Good News

I got the results of my biopsy today, and they are benign! It’s about daggone time I got some good news out of this stuff, too. When Tana called me today and told me my results, my reaction was, “Reeeally?” That’s not a squealing, excited really, but more like the type of really you say when you learn something interesting, unexpected, and maybe a little strange. Like, if I said to you, “Hey, I’ve got a boil that looks just like Elvis” you might reply, “Reeaally?” So, anyway, Tana says, “Had you prepared yourself to hear bad news?” I laughed and replied, “No, I’ve learned not to draw any conclusions until I actually have the information.” And seriously, what was the worst thing they could tell me? That I’ve got cancer? Sorry, that really doesn’t have much shock value anymore. Now maybe if they told me, “You’ve got cancer, and this cancer doesn’t feed off of estrogen like the previous cancer. This one feeds off of caffeine” then I’d really be wailing and gnashing my teeth. “What do you mean only decaf!?! Where will I derive my personality if not from caffeine?!”


Susie and I have been hitting the gym pretty hard the last week. Of course, at this point I’m limited on what I can do because of my lifting restriction. Fortunately, Susie doesn’t mind sticking to walking and stationary biking. I’m getting a little frustrated, however, because it seems like every time I work out I weigh more. I’m beginning to think that it’s because I’m building ginormous calves from all this walking and biking. That’s great for the old self-esteem, ya know, to have one boob and legs like Popeye.

Which brings me to the subject of The Foob. Right now I have to wear a sports bra and so The Foob is riding around kinda loose in there, rather than having his own little compartment. This isn’t that big of a deal, except when we’re walking at the Y and I’ve got on a tank top. As we walk, The Foob likes to creep up and try to peek out. “I want to zee where we are going” he says in that annoying fake, French accent. “Get back in there, we’re just going around the track,” I tell him. But he’s quite persistent. “No! I want to zee where we are going. Bezides, it is zweatty in here, and I need to breathe zee fresh air.” I poke him back down. “We’re at the Y—there IS no fresh air! Don’t make me pin you in place next time!” The Foob laughs, “You cannot pin me—I am zee zilicone model.”

I am SO ready to be reconstructed.

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