or vertical. He voted for vertical. I thought that was interesting, but then I realized it was more practical. With two fleshy cymbals coming out of my chest, I could clap or press them together. If they were horizontal, they’d just flap up and down independently. From a man’s perspective, I can see his point.

(Boyfriend Extraordinaire suggests that these doodles should be submitted to Boob Overload, which was a joke and a parody of Cute Overload so I didn't think it existed, but evidently it does.)

The good news is that the mammogram revealed that the nodule had nothing concerning in it, so they did an ultrasound, which revealed that the nodule had some kind of membrane, but was composed of the same tissue that the rest of the area is made from. What does this mean? Well, after an hour of people squeezing, stretching, flopping, and rubbing lubricant on my boob and armpit, they decided that whatever it is, it’s not a tumor and I should go home and be grateful. Given the amount of pain that this little nodule causes, I was not pleased with this outcome. Pain is an indicator of something being wrong. Now I have to figure out where to go with this lack of information.

I’m wondering something, too. Why is it when something goes wrong with our health, the tests and treatments are always painful and humiliating? Why is it no one gets sick and the cure is to eat lots of dessert while getting a foot massage, your hair washed, and your ears Q-tipped? No, that’s never going to cure anything. You’re going to have to strip naked and wear a wrap dress made of cheap napkins. Then you have to flash private parts at people who will treat your exposed areas as if they are some kind of scientific experiment. (Why can’t someone just say, “Hey, nice rack!” and make me feel a little better?) Then you have to take medications that will give you symptoms of other problems. All the while it will cost you a fortune in medical bills for office visits, tests and medications. You don’t want me to remind you of all that I had to go through with my hemorrhagic periods, poly-cystic ovaries, and the ovarian tumor, because that set of humiliations was simply horrific. Nothing involving illness ever ends up making you feel good about yourself or your situation. Medicine sucks.

Speaking of which, my wonderful, brilliant rheumatologist wants to do what the very bad rheumatologist I used to have wanted to do, which is start me on a chemotherapy medication to shut off my immune system. Long-term use of this medication can actually cause cancer, specifically lymphomas, in addition to making the user dangerously susceptible to all infections around due to the lack of immune defense. I have the prescription in my purse, but I can’t bring myself to fill it. Tomorrow I’ll give her a call and see if she will change my therapy. I just can’t do this to myself, particularly with some kind of growth in my breast that no one can identify. Cells mutate, fact of life, I know. I don’t want to be the perfect environment for them to grow into big, healthy tumors, like some kind of human Petri dish to incubate monsters. Why I feel guilty about this, I don’t know. It’s as if I feel compelled to obey my doctor, to be a compliant patient who does what she’s told and doesn’t question those who are more knowledgeable. But I’m not going to take that medication, and I don’t care if that makes me a bad patient.

Particularly because I have something in my booby! When you have something in your booby, it changes things.

Maybe it’s a creature.

Maybe it’s some kind of alien tracking device.

Maybe I’m growing a third boob. Maybe I’ll grow boobs all around my ribcage! I’ll have a veritable hoop of boobage going all the way around me! Excellent! Then I can get mammograms on all of them so that they get squeezed into vertical cymbals and I’ll clap them all together and sound like an applauding audience all by myself.

DUDE! Imagine the possibilities if I did porn! I could make a bloody fortune! With six or eight boobs, I’d be like the female version of Ron Jeremy.

Someone get me an agent! Someone get me a manager!

Someone get me a seamstress.


BeckEye said...

Well, I'm glad it's not a tumor! I always hear that pain is actually not a symptom of breast cancer, but as you say, it's obviously a sign of something else.

So, does the mammogram really HURT? I'm so afraid of getting one, and I'll probably have to get one soon because I'm 35 and have a history of breast cancer in the family. I always just hear that they're "uncomfortable."

Happy Villain said...

Thanks, and yeah, I think the nodule is something... but what? I'd vote for the "uncomfortable" rather than "hurt" too, just because it's weird. It stings. How's that? Having my blood drawn has a sharper pain, though. It's hard to qualify. Come to think about it, you know, that tech could've tweaked my nips or something, just to make it worth my effort. Alas, she just maneuvered and squeezed my boobs. She's an honorary man in my book.

Anonymous said...

Your comment about illness being fixed by your ears being Q-tipped reminded me of the time I was waiting at the doctor's for the nurse who was busy with a man who had gone almost completely deaf due to wax build up in his ears....and she was q-tipping away (and injecting wanter into his ears!) like no tomorrow! So some things can be fixed by q-tip!

Cat. said...

I think I can identify the nodule: you are mutating and it is the new Human Sarcasm Gland the lucky ones of us will develop over the next century or so. Don't kill it!!

(Mammograms, IMHO, considering the time you spend in the room, are not that big a deal. Dental visits are much more uncomfortable for a longer duration.)

Happy Villain said...

This is good information to know! The only problem is I could never be in that situation because I Q-tip daily just for the pleasure of it. :)

I'm with you 100% on the dental visits being much worse. Yuck. And if the nodule is the Human Sarcasm Gland, I think mine should be much bigger. Maybe it is, and this is just a small protuberance. I like your theory, though. Gives me comfort.

Leelu said...

You're becoming a goddess! Specifically, Diana of Ephesus. :D

And I don't understand you people with your fear and loathing of dentistry. :-\

Vampire Librarian said...

If you want to see what having three boobies looks like, do an image search for Total Recall. There was a triple boobied hooker character in it. Can't believe our parents let my brother and me have that movie on VHS...

Kate P said...

Those graphics cracked me up, perfect blue hair streaks and all.

Seriously, it is really frustrating to go through all that hassle and come up with nothing! Probably why I turn to natural or Eastern medicine pretty often. One of my reflexology books suggested castor oil packs for sore boobs--castor oil on flannel, then covered with a heating pad. Sounds weird, but maybe it's worth a shot?

Travelin' Tracy said...

This is quite a funny post for something so serious...what is scary is that porn like that would probably sell...I never understand people with weird desires...