Are You Calling My Boob Fat?

I just returned from my morning of medical appointments. You know ... the one we've all been waiting for. My mammogram. Where they smushed my boobies flat like pancakes. Or to be more 'haute cuisine', like crepes.

It was a long visit. From waiting an additional half-hour due to technician training in one exam room, to needing additional imaging.

I tried to keep Matt in the loop by texting him every so often letting him know what was going on. He was fine for the first hour, reading his magazine and people watching. But by the end of the second hour I received a message from him saying he was about to resort to violence if he had to listen to any more soft rock ballads.

The mammogram went fine. I mean, as fine as standing in a gown with your boobs exposed to a stranger wearing plastic gloves can be. The technician took two images of each breast, placing me in positions that no woman should ever have to be subjected without getting paid.

It was relatively quick and painless, albeit slightly embarrassing, and within ten minutes I was sent back to my changing room waiting for the next steps. Twenty minutes later, the doctor reviewing my films said that she did see something on the screen, and I now needed to have an ultrasound. Off to the next room we went.

The ultrasound took much longer as the doctor spent a lot of time reviewing my previous mammogram images and comparing them to the lump she saw. She poked, fondled, grabbed and inspected and in the end felt sure that she had the correct diagnosis.

I have a Lipoma ... which is a slow-growing lump made up of fat cells. They are a common, benign, non-cancerous type of slow growing tumors. Usually detected in middle age.

And there's nothing I need to do except watch it and have yearly mammograms.

But wait, there's more!

After getting the good news about my "girls" ... we THEN went to see my Endocrinologist because my Thyroid has been out of whack again due to the increased dosage, and I switched again from hypothyroid to hyperthyroid. Oye! Moreover, the symptoms of the excess Synthroid were causing me to have anxiety, heart palpitations, EXCESSIVE fatigue, and AWFUL chest pain. I. am. getting. old.

So, after waiting for an hour in HIS office, reviewing my latest blood work, and readjusting my Synthroid dosage, I am finally able to exhale a huge sigh of relief.

I'm healthy.

But since my boobs are fatty, I'm going to put them on a strict diet.


Now let the celebrations of Matt's birthday begin!