Driving to the big smoke this morn to have boobie two squeezed in the prized George Foreman grill. This will be my LAST EVER Mammogram! I can hear your jealous minds ticking over… “Lisey will be free of mammograms… wow wish that was me!” See, a breast cancer diagnosis has some merits. Wouldn’t want to squeeze implants in one of those things. They could burst like a pubescent zit! Ewwww!
Then, I’ll move onto a little cold lube up for my last breast ultrasound before my prophylactic skin and nipple sparing mastectomy surgery next month. Four weeks post last chemo infusion (this Tuesday peeps – mark it on your calendars!) I’m back under the knife, back in theatre with the bearded nurses and the drugs that make me hallucinate. Yee hah! Unless they find cancer today, and then I could drop the “prophylactic” term from my sentence. Which would be great cause that word is hard to type on an iPhone.
I can’t wait to do all of this dressed only in my undies and a hospital gown that opens at the front. Especially since I’m wearing a pelvic belt after Taxotere chemo has giving me the worst sacroiliac sprain and arthritic flare in my lumbar spine of my life and I’ve been hobbling around for 10 days. I spent a few days worried that breast cancer cells had moved in and metastasized. Just call me a “cancerchondriac”. If the mammogram lady asks me to contort myself like a Russian gymnast there is going to be trouble. Does anyone know any Russian swear words?
I visited the surgeon for a breast review 5 long weeks ago and we had conversation that went something like this… “You know Lisey, you can take photos of my shoes but I don’t want them to go on the Internet or anything.” So I’m guessing this will be the last one.
Wish me luck.
Goodbye, boobie two’s day, who could hang the blame on you… Girl I’m gonna miss you.