Medical Fun and Frolic.

Well, I had my mammogram, and my boobs are fine. No lumps, no weirdness, nada.

However, there is still the matter of greenish nipple discharge (and trust me, no matter how many fucking times you say it, it never gets any less disgusting). According to the doctor, this is due to a change in my antidepressants and should most likely go away soon.

Most likely.

If not, I assume that I will have green-leaking boobs for as long as I take the medication.

I didn’t particularly care for that idea, so I asked the doctor if anything could be done.

“Well, you have to decide whether it’s bothering you enough to take less of the medication.”

Great. Either be crazy or leak strange green stuff from your breasts on occasion. There’s a choice I can love.

I think my body works hard to find new and inventive ways to piss me off.

I will be getting my tubes tied in a couple more weeks, which should be interesting. I plan to fully document Operation: Sterilize Trance so that this procedure will be recorded for posterity and for informational purposes.

Because, you know, I’m sure all and sundry are very interested in what’s happening with my fallopian tubes.

Yup.

In other strange medical news, I just had a hole cut into my leg, which was weird. The biopsy will determine whether or not the mole-thingy on my leg is or is not cancerous, and apparently a sample of healthy skin from around the mole-thingy had to be taken as well, for comparison’s sake.

I’m not very squeamish so I had planned to watch this procedure, but the kindly Nigerian doctor wasn’t having it.

"I think you should lie down.”
“Nah, I’m fine, really. This sort of thing doesn’t really bother me.”
“It’s going to bleed a lot. You have a lot of veins.”
“Really, I’m fine.”
“I’d be more comfortable if you laid down.”
“OK.”

I think he was far more nervous than I was.

I should get the results in a week or so, and then I have to go back to find out whether any more holes need to be dug.

I’m finding myself in the most adult, mature dating situation I’ve ever been in. It’s very strange. We talk about things. We actually talk about pretty much everything. He says what’s on his mind, which is an entirely new experience for me – not having to pry things from the mind of a man, or vainly trying to decipher what seems to be an undecipherable code.

Generally I date people who have been in therapy, who should be in therapy, or who probably will be in therapy after dealing with my ridiculous self before very long. Mr. Tall is pretty damned grounded. I cannot tell you how refreshing I find the lack of passive-aggressive ping-pong and general mind fuckage that I had honestly grown to believe was an integral part of dating in this day and age.

I sometimes find myself at a complete loss for words in the face of this heartfelt, direct, earnest conversation. Who are you, and where did you come from, where people just talk like this?

I find myself a little frightened, too, because this certainly is a grown-assed man who really is not going to stand for any half-assed trifling on my part, and this is becoming something that I really don’t want to screw up.

I am moving slowly, slowly, carefully.

Happy Monday.

12:46 p.m. - 2005-09-12
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