Boob Smashin'

Sooo, to my two readers, you needn't fret. This won't be graphic.

The other day, I was actually reading a magazine article about breast cancer, and the author said she was doing a "routine self-exam," which, I need to admit, I've always felt weird doing. It's like kegels. I feel really weird doing them. You're supposed to do them all the time, but, eh...weird for me. Call me narrow-minded. Whatever.

So the author was like, "I felt a lump during my routine breast exam, so I got it checked out, and it was breast cancer! And here is the rest of my story..." And I was like, "Sighhhh. Okayyyyy, I suppose it's been a few months since I've copped a feelskie on myself." So I reluctantly did, and guess what?

I felt a lump.

Being a woman, I immediately jumped to ominous conclusions and started planning my cancer treatments. "Oh, yeah, definitely gonna get fakies if I have to get a double mastectomy. But not a bigger size than I already am. I won't be able to dance very well if they're too big..."

Also being a woman, I immediately texted my sisters. My youngest sister freaked out and urged me to call my doc right away. So I did, and was given an appointment almost immediately.

My doc then copped a feelskie, (She's a girl, which made me not feel quite so weird, but still a little weird) and said I probably just had a fibroid. Which is just weird boob tissue, apparently. She says sometimes it comes on as we age. And she said I should probably stop drinking caffeine (Can we please observe a moment of silence here? This is a huge blow. A really big deal to me. She might as well have said I should probably never eat again. For realsies), because caffeine makes them more painful. She also recommended I take 1000 milligrams of vitamin E per day. And then she said I should probably get a mammogram.

All I've ever heard about mammograms is that they smash your boobs between two plates, and that it's exceedingly painful. My sister Nat remembered Mom getting one once and then staying in bed all day afterward, but as she and I discussed it, we came to the conclusion that Mom was probably just tired that day. She was always tired. Being a mom to four kids is exhausting. I know from experience, dude.

Despite these fearsome tales of pain and possible exhaustion, I went ahead to my mammogram appointment as planned.

And you know, it really wasn't that bad. Maybe my boobs are less sensitive than other peoples' boobs? I have insensitive boobs. They forget my belly button's birthday.  They walk away when they see their friend, my collarbone, crying. They don't get my armpits flowers on their anniversaries.  (Like one boob is married to one armpit and the other boob is married to my other armpit, right? Work with me here.) They're emotionally unavailable.

Anyways. So they got smashed up and down, and then side to side, and then diagonally. It was no big whoop. No need for a nap in the afternoon, though I took one anyway, because I taught dance for four hours that morning and was totally wiped out.

I should hear back from my doc in a couple of days about the results. In the meantime, if you could wear a dark brown armband in honor of my inability to drink coke, I'd appreciate it.

And no, this was not that graphic, so you can stop whining, boys. I could have been a lot more descriptive. Sorry/not sorry if I've given you PKBTSD - Post Kar's Blog Traumatic Stress Disorder. I hope my post hasn't made you hang low. I hope you won't be nursing a grudge against me from here on out.  I know I've been a Double D in sharing this with you. (A Daring Damsel.)  I'll tone it down next time.*

*No, no I won't.