Ah, the trials and tribulations of fake boobs.  But we’ll get to that in a moment.  I want to give a quick update on my sis who had to proceed with her final surgery to combat our lovely genetic makeup.  She is doing very well, recovering nicely and should be back up and running by Monday.  While it’s a huge relief for her, and well, everyone, to have this last surgery complete, she too is dealing with hormonal surges beyond the pale and because of her predilection for cancer her oncologists are resisting giving her any hormone replacement.  She is where I was about two months ago and it’s rough.  There are many things that are easily dismissed until you move through them yourself.  Parents who complain about lack of sleep with a baby, migraine headaches that cripple you from pain, or hormones that highjack your personality and replace it with Lewis Black- a screaming, aggressive ball of neuroses- only not funny.  Seriously unfunny. We get that menopause is inevitable and temporary.  But in this instance, and I’m speaking for my sister too which may be out of turn, it’s premature and yet another glaring reminder of the fucking genes that lead to the fucking cancer- you know the drill.

But now we’ve both been relieved of our most dangerous targets for cancer.  We won’t prophylactically remove any of the other targets as that would leave us with no colon, pancreas or skin and that wouldn’t be terribly attractive.  Hopefully she will sail headlong into her five year cancer free mark with no impediments- fingers crossed.

And those pesky hormones.  I actually had a couple of glaring signs that I have leveled out on that front.  Here’s the test that proved this assertion.  My right boob has gone rogue.  It doesn’t look anything like its counterpart.  It is misshapen and I can feel a crinkly sensation when I touch it.  I saw you all cringe at that.  Clearly, my implant is faulty in some way and I have a call in to my plastic surgeon to fix the flat, although it’s still not flat- it’s just weird and funny.  But there it is- I have completely found the humor in this latest debacle.  Today as my friend, and co-worker Shannon photographed my faulty boob- I was asked to send pictures to the surgeon- I remarked that most people send photos like this for kicks, not for medical research, and it’s a good thing I’m never getting into politics with these photos in the ether.  And the pictures aren’t hot.  They are anti-hot, they are the antarctica of nude shots.

I don’t know how the surgeon is going to fix it, but I know it’ll get fixed.  (positive attitude-check).  If I have to trade in this implant for another model I may opt for saline, I have been second guessing myself on that choice based on a connection between silicone and fibromyalgia.  While MS and fibromyalgia are very different illnesses, they share many symptoms so better safe than sorry. (silver lining finder-check).   I am just concerned that another trade out surgery will interfere with a clinical trial I have just started to clock the effect of exercise in people with MS.  (proactive choice to get int the game-check.)  Ultimately, I know that this is just a bump in the road- no pun intended- it hasn’t even been a year since my initial surgery and complications were inevitable with this many intricate procedures.  (pragmatism takes it’s proper place over hysteria-check).

So while I wait for word on how to fix this latest setback, I’m calm in the knowledge that it will in fact get fixed and that is the best barometer of all that I’m more myself.  Pissy at times, conflicted at times, disappointed even- but at the end of the day simply doing what comes next and laughing about the slight misfortunes that make for great stories.