I’m uh-skeerd. That’s right. UH-SKEERD.
That is southern for tremendously terrified. Feel free to use it in your day to day conversations.
Day after tomorrow is boobie D-Day. Some doctor I’ve never met is going to poke my girls with sharp things and suck out pieces of them I’m pretty sure I’ll never get back. When your boobies are as small as mine, every little bit counts.
A few days ago a “nurse educator” phoned me to discuss what I can expect while I’m at the Big City Breast Center. I’m sure it is a widely held belief among these boobie professionals that the more a woman knows, the better she’ll feel about the whole hoopla.
Yeah. Not so much.
“Sherri, you are scheduled for a stereotactic breast biopsy.” She said it in such a cheerful voice, I thought for a minute maybe she’d called to tell me I’d won a fantastic stereo.
I darn near yelled, “Yippee! I never win anything!” It didn’t take me long to understand I hadn’t won anything so much as I was having to face up to some bad karma that I may have incurred as the result of one or two shady decisions in my past.
She said she was going to tell me everything about the procedure and that I should stop her any time I had a question.
“When you walk into the room, you’ll see a table where you will lie on your tummy during the procedure. Beneath it, the doctor and nurses will sit on stools to perform the procedure.”
Sweet. I’m going to be hoisted up in the air just the way Wal-Mart jacks up my Ford when they change the oil.
“As you cannot move at all during the procedure, the breast will be compressed as the doctor works.”
Totally loving it so far. I don’t know why it’s never occurred to me to get one of these devices for my own personal use. Every woman knows there is nothing more fabulous than having your boobs compressed.
Well, nothing except….
“We will use a small needle to inject you with a little numbing agent and then a larger one to make sure the breast is numb. The doctor will make a small incision and then she will remove about a dozen or so cores of tissue and …”
This is the part it all starts to get a little fuzzy for me. When I heard the words needles and inject and incision and tissue, I put my head on my desk and promised God I’d never again kill even the tiniest and most leggy living thing if He’d please cause the Big City Breast Center to implode before Wednesday morning.
“Your comfort is what matters most to us, Sherri,” she said. “We want this to be as painless as possible. It will take roughly an hour or so per breast and we’ll give you a ten or fifteen minute break between each one. You can even bring your favorite CD’s to listen to and we’ll play them. Anything to make you comfortable.”
Here’s what I think will make me comfortable. I’m thinking a xanex flavored milk shake with a whiskey chaser and tiny little pistol I can use to threaten the stool-sitting boobie doctor should she hurt me in any way.
Keep your fingers and toes crossed, kids and send me good boob vibes. A few more days and hopefully this will all be behind me and I will live a long and happy life that will never again involve lying on my belly six feet in the air with my boobs hanging through a hole.
Unless of course there is Tequila and a fine-looking man involved.
Copyright © 2004-2006, Sherri Bailey
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