I found a lump in my armpit. No. I have no idea why I was randomly touching my armpit; this part of the story is irrelevant. I made an appointment at Urgent Care for the following day since I needed to see the doctor who is not married to a friend of mine. How can you be so selfless in a time of impending crisis you say? Well, my therapist worked tirelessly to teach me the significance of setting boundaries and “not showing my tits to other women’s husbands” just happens to be one of the first rules I set for myself.
I immediately called my friend, Lisa, who is “like” a doctor because she listens to Dr. Radio every single day. She has correctly diagnosed a wide range of ailments for free. President Obama would looooooove her. Lisa was like, “You have a swollen lymph node. You touched those filthy balls on that bull statue on Wall Street when you were in New York last week. You should probably be treated for gonorrhea.”
The next day I went to the doctor. She felt me up and even though she was not particulary concerned, I earned myself a ticket to the next round which consisted of an ultrasound and a mammogram. The nurse told me to “STAY OFF THE INTERNET!” I was like, “Oh yeah totally! I would never be that dumb. I am noooooooot even slightly concerned. I take Lexapro remember?!” I went out to my car and immediately made my appointment for the following week.
By bedtime, I was a goddamn, fucking nervous wreck. I took some vitamins, downed a shot of Crown, chopped up a plate of antioxidant laden vegetables and climbed into bed next to Mike with my laptop charged, ready to do my research. I grabbed a carrot and proceeded to read about every single symptom, treatment, success/horror story and medication. I kept tapping Mike with radishes and celery to wake him up and tell him the good news about successful clinical trials I discovered for people with breast cancer.
I am not exactly sure why Mike became angry but, people handle grief in different ways. Mike sat up and said in a pissy tone, “If you do not stop chewing and turn that fucking computer off, I am going to go downstairs and change the wi-fi password.” Despite my anguished state, his idle threat managed to bring a smile to my tear-streaked face. Mike has no idea how to change a wi-fi password.
Fortunately for Mike, I know that fear masquerades as anger. I nodded and softly closed my laptop. Poor little lamb, he really does love me. I snuggled up against him and tried to decide what tattoos I was going to get to cover the scars on my chest. I had considered getting Mike’s name but, since he was being a major dick, I decided I would go with some orchids or angel wings or maybe even some parrots.
At the same time I was grappling with my own health scare, my sister learned she had incurable disease called herpes (the cold sore type, not the vagina kind). She insisted on going with me to my next appointment. Just between me and all of you, I think this was because she wanted to prolong telling her husband she was a hussy. Apparently, not everyone waits until marriage to have intercourse like I did.
The lab technician came in and performed an ultrasound on my lump. She informed us that it did indeed resemble a swollen lymph node but, the radiologist would need to confirm her suspicion. My sister slapped my tits and told me I was holding up nicely for having two kids.
The technician left the room. Since we were there anyway, I went ahead and performed an ultrasound on my sister’s cold sore and gave her a free pregnancy test. We then took a bunch of selfies next to the posters of nipples on the walls and left.
My next appointment is in a week. I am not stressing out. Like at all. This experience has proven to be yet another precious reminder of how much I truly love my life. I am not sure what I did to be constantly surrounded by the world’s finest human beings but, thank you. I love you all. So very much. XO
PS Go fondle your armpits, balls and boobs. I mean it. GO. NOW.