1.11.2011

Save My Ta-Tas..Or My Sanity, At Least

[Important little aside: I started this entry a, um, few days ago...or weeks. Whatever. Just got back to rereading it to try and ungarble the gobbledy gook and hopefully I made it slightly comprehensible.]

Where, oh where, do I start? Right now I'm semi-incapacitated, and the kids are home from school for Christmas Break (read: running around, in the house, like a pack of wild animals), and my husband is pluggin' away at our kitchen cabinets (yes, still. Up until a week ago he hadn't done any work on them at all, for months, because he's too busy with Nursing School. Understandably so. But here I am, sitting, semi-incapacitated, remember?, amongst alllllllllll the stuff that belongs in the cabinets but has been temporarily located to rest on my sanity, I mean, counters and tables and all other horizontal surfaces.  And there are dishes. Lots of dirty dishes.  Because everybody knows how to use them, in overabundance, even, but apparently I am the only one that knows how to use that magic box commonly referred to as The Dishwasher.  And all that stuff that seems to fall from the sky around Christmas time: the decorations, kids' art projects, unsifted mail, plus everything else that Mom Usually Takes Care Of. But I'm not taking care of it right now, because I'm (that's right, say it with me) semi-incapacitated.

Why? Well, on the 13th (this past Monday) I had some boobage removed. No, not a breast reduction. At least, not a balanced one. There was a small mass on my left breast and on Monday they took it out. The right boob is still the same size.  It's what the doctor referred to as an 'excisional biopsy'. My Reproductive Endocrinologist (the surrogacy doc) is the one who found the lump through routine exam. It wasn't too concerning but something he wanted re-visited in a few weeks time. So after my ultrasound to check my uterine lining (this is a preparatory ultrasound, gettin' ready for the Embryo Transfer, otherwise known as "when the doctor gets me pregnant") the doctor (who was actually a different reproductive endocrinologist, filling in for my regular doctor who was out of country) performed a breast exam and also found the lump on my left breast. Truth be told, I was rather offended. A woman of five pregnancies and full-term deliveries, who has breastfed her four own children...come on, it wasn't a lump people! It was the last little bit of perky boob remaining, hiding beneath the vast majority of far-from-perky, 38-year-old breast tissue. "Lump", "mass"...Pfft.

Still, with my mom's history of breast cancer (one of the scariest times in my life) I wasn't taking any chances. The lump was too small to do a tissue biopsy, and so we decided to just take it out.  No messing around here.  And so the last youthful, sprightly, bit of perkiness that was left, is now gone. I was really hoping the surgeon, while he was in the vicinity, would have thrown in a complimentary lift. You know, to put the girls back up where they belong. No such luck.

So they took my last smidgen of firmness, left me lopsided (albeit ever so slightly), and didn't have the decency to at least move the girls north, and now I'm semi-incapacitated trying to enjoy the nutsiness around me: sawdust, cluttered counter tops, dirty dishes, filthy floors, Super Hubby, Crazy Kids, and all.

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