Okay, for those of you who are keeping up, I have the test results and the girls are fine.  Apparently, while most people have actual tissue in their breasts I have oatmeal…very lumpy oatmeal.  I went in last Thursday to have a needle aspiration or possibly a biopsy.  I walked into the Breast Center of Northwest Arkansas ready to face whatever happened.  I took Boppy with me for moral support.  The first nurse I saw brought out a tray of instruments and began setting up what she referred to as a “pre-op” table.  Then they told me to strip above the waist.  As she was doing all of this “prep” work she was droning on and on about how the Drs. really don’t like another person in the room because he had a patient’s spouse pass out during the procedure.  I assured her that Boppy had been through and seen a whole lot worse with me and told her about breaking and skinning my nose while attempting to mount a skittish mare in an arena with a child who should have known better than to circle her horse at break neck speed.  She admitted that he had indeed seen worse, but still doubted that the dr. would let him in.  Turns out she was right.  I hate when that happens.

First of all they apparently lost my films from my mammogram so I had to get my boobies squished for the second time in a week.  I love being treated like a piece of meat.  There you stand naked with you nipples completely erect (because it is always cold in this effing place) and this trucker slaps your bare breast up against a metal plate grabs your nipple and stretches it to Tulsa.  Just when you are pretty much convinced that is as far as it will go they manage to drag it another foot or so.  Then they tell you to place your feet facing forward.  Hold the bar on the side of the machine, tip your chin up and to the right and then they slam a glass plate on your exposed and distorted boob and squeeze it until you produce milk (this is not exclusive to nursing mothers).  Then they ask you to stay in that position while they look at the results.  Thank God the damn images are digital and pretty quick to come back.  When she came back in she told me that while the doctor was looking at the images he found another lump.  That makes two in Lucy and one in Ethel.  Where is the justice?  The radiologists and the nurses are talking about me like I’m not there.  In addition, they have a med student in there who is asking questions I don’t want to hear the answers to.  Finally, his majesty, Dr. Harm (I swear to God I didn’t make that up) pats my foot in a very condescending manner and asks “What do we have here?”  OMG…this person can’t tell what a foot is, how in the hell is he going to place not one but two needles in my breasts?  At this point I have had six films of mammograms done and three ultrasounds and Dr. H picks up the wand to ultrasound my breast again. 

The first shot was to deaden my breast.  I was told it would feel like a bee sting.  That was total BS.  It’s true I didn’t feel the second needle, but if it had been the only needle I still would have only felt the one stick.  I think they only use two shots to make you feel like they are deadening the boob. The next needle was larger and had a vacuum attached to it.  He picked up that needle and began to penetrate the breast tissue.  I was watching the needle’s descent on the ultrasound screen.  I saw it approach the lump, and here is where we find out just what is going on.  If the needle can pick up fluid all I need is an aspiration.  If the needle can’t draw fluid I will have to have a biopsy.  Just then I see the needle puncture the lump and the lump begins to disappear.  One down…I have to undergo this two more times.  That was all I needed.  Needle aspirations are no big thing.  This makes five lumps I have had to have taken care of.  The new lump in Ethel will have to be watched for two years to make sure there is not change in the appearance of the lump.  For some reason I have really lumpy boobs.  Yay me!  I get to go in an have ultrasounds every six months.  So much to look forward to.  I am trying not to take this so lightly that when I feel a new lump I will just assume it is a fluid filled cyst and ignore it.  With my boobs it’s hard to tell.  They feel pretty lumpy already…kind of like a knee high filled with marbles and stuffed into a bra.  Paint a pretty picture don’t I?

Well that’s my story.  All lumps, not cancer…thank goodness.  I received a lovely letter from the Breast Center the other day.  It informed me that all of my test results were within normal range and that they didn’t need to see me again for six months.  That means that just about the time my boobs stop aching it will be time to go and do this all over again. While I am pleased with the results,  I have to say I’m still a little pissed about them not letting Boppy stay with me.  These were my boobs and I am the one paying for all of this.  Shouldn’t the decision of who was in the room be mine as well.  The way I see it they invited a guest (the intern) so why the hell couldn’t I. 

A few weeks ago my non-vag. daughter asked if I would like to go with her to the ballpark for her work party.  She was planning to take The Precious and it’s always easier to have someone with you than it is to carry him all day by yourself and you never know what might happen.  Of course I said yes.  Then I promptly forgot about it until she called me last week to remind me.  So Sunday afternoon we went to the ballpark.  Now this is the same ballpark that traumatized The Precious this summer when we took him to watch a baseball game.  You see, the mascot of the Arkansas Naturals is a huge sasquatch named Strike.  He is truly hideous and the thing he does best is go up to children and try to shake their hands.  After our first trip there, The Precious spent weeks asking about Strike.  He wanted to be sure he was not coming to his house.  We  think he may have had nightmares.  We aren’t sure.

Well, I went to pick them up on Sunday and he was super psyched.  He loves, loves, loves for people to come visit.  When I asked him if he was ready to go bye-bye with me he jumped into my arms, turned and looked at his mother and said, “you stay here mommy.”   Needless to say mom felt the love, but went anyway (since it was her place of employment that was hosting).  The trip to the ballpark was uneventful.  We spent the better part of the ride noticing all the things along the wayside.  Horseys were especially interesting on Sunday.  Then we arrived at the ballpark.  We pulled into the parking lot and the backseat got really quiet.  I turned down one of the rows of parked cars and a timid little voice from the backseat said, “ballgame?”  We said no, no ballgame  It was just going to be fun.  We mentioned all of the neat things at the ballpark play ground.  We mentioned the concession stand.  We tried to convince him that there would be other children there but we couldn’t get past one question…”Strike?”  We tried deflecting with all types of asides, but nothing was taking his attention away from his concern about Strike.  And then he saw him…a tremor began in his little body.  “I want to go bye-bye.” He didn’t say it once or twice he chanted it like it was his personal mantra.  The only other phrase he could eek out was “I don’t want it, Strike!”  Mostly these two phrases were muttered over and over without a break, sounding like a recording on a loop.  “I want to go bye-bye I don’t want it Strike I want to go bye-bye I don’t want it Strike.  He was still shaking, and since we aren’t made of steel, after about 2 minutes we took him out of the park.  While he was in the car he kept repeating his loop.  He seemed convinced that Strike had a GPS system to tell him exactly where we were going.  He was going to jump in his jet and get there before we did and scare the hell out of The Precious.  We kept promising him that wouldn’t occur.  We took him to the McDonald’s Playland.  I so wanted him to have a good time that I actually crawled up inside the stinking thing and slid down the slide with him…once.  He wanted more, but I sent his mother in as my replacement.  She lasted once as well.

We went to a punkin patch after that.  An acre of punkins of all sizes.  Our boy was in heaven.  He ran all over the patch.  He put up with getting his picture taken.  He found a red wagon and pulled it for awhile.  Then he put his favorite punkin and himself in the wagon and I pulled.  He found a disagreeable bug on one of the picture spots.  So for him. there would not be a picture taken there.  We even tried to put him on his mommy’s lap, but it just wasn’t worth it.  We didn’t push.  Lord knows he had been traumatized enough for one day.  After an afternoon of mauling punkins, he was ready to go to Emmy’s house.  We took a walk.  We looked at all the scary things in the yard.  We hit all the candy dishes for a quick sugar fix, and then we went upstairs to Emmy’s office to watch Aladdin.  It was a pretty full day.  He fell asleep on the drive home, but woke up as soon as the car stopped.  I went in for a bit (just to settle him down) and of course he was upset when I said I was leaving without him.  His mom finally suggested that he could go out and wave goodbye to me and that was okay.  It was raining, and running in the rain is second only to splashing in puddles as far as fun goes.  I came home and took a nap…for three hours.  I woke up about the time that other people are going to bed, and a scant four hours later I was back in bed.  I awoke this afternoon at 12:45.

I still have to go and get my pumpkins to carve.  I still have to buy cobwebs and a few lightbulbs.  Today I spent my time doing laundry and cleaning house.  Tomorrow I may sleep some more.  There is a reason God saw fit to give me children in my late teens and early twenties.  He knew I would be crippled.  I barely have the energy to keep up, and then there is the pain to deal with after the fact.  After he leaves, I load up on pain medication, put heat (or ice) packs on everything I have and snooze for anywhere from three hours to three days.  Then I am ready to see him and start all over again.  Trust me, the pain is totally worth it!