My left breast has taken a hit.
A beat down.
A shank.
That’s right. Today, I let someone take a scalpel to my boob.
And for the record; my dermatologist looks just like Sarah Palin. I’m pretty sure we may breed SayPay clones up here…
Now, if you’re following logic; you've come to realize that today my dermatologist took a chunk out of my breast. My soft and supple (and previously unblemished) breasts – which I adore – were the target of her overly analytical eye.
OK, so it’s probably my own fault. I did spend hours upon hours of my youth either slathered up in baby oil laying out in the Arizona sun, or tucking myself away into tanning beds. But still… my boob? Out of an entire body of flesh, the only spot she found to be suspect was on my boob?
Sad day friends. Sad day.
And, I blame my father for this. Everyone on his side of the family has had some form of skin cancer or another. My uncle is the only one who has ever had melanoma, but all the rest have had varying stages. It’s his genes (coupled with my innate desire to be crispy tan while growing up – don’t worry, I have since reverted to tans in a bottle) that lead me to the dermatologist once a year for full body checks. Full body checks which are actually slightly more uncomfortable than visits to the gyno, because there you stand; naked and on display.
I think my boob is going to be OK. The spot was basically right in between my cleavage, so I think that once it heals – no one will ever be able to notice.
But still. It was my boob!
When she went in, I pleaded with her not to cut too deep; because (I pointed out) I am one of those rare women who actually likes her boobs.
When I told my father this, he told me I lacked boundaries.
But hey, I’m pretty sure I got that from him too, because my brother is the exact same way. In fact, apparently last weekend (at my grandmothers 80th birthday), my baby brother felt the need to make an announcement that he has a small penis (and that, he too, blames our father for this).
And yes, while he made that announcement to the entire family – I just made it to the entire internet universe. Take THAT baby brother. That’s what you get for not calling your sister every once in a while!
(I seriously love my family - even if I did intentionally move 3,000 miles away from them!)
Back on subject though; my boob has been maimed. And for this, I am sad; and fairly anxious to see what I’m going to be dealing with once I take the bandage off. I’m hoping for a miniature chicken-pox-esque scar. Anything bigger, and I might just have to cry.
I can handle stretch marks and baby feeding ruining my boobs, but I’m not quite prepared to let the threat of skin cancer (because – I have still to this day never had a spot come back cancerous, even though I've had plenty removed) ruin them.
And, for anyone who has ever struggled with (or lost someone they loved to) skin cancer – please know that I am truly not being flippant. I know how bad melanoma can be, and my heart aches for anyone who has had to go through that. I really do take my annual checks seriously.
But still… my boob? Not cool.
In her defense, my SayPay look alike did earn some points back by complimenting my new tattoo and giving me a huge bag of samples for my next round of baby making. I had mentioned that while I was doing IVF before, my skin really broke out because of the hormones (it was in the context of telling her that things have totally cleared up since then though). No sooner had I mentioned it, and she was filling up a big bag with samples of a “safe to use during pregnancy” acne cream – for next time.
Sweet, sweet woman.
She also shot something into two of my least favorite scars (one on my shoulder and one on my arm) that is supposed to reduce them. I tend to scar up pretty badly in general, and these two in particular had bubbled up quite a bit. They were, no doubt, ugly scars. She offered to give me this shot last year, but I had declined – not wanting to be vain enough to care about my scars. Except… I do care. I hate those scars. I call the one on my shoulder my bullet wound, because it really does look that bad. So, call me vain – I’m actually excited to see if this works. I had this silly idea that I should be carrying around my scars with pride, but no more. From now on, I am a girl who blasts her scars away whenever possible.
I suppose I’ll forgive Dr. SayPay for maiming my breast. The truth is, that I actually kind of hope they’ll get hit so much worse sometime soon.
When pregnancy and breastfeeding are bound to ruin them.
They couldn’t stay perfect forever I suppose.
I’ll just look at this as the first hit.
The first of many to come.
ADSPACE
