Relocating Lumpy

So, I SURVIVED my doctor’s appointment.

Obviously. THAT was the easy part.

And the conclusion was the obvious one. LUMPY is being booted out. Bad tenant.  Bank is calling in the loan. No more “boob” of luxury for you, partner.

However, before successfully evicting Lumpy, Lumpy must first be evaluated, assessed, photographed and thoroughly manhandled. I like to think of this procedure as akin to  buying Lumpy a new house and I am the realtor.

I have to find out ALL about Lumpy before I can pack ALL the luggage and move Lumpy out. Permanently.

Pertinent information includes things like: Am I going to have to evict any of his neighbors as well or will a small single unit  dwelling suit Lumpy just fine? Does Lumpy have a family? A LARGE family? Is Lumpy a benign sort of guy? See, I definitely DO NOT want Lumpy back to visit, or any wayward lost family and friends of Lumpy’s  thinking it is OK to hang out in my residence.

I had assumed I would be read a twenty page riot act by my doctor his staff. As in “What took you EIGHT months to GET HERE? DO you need a written SIGN? A MAP? Some sort of HANDBOOK  like the “Idiot’s Guide to When to Go to the Doctor” or “What to do When  Giant Oozing Lump is Hanging Out with You?”

Didn’t happen. Apparently, I am not alone on Denial Street, meandering a path down Terrified Way and taking several wrong turns onto “This Just Is NOT Happening to Me Drive”. MANY people go through this. Actually, I think I suffered MORE guilt (the Jewish Grandmother philosophy.) BECAUSE they were so kind and considerate and caring….

Upon direct examination, Lumpy is fairly superficial and able to be excised with ease under local anesthetic and sent off to a lab to be analyzed and examined. IN TWO WEEKS.

First, Lumpy was mashed and mushed by a nurse. Then, I sat  adorned in the latest paper towel wear by Bounty medical supplies and awaited the doctor, who also did MORE mashing, mushing and then added some squashing and squishing for good measure.

I was then led to a mammography room where my breasts were shoved, one at a time, into a machine that turned them from big puffy pop-overs into little flat pop-tarts. The inventor of the Mammogram machine probably got the idea for the design of this device watching an eighteen wheeler drive over a beach ball. Either that or the inventor had some SERIOUS “Mommy” issues.

I have always envied women with small, pert breasts. Sometimes, securing LARGE breasts into a bra is worse than the latest safety regulations of Child Car seats, there are supports and braces and clips and snaps and clasps and I do really feel that MY breasts MAY be safer in my bra than the nation’s supply of gold is in Fort Knox.

 Just why is it that guys always find breasts so EXCITING. .

Really, the only reason that women have to cover ourselves is that men never actually outgrow the juvenile fascination of giant orbs of pleasure and absolutely can not function normally when presented with a beautiful breast. Clothed or Naked.

I REALLY want to interrupt some well dressed, well respected man in the middle of some very important discussion and just GAPE at his BALLS  and  say to him “Wow, your LEFT one  IS lower…you really ARE brilliant!”

ANYWAY…..back to squeezing and mammograms….which REALLY make me wish I had compact breasts to start with. I felt like a limousine being stuffed into a “Smart Car”

Next was the body fluid sampling, where everything my body made had to be taken away in a tube of some sort. I pleasantly offered up earwax, thinking they MAY have forgotten something…..

I think THE WORST moment was my glimpse into the lab fridge. The lab tubes and containers and slides neatly lined up in there, patiently awaiting pick-up from the “lab fairy” ( That would be the  big lab where all the tests that take four weeks to run is) and they were being stored in a Tupperware container. SOMEONE had forgotten to take the original label OFF the  Tupperware container and it still had the price tag and little advertising on it that proclaimed “Sealed for Tasty Freshness”. All those urine samples, blood and freshly bagged bagged PAP tests under that heading  gave me quite the grotesque snort of misplaced humor.

I LOVE my doctor, but in all the YEARS I have been going there I have heard the same thing EVERY mammo visit: ‘Our radiologist is currently on vacation and there will be about a two-week delay an having your Mammo read…” This radiologist is either the LUCKIEST vacationer ever or MIA/POW from the Vietnam war who will NEVER be heard from again.

The REST of my labs, ALL of them, will also be back in about two weeks. Good thing they were all ordered STAT. Of course, this is coming from a woman who waited MONTHS to go to the doctor, so the fact that the medical community at large is not leaping to their feet to process MY lab work as if it holds the secret to unlocking where Amelia Earhart ended up should really be of no shock to me.

And, on Feb 13, all of that  results on STUFF should be received. So, I made my appointment to have Lumpy officially relocated to a container, where Lumpy will then be transported (maybe even  sealed for tastyness) in Tupperware to a lab, where Lumpy will be processed and carried on to an eternal housing of  red medical waste bag in the sky………………..