More Boob Talk.

Yes, today's my follow-up mammogram. Did you remember? I'd pretty much forgotten about it until yeseterday morning, and then I started worrying a little. And now, I'm worrying a lot. I'm carrying it in my neck and my shoulders and my jaw. I have the worst headache in recent memory. My hands are shaking.

In my brain I know there's probably nothing to be nervous about. They told me that they're really just "making sure it's nothing".

But let me remind you what happened the last time I went for what I thought was "nothing": A routine follow-up ultrasound (this mammo's actually a sonogram), that lasted four hours and culminated with the perinatalogist telling me I Didn't Have To Have This Baby Who Might Not Survive Anyway. It was by far the most surreal, almost out-of-body experience I've ever had, and it was the beginning of what became the most heart-wrenching six months of my life, to date.

The words Don't Worry do not work on This Girl. Because once you've gotten the shock of your life when you thought you were going in for Nothing, Nothing is ever Nothing ever again. I can't think of anything as Nothing. Tell me there's nothing to worry about? Fuck you, I'll think of Something to worry about. If there's even the slightest possibility that Nothing could be Something, and there always is, I'm going to focus and stew and allow myself to be consumed by my thoughts. I just don't want to be blindsided like I was that other time, because that really fuckin sucked.

To this day R wishes he had been there with me for that nightmare. I know he would have been if he could have - and he got there as soon as he could, in what I refer to as his Knight In Shining Armor moment - but I talked him out of it because I'd had a follow-up ultrasound before with Beebie and it turned out to actually be nothing. I went in thinking I'd be in and out in twenty minutes and they'd tell me everything was perfect. How could I have known anything was that wrong with Pie?

So I try to prepare myself mentally for Worst Case Scenarios until they get funny. Kinda like how I was pissed about the whole Lubaba thing and the more pissed off I got, the funnier the story got? Eventually my thoughts become so ridiculous they're laughable, and eventually I crack myself and R up with them. For example, what if there's a power outage while my boob's in the machine? I'll give you a minute to get that visual out of your head.

I combat everything dark with humor (read my entire blog if you don't believe me). Why does it surprise people to hear that so many comedians battle depression? I can kinda look danger in the eye, once I've made myself laugh about it first. Of course, it's not always appropriate, but when has that ever stopped me from anything?

For example, how hilarious would it be for me to need a mastectomy after I just dropped $200 on those kickass new bras I've been talking about for a month now? Funny, right? Rememember how comically ironic I thought it was when my parents' dog died in the car on the way home after dropping $60 at the groomer's? That's the kind of sick sense of humor I have. And you bitches love me, dontcha? Yeeeeeaah, ya do.

You'll be glad to know that I'm not going to this Mammogram thing alone. Rip has graciously offered to go with me so I'll have someone I can actually say the words "Dude, I'm so totally freaked out right know..." to out loud instead of just hearing it on a constant loop through my head. He's not going in the Nekkid Boobie Frankenstein Switch Room or anything, but he'll be there when I get done, and that's so cool. Thanks, man.

I'm wearing black eyeliner and non-waterproof mascara. If they give me something to cry about, I'm going Balls The Fuck OUT.

And P.S. - I'm packing a flask.