... your sunday sillies are HERE as blogger just wont let me share them on my damn blog ... but they can't stop me from linking them mwahahahaha!!! um ... yet ...
Sometimes, when you're worried about a health ailment, the WORST thing to do is Google information about it.
However, in this case, some of it was a good thing.
80% of breast lumps are non-cancerous.
94% of women who get biopsies find the bastard offender to be benign.
So I'm going with that.
I'm also going with positive thinking for the worst case scenario.
'They' keep trying to kill me.
Whomever 'they' are.
I can't tell you how many times in my life I've been inches from death, but I never die.
Only the good die young.
You can't kill me.
So, I won't die.
That doesn't mean I won't agonize. Sometimes, I feel that my lot in life is to suffer and show other people how to do it.
Never-the-less, I haven't really spoken about this because there's never been a need to, but since I was a budding adolescent, I've never wanted my breasts.
I've wanted them gone.
If this little bastard on my lymph node is sinister, the presence of my fat sacks will be dismissed and the Hector-Browns will be on round two of The Great Breast Disappearance.
I'm perfectly happy with that.
Get rid of them.
Because of the cancer in my family, they've been nothing but a fear trap anyway.
I guess that's why I'm so good at giving myself self-examinations. I learned young and have been avid enough that I found a lump that wouldn't even show on the mammogram.
They had to use the sonogram to see it, even though they could clearly feel it's inhabitance beneath my tissue.
Ladies, check yourselves. Every day. Every goddam day. Thoroughly.
OK.
Off my soap box.
So, with knowing that nothing can kill me, and that worst case scenario I finally have the reason to lose these dumpy duffels, really, is there anything to worry about?
I slept without too much help last night.
I used the natural stuff; Rescue Remedy.
When I woke up in the middle of the night and my first thought was that bastard leech on my pouch, I zotted myself with another dose and quickly fell to sleep again.
So, I'm feeling much less afraid today, and tomorrow is the biopsy.
Then I have to wait 2 days for results.
What's the point in freaking out?
It won't change any outcomes.
Every time I start to get scared, I'll just think, "Bring it on bitch. I've been through enough in my life that you don't scare me for a second."
I'll also think, "You can't kill me. Many have tried."
I've already moved into joking about it, as if Mr. Lumpy is a separate living being. If Papi isn't doing something I want, I say, "But I have a lump."
From now on if I want him to do something he doesn't want to do, "Mr. Lumpy says to do it."
Fuck it all.
I've cried, I've been nauseas, I've been depressed, I've obsessed and none of it has changed anything.
You can't kill me.
But damn, this headache and exhaustion can certainly take me down a few notches.
Sometimes, when you're worried about a health ailment, the WORST thing to do is Google information about it.
However, in this case, some of it was a good thing.
80% of breast lumps are non-cancerous.
94% of women who get biopsies find the bastard offender to be benign.
So I'm going with that.
I'm also going with positive thinking for the worst case scenario.
'They' keep trying to kill me.
Whomever 'they' are.
I can't tell you how many times in my life I've been inches from death, but I never die.
Only the good die young.
You can't kill me.
So, I won't die.
That doesn't mean I won't agonize. Sometimes, I feel that my lot in life is to suffer and show other people how to do it.
Never-the-less, I haven't really spoken about this because there's never been a need to, but since I was a budding adolescent, I've never wanted my breasts.
I've wanted them gone.
If this little bastard on my lymph node is sinister, the presence of my fat sacks will be dismissed and the Hector-Browns will be on round two of The Great Breast Disappearance.
I'm perfectly happy with that.
Get rid of them.
Because of the cancer in my family, they've been nothing but a fear trap anyway.
I guess that's why I'm so good at giving myself self-examinations. I learned young and have been avid enough that I found a lump that wouldn't even show on the mammogram.
They had to use the sonogram to see it, even though they could clearly feel it's inhabitance beneath my tissue.
Ladies, check yourselves. Every day. Every goddam day. Thoroughly.
OK.
Off my soap box.
So, with knowing that nothing can kill me, and that worst case scenario I finally have the reason to lose these dumpy duffels, really, is there anything to worry about?
I slept without too much help last night.
I used the natural stuff; Rescue Remedy.
When I woke up in the middle of the night and my first thought was that bastard leech on my pouch, I zotted myself with another dose and quickly fell to sleep again.
So, I'm feeling much less afraid today, and tomorrow is the biopsy.
Then I have to wait 2 days for results.
What's the point in freaking out?
It won't change any outcomes.
Every time I start to get scared, I'll just think, "Bring it on bitch. I've been through enough in my life that you don't scare me for a second."
I'll also think, "You can't kill me. Many have tried."
I've already moved into joking about it, as if Mr. Lumpy is a separate living being. If Papi isn't doing something I want, I say, "But I have a lump."
From now on if I want him to do something he doesn't want to do, "Mr. Lumpy says to do it."
Fuck it all.
I've cried, I've been nauseas, I've been depressed, I've obsessed and none of it has changed anything.
You can't kill me.
But damn, this headache and exhaustion can certainly take me down a few notches.
i have abundant courage
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