Vanity

I will admit it. I am vain. I take pleasure in my physical appearance now that I've lost weight. I take greater pleasure in other things and it's not all what I'm about so don't email me about how wicked I am.

I had a successful pair of surgical procedures a few weeks ago. One doesn't relate to vanity. But the excisional biopsy does now. Three weeks ago I was worried that the little marble and its pea-sized companion were possibly cancerous. I'm pleased to sy they were not, nor were the other assorted and removed stuff-growing-where-it-should-not. "No evidence of malignancy" is quite possibly the most beautiful phrase in the English language.

A week after the surgery, the steri-strips got to come off Lefty. Either I left them on too long or not enough because they stuck on one spot. OW. And then I looked. I'd been joking about Frankenbooob but didn't expect to see it. And I saw it. It was a very angry red puffy raised ridged scar. With a raw sore spot. Frankenbooob. Damn.

So now it's 3 weeks later. The raw spot is gone, the red and anger and puffy are gone now. Dr B said the ridge should dissipate within 3 months. but the tissue is healing now and I'm getting a hard mass under the hard ridged scar.

Here's where vanity comes in. I like my boobs. I really do like them. Somehow in a week I went from worrying about BrCa to the thickness of this ridge on my scar. It's amazing how perspectives change. But now there is a scar on Lefty, and if I raise my arm, it pulls funny. I've lost some sensation, and I have an ugly scar that feels funny. I'd like to get naked with somebody again, at some point. What then? I don't think it's bad enough to get the Ewww! face and a "thanks I'll call you" but it's still something in the back of my head.

Maybe I just need to get over it. Maybe I should take a picture and send it to boobiethon for 2006.