The Slam-O-Gram

This morning my boobs, or "The Girls" as the hub ever-so-lovingly refers to them, had their second slam-o-gram in a matter of weeks bcz the powers that be saw something "suspicious."

Don'tcha love how they use these adjectives - "suspicious" - like my tits are wearing dark sunglasses and a sardonic smile...yeah, that's it, they're planning to rob a Victoria Secrets and clean them out of triple-D bras!

So, here I sit, naked from the waist up except for a big, 1950's teal colored robe/mumu that ties in the front. I read through about a dozen articles on how Nicole Ritchie just can't help being so skinny and that people shouldn't criticize her bcz she eats anything she wants (I'd be that skinny too if my four food groups consisted of heroine, cigarettes, Starbucks and booze), while waiting to find out if they were going to do further tests.

Sure enough, they did a sonogram, which is just like the ultrasounds pregnant women have only on a smaller mound...well, my boobs may actually weigh as much as some newborns so maybe they're about the same.

First, they squirt warmed KY jelly-like stuff all over me and then start hunting around with the microphone thingie. I'm just thankful the tech was a chick...I bet men are probably "discouraged" from going into mammography. It would take a flamingly homosexual guy to make me comfortable about having some strange man run a hot wet hard thing all over my boobs while staring intently at a television screen...okay, I'm cracking myself up!

When the sonogram was over she said the radiologist would read it and I would have an answer before I left...like I was applying for a loan or something (major eyeroll here). Of course that was bullshit bcz 5 minutes later she came in and told me I could leave. I said, "So there's nothing to worry about, right?" And she gave me the well-rehearsed answer, "Well, I only administer the test. Only the radiologist can actually read it and they'll send the results to your doctor in the next few days."

Like my doctor, who didn't even know I was having the test, should get to find out if I have a lump or a tumor or the C-word or whatever! Well, it didn't take two days bcz my gynie (who actually did the touchy-feely breast exam this past Friday when I was in to see him for my annual) called me this afternoon as soon as he got the results.

And yes, I'm uncomfortable when he does the breast exam but hell, he's gonna go a lot further than second base b4 he's through so why be embarassed? What a job! Cooter in the morning and cooter in the afternoon...I wonder if he's ever grossed out by how some women smell? I wonder if I'm weird to wonder that?

My primary care doc did a pap on me once when I first moved to Baltimore bcz I didn't have a gynie yet and he told me that while he was interning at one of the inner city Baltimore hospitals he did a pap smear on a woman who had crabs (she didn't tell him she had them) and he jumped clear across the room when one of them jumped. Can you imagine being down there and having a critter JUMP at you!?! That would freak me the hell out!!! I'd have to shower for about three days with a clorox/lye/peroxide mix b4 I felt clean again.

Anyway, my gynie said they gave me three choices - 1: wait four months and have another slam-o-gram 2: have them do a sonogram-lead biopsy (I have no idea what this is) 3: call a surgeon and have it biopsied. #1 is out bcz if something's in there, I want to find out what it is and get it removed. There's NO WAY I can lose my boobs bcz they are very important to Dolores (Seinfeld fans should know what I mean here).

But beyond that, my day was fine until the 5pm hour when I checked my email and found my confidentiality agreement that I had to sign to find out how much my firstborn (my magazine) had sold for...and how much of that I would be getting.

Well dear reader, since I signed a paper that said I wouldn't disclose...all I can legally say is...well, I can't say anything at all legally about the sale of the magazine I poured my heart and soul into. But I can talk about how I feel...

In a word: Disappointed.
In two words: Not surprised.
In two more words: Pissed off.

But on the bright side: Nothing ventured, nothing gained...I didn't buy it when it was offered to me because I was afrrid of losing my shirt and aside from my adventure this morning, I still have my shirt on...

Guess I'll just have to wait till one of the hub's paisanos in Sicily has a heart attack while working on his tomoato plants and leaves us a bazillion dollars of dirty money. Maybe I could wash it in that clorox/lye/peroxide solution...