2001-07-09
Dear Diary:

    Sometimes the answer is that there is no answer.

    That little nugget o' zen-like goodness is brought to you by my right boob which resolutely refuses to cough up any secrets.

    Yes, I have a boob with 'tude.

    I was supposed to get the results of Mammogram II, Return of the Boob Crushing Machine, last Wednesday. However, my doctor went on vacation, neglected to tell the secretary that another doctor at the clinic was to tell me my result when I phoned, so she stonewalled me.

    Fine. Monday it would be. I am becoming quite the little expert at stress management. Once upon a time that would have been me, a big tub of heavenly hash ice cream, and a spoon. Now it's me, my sneakers, and five trips up and down the mountain to my house every night. I can now travel the 2.7 very steep miles in 55 minutes. I am becoming the Queen of Cardio.

    No fair looking at my thumbnails, which I have bitten down to the quick.

    Anyhow, my doctor told me this morning that Mammogram II, Return of the Boob Crushing Machine, shows that my right headlight contains an anomaly, some tissue that's denser than anything else in my chestal area. The good news is that it doesn't have the calcium deposits you normally see with breast cancer; the bad news is that it isn't a cyst.

    Me, I was all for going for a biopsy--sticking it with a needle and settling the question once and for all. Insert mad scientist of your choice here, brandishing a needle and cackling at my enigmatic tit, "Ve haff vays of makink you talk."

    But both my doctor and the radiologist refused me. There's a small risk of infection and a much bigger risk that poking the anomaly with a sharp needle may turn something that's benign into something that isn't.

    Who knew anomalies were so cranky, eh?

    Early in December I go back to have Mammogram III shot, this time by the radiologist himself and not a technician. Part of me is relieved that the head honcho is at the helm; part of me is nervous that it's enough off the beaten path that he feels he needs to do this.

    Oh, and yes, yet again I'm scheduling another stressful medical procedure during a holiday season, thus maximizing the odds that my doctor will be off on vacation and no one will be around to tell me the results.

    It's not easy pulling something like this off, eh.

    My doctor's parting words? That although this is unusual, maybe I've always had this odd little lumpazoid, maybe this is normal for me. Considering what an odd person I am in many ways, this observation somehow makes perfect sense to me.

    So now you have my new, improved mantra:

    Maybe this is normal for me.

    I hope so.

--Marn

Old Drivel - New Drivel


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Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -


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This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

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2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.