Feeling Kind of Cheeky

To quote the iconic Dora the Explorer, "Hola!" Happy Friday to everyone and I wanted to take the time to wish a belated birthday to the Olsen twins who turned 27 yesterday. They probably celebrated by smelling a birthday cake and licking a spoon that had scooped Ben & Jerrys in 1998. Fortunately, I had access to the event so here is a photo below

Happy B-Day MK and Ashley!

When my father passed away unexpectedly a few weeks ago, it was nice to see some people that I have not seen in probably 20 years. It's been years since someone has called me Suge and it was really very sweet. Although, I don't really think of myself as a Suge because the only other Suge I know is a bit more gangsta than me. One thing that struck me as odd, is that several people commented on the fact that they were surprised that my husband was cute. (Yawn). Hello! Did these peeps think I was going to marry someone who looked like Dog the Bounty Hunter? Although my husband likes this (he also likes that my ob/gyn discusses how adorable he is, but she doesn't live with him and find socks shoved in the cushions of the couch), I was a bit miffed or at least perplexed. I like to remind my husband on a frequent basis the he scored big time by landing a zany, low maintenance wife who know how to cook top ramen in the microwave and can have philosophical conversations about topics ranging from the Miami Heat, Dan Uggla's batting average, Hillary Duff's teeth, all the way to what kind of time frame we give Kim and Kanye post birth of little Northpole. Seriously. I'm one profound biyatch who happens to do a buttload of laundry. Oh, I'm sure I have some annoying qualities. Well, probably several. But isn't that part of your job as a spouse? To annoy the other? We didn't use traditional vows but I distinctly remember something about "to love and annoy until death do you part." Come on peeps. You know you do or say something that makes your spouse or SO have flashes of what their story will look like on Dateline. I know his least favorite phrase I have other than "take out the garbage." It is something along the lines of "haters gonna hate..." However, isn't that an endearing characteristic?Where is my love? Don't peeps think he landed the prize in the pinata?

And on another note, what's up with some of the ridiculous comments people make to each other?I was walking to my car and the guy at the dry cleaner leapt out of the door like Spiderman and says, "why are you wearing a sweater? It's hot." No s&*t Sherlock but I work in an office that is 35 degrees. It's not like I was wearing  a wool sweater with reindeer and sequins. Should I have pointed out that going to work nude is unacceptable in most industries? Why didn't I ask  him why he was wearing pants that were 3 inches too short? Or why wasn't the lecherous perv asking the fat guy in the suit waiting for Marta why he was sweating? Exactly. Who cares if I am wearing a sweater?

Turning off the snark machine....XO



The Consultation Room Not to Be Confused with the Situation Room

I have been on hiatus. No, not like one of those awful NBC sitcoms, but rather I've been kind of holed up. Kind of like the ground hog but no one cares if I see my shadow. It's been a difficult month and even though I haven't felt particularly chatty, I am grateful for all of the kind calls, texts, cards, emails, IMS, and visits from friends and extended family. I appreciate everyone's kind wishes (even if I haven't responded). XO

So, let's travel back 4 weeks. I had to reschedule an annual screening.  You know, the kind where you remove your top and they squish your boobs in between some paddles. No, I wasn't getting ready for a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition photoshoot but rather a mammogram. I scheduled myself for the last one of the day. I guess the new trend is to create a spa like environment with Yanni playing in the background and plasma tvs showing images of waterfalls and ducks swimming around on lakes. As I waited for the tech, she encouraged me to have a snack. And I did. I freaking devoured every single snackwells creme filled cookie they had and I started to look around to make sure cameras weren't watching. I didn't want to be the lady on the news who was accused of cookie theft  at the breast center.

Anyway, after said mammogram, I dressed, checked the cookie bin and noticed they refilled for the next day. I grabbed a bag for the road and had a feeling those peeps were going to call me back. A week goes by and I get a phone call to come in for additional views. Should I have been doing my Tracy Anderson work out during this week in preparation for these new views? Later that same day a letter arrives that says, "We need to take additional images but please don't be alarmed." I actually called to schedule my follow up and specifically said, "Yeah, a word of advice. Don't put "don't be alarmed" in your letter. It alarms people." I'm just saying.

So if everyone is  following along, after an annual screening, only 10% of people will be called back for additional views. And of these 10%, only 8% will require a biopsy. These odds are starting to sound the same as the odds of me running into Ryan Gosling at Target. Can I tell you that I'm not a fan of the word breast? It reminds me of KFC. Yes, yes. I know that is the technical jargon, but boob just sounds a little less clinical, so I will use that word because I can. I schedule myself for the first appointmet for the follow up because, well, I just want to get the h-e double hockey sticks out of there. Stephanie takes additional pictures of my left boob, and says the radiologist will read the results immediately. I can't wait. A few moments later, the nurse navigator (bad sign) tells me to get dressed and asks me to follow her to something called the consultation room. Mmmmm. Something tells me she won't be serving margaritas.  I feel like my stomach is in my calves.  I enter a dimly lit pink (I HATE PINK) room with a box of tissues. Holy shizzle! She says Dr. Do (yes, that was his name) wants to speak with me. I ask if he is going to give me the winning lottery numbers. Enter Dr. Do. Dr. Do's first or 2nd language is not English. He sounded exactly like one of the bad guys from the Roger Moore James Bond flicks and he doesn't look like he is about to deliver winning lottery numbers.  He says and I quote "Microcalcifcations indeterminant-suspicious. Need biospy. May be malignant." Just my luck-wtf. I just had an idea for a bumper sticker.  Now I'm an 8% er. The navigator gives me 2 choices of biopsies and I said, "I'll spin the wheel and take the stereotactic one, please." I knew I was gonna be an 8% er so I did my research.

Schedule the stereotactic biospy 2 days later. For those of you not familiar with this procedure, you lay on a table designed by an 8th grade shop class and dangle your boob in a hole. A group of peeps underneath, will then take photos, and use a core needle to take out samples of flesh and then sew a sister back up. Sounds better than trip to Bora Bora doesn't it? I climb on said device and I'm told to look at a picture of the Eifel Tower. Perhaps the French Riviera would have been more appropriate since I was topless? Some lady is massaging my calves which was very sweet but then they asked how everything was going. I said, "Well, it's not like having lunch with Bradley Cooper but it's all good." Chuckles. The procedure takes about 10 minutes and they squash (compress) left boob for 20 minutes and then I'm ready to rock and roll on outta there. Parting words are that 80% of these come back benign. Can I be in the majority for once? The weird goofy chick just wants to be in the majority one time. I can be an anomaly in other situations...like at Starbucks.

And finally, yesterday I received the good news that I am an 80% er. Holla! Being healthy is a wonderful thing and many have been dealt an unfortunate set of cards. I know many people (young and old) who are struggling with difficult situations and terrible illnesses and that truly sucks!  It just does. But, I am thankful for the good news and happy to be an 80% er. Happy dance!