Tonight at play rehearsal (ah yes, I’m in a play), there was a box sitting on a table that said ENTERTAINING CRACKERS and I should’ve taken a photo of it because… what? The commentary writes itself, I’m sure, so I can leave it alone.
I’m lazy that way.
In other news, Friday I get the day off work. I wish it was to do something fun — I hear that sometimes people take vacation days to do things they enjoy — but instead I am going to the hospital to have a hole cut in my boob. Once the hole is cut in my boob, a surgeon is going to remove the mass that is currently a painful lump. It turns out that when I had the mammogram and ultrasound I wrote about previously, the palpable lump was invisible, because I guess it’s shy. Leave it to me to have a stealth tumor. So I saw the surgeon (who will on Friday be doing the cutting of the hole in my boob), and we looked at the x-rays and they were pretty boring, because… well, nothing to see there. Literally. And then he mashed on my tits for awhile, because I was there and my x-rays were total dullsville, so we might as well do something to make that copay worthwhile, right? And like magic, he found the stealth tumor (which isn’t hard to find at all, really), and pressed on it, and it hurt, and he asked, “Does that hurt?” and I said “Yes,” and then he pressed on it some more, because why not. He said “Well, it certainly doesn’t feel ominous, but my fingers aren’t a perfect judge, so I say let’s just take it out and biopsy it.” And I said “Sure, let’s.” Because hey, I love three-day weekends! And I’m pretty sure that this experience will involve drugs.
So, anyway, to sum up:
I have an ouchy lump in my boob which cannot be found by your conventional x-ray machines, Science, so the surgeon is going to cut it out, and then I suppose it’ll go to a lab, where they’ll probably slice and dice it and put it on slides and look at it under a microscope. Or something. In the meantime, I will get to wait for more than a week to find out if this aforementioned ouchy lump is made up of cells gone mad that want to kill me, or if it’s just, like, you know, no big deal, and sorry about being a painful jerk.
Pretty exciting, yeah? I think so.
And that is the news about my boobs.